#I hope you’re old enough to get those references

[princessofgotham777]

Dating Jason Todd (Part Eight)

fanfic type: angst, fluff, comfort (ongoing)

If you liked the Titans show but wish they handled Jason’s story line differently you might like this fic!

Hey so this is in fact my first time writing fanfiction (idk what my life has come to). Sorry if it’s cringy but also I would eat this up cause I LOVE some good angsty comfort fanfiction. I won’t write smut. I don’t think I’m gonna do requests but if you have any ideas feel free to let me know. Also of course I don’t own any DC characters this is purely fanfiction. Thank you and I hope you enjoy. (I hope you like run-on sentences💀) (if you don’t like it don’t be rude just move on dude😃🧍‍♀️)

So story line, this doesn’t really take place in any specific universe but I’m gonna be pulling concepts from Titans, Arkham Knight, The Batman, Under the Red Hood, and whatever lore I remember from the CW shows cause I grew up watching those, then just my imagination of course. Reader is referred to as she/her btw.

Warnings: talking about death, suicide, depression, torture (it’s not graphic I hate gore it’s just sad), talking about intimacy (not graphic), struggling with eating, topics of grief, violence, panic attacks, PTSD

Part Eight: Your Jason

You, Dick and Barbra go through the video frame by frame looking for clues as to where Jason is.

“That has to be Arkham,” you say.

“We cleared it,” Dick says.

“The video could be old,” Barbra suggests.

“It’s rained the past few days and only stopped today, you can’t hear any rain in the video so it has to be new,” you say. “We should go back to Arkham.”

“Barbra will you stay here and keep looking for clues in the video and Y/N and I will go to Arkham?” Dick asks. Barbra nods.

“Can you send me blueprints of Arkham?” You ask Barbra.

“Will do,” she says.

You and Dick get to Arkham and Barbra sends you the blueprints. You pull them up on a laptop.

“Okay X off every wing you searched,” you tell him. He begins to go through the blueprints and cross off rooms when suddenly, he freezes.

“What?” You ask. He says nothing, simply stares at the screen. “Dick what is it?”

“This wing,” he says as he circles it on the screen. “I don’t know what it is, it doesn’t exist…”

“What do you mean doesn’t exist?” You say.

“There was nothing there when we went through, I have no idea what that is,” he says.

“Idiot,” you mumble. You start running into Arkham and Dick chases after you. You get to where the entrance to the wing supposedly is. It’s just a brick wall.

“Are the blueprints wrong?” You ask him.

“No they can’t be,” he says. Dick presses his ear to the wall and knocks. “This isn’t a real fucking wall,” he says angrily. Dick grabs an old pipe lying on the floor and starts swinging at the wall. It cracks a bit. He throws the pipe once there’s a small hole in the wall and begins breaking the fake wall down with his hands. You and him climb through the hole in the wall. “Stay close,” he whispers. You unknowingly pass a motion sensor and suddenly the whole hallway lights up. Colorful lights line the hall and circus music blares. Your eyes widen as you see a something behind Dick. You point to a sign behind him that says, “follow the footprints.” The letters are written in blood. You look down and see a trail of bloody footprints. “Y/N wait!” Dick says. You sprint down the hall following the footprints. You run for about a minute then they end at a locked door. You try the handle but it won’t budge. You throw your body against the door in desperation but you’re just not strong enough.

“Dick!” You yell. Dick runs up behind you. “I can’t get the door open!” You say frantically. Dick throws his body against the door and on the third try it flys open. You run in to find Jason lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. You run to him, slip in the blood and fall. “Jason!” You say as you check his pulse. “Jason,” you cry as you cradle his head in your hands. His cold dead eyes stare back at you. Dick carefully kneels down and he reaches out to close Jason’s eyes. “Don’t touch him!” You yell as you hold Jason’s corpse. Dick walks over to the wall and unplugs the lights and circus music. You notice a “J” carved into Jason’s face. His face is covered in dirt and blood splatters, the only clean spots are where his tears have dried up. Your heart breaks as you look at Jason; your Jason.

“I called Barbra,” Dick says softly. You simply put your head on Jason’s chest and sob.

Before you know it the place is crawling with cops. Jason’s now under a white sheet and cops work around you tagging evidence. You walk over to Dick and say, “the cops shouldn’t be here, Bruce should fucking be here.”

“I don’t like the cops being here either, more than half of them are dirty,” Dick says. “As for Bruce I just got off the phone with him, he’s flying back tomorrow.” You say nothing, you just stare at the white sheet covering the love of your life. “If you give me your phone I’ll call Roy,” Dick says. You mindlessly hand him your phone.

“Call Thea, I don’t have Roy’s number,” you say. “Have you called Gar and everyone?” You ask.

“I will after I get off the phone with Roy,” Dick says.

He’s about to go into the hall when you say, “thank you Dick.” He simply nods and walks into the hall. Everyone is busy. You walk over to Jason’s body and lift the sheet enough to pull his stack of bracelets off his wrist. There was a black leather one with the logo of his favorite band, a braided green one Gar had made, a silver one with a small red ruby (you have a necklace with a small pink diamond which matched), and your bra strap you’d tied into a bracelet for him. You put the bracelets in your pocket and then cover his hand back up.

When you first met Jason when he rescued you from poison ivy you never imagined you’d see him again, and then once you met him you never knew you two would be so close, never imagined you’d fall in love, and you never thought you’d lose him.

Hey, I hope you enjoyed this fic, if you did remember to like. I appreciate any positive feedback, it encourages me to keep writing and posting parts. I love being dramatic and honestly don’t know why I didn’t write fanfiction sooner. I hope you are having fun reading this cause I’m having fun writing it. Check out my Masterlist if you haven’t read the other parts and want to. I have a lot more ideas for developing the red hood plot and backstory for how the reader meets Dick and Jason and becomes a titan so if your interested in staying up to date with the fics then please follow me. The next two days are going to be busy for me so if I don’t post just know I haven’t abandoned the fic (I’ll probably still post tho cause I tend to add to this when I’m half asleep super late lol) Happy holidays🩷

Here’s a link to my Masterlist if you want to read the other parts.

Masterlist

[davnittbraes]

literally gorl my mental health has been in the toilet lately too and something i’ve had to tell myself over and over is that my health and sanity come first, before so many other things. you providing us with your work and your efforts and something that takes so much of your energy every week is such a gift and luxury. you in no way need to prioritize giving others something they will HAPPILY wait as long as you need for, above your own health and happiness. you come first. don’t you ever ever ever apologize for that.

First of all, Gorl Nonnie, idk if it helps hearing it from someone other than yourself but your health and sanity DO come first. YOU are the most important person in your life, and anybody who truly cares about you wants you to treat yourself accordingly.

Second, I’m not gonna go into detail on it now but I need you to know that “you in no way need to prioritize giving others something” is a phrase I repeated to myself several times after reading this message, because it ties directly to my overall conflicting feelings about the ending of TWILE. So thank you for that, my friend.

[lokissweater]

a million more novembers

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: its you and megumi’s cute little two year anniversary! a car picnic at a stargazing hotspot in the city— snacks, drinks, your loving baseball man, and gifts galore? yes please!

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, cursing, FLUUUUFFF GALOOREEEE AWWWUUHHH!!, sexual themes, mostly sfw except for like one steamy part ;), boobie sucking, grinding, soft loving megumi OFCCC, sliight angst but really nothing, all characters are aged up, mentions of reader having ‘pink cheeks’ is only to amplify and over-exaggerate feelings of embarrassment, shyness, and everything in between, and not to be taken literally! this is a work of fiction, and you can imagine many things for yourself :)

word count: 8.8k

authors note: ANNIVERSARY SPEECCCIIAAALLL I AM CRRRYYIINNNGGG!!! i hope you guys enjoy this little side fun mini chapter of sir gumi and reader’s anniversary day, and their endeavors with yuji and readers best friend :333 wanted to give you guys an extra mlb!megumi chapter in celebration of their LUUUUVVV !!! MWAAAHHHHH I LOOOVEE YOUUUU !!! TAKE CAAAREEEE !!! <3333333

i highly advise you to read the other parts of this series or else you won’t be able to understand some of the storyline and references :( you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

if you could, you’d fake pass out at this very moment so that way you’d be excused by your professor and get the fuck out of your afternoon lecture right this instant.

but you couldn’t, because attendance was mandatory and you’d lose points upon missing out… and you had an exam next week— which is something you normally just grumbled about and dealt with seeing as it was just a part of being in college, except right now? it was criminal to even think about an upcoming exam like this.

because it was you and megumi’s two year anniversary.

and the only thing you wanted to do was be there with him for the entire day… but because of your classes and megumi having abnormal back to back practices again due to the upcoming world series, you both agreed that you’d drive over to the stadium after your afternoon class and leave together for your little date after he was done.

but even though megumi had practice, you wanted to be at the stadium so fucking badly— watching him pitch and swing and just do what he does best one of your absolute favorite hobbies, the way he plays never getting old and actually illegal to even think that something like that could be a possibility.

you shrunk down in your seat, arms crossed as your professor went over topics about something and guidelines about whatever, you usually paying more attention to the material if it was any regular day but wanting to strangle yourself because the education system was preventing you from being with your man.

your phone lit up suddenly with a notification, you smiling softly to yourself upon realizing who it was and sitting up, grabbing your phone to unlock it.

(gumi <3): how’s class baby

you quickly typed back a response.

(you): do you think if i pretend to pass out right now my professor will excuse me and i can just leave

(gumi <3): lol

(gumi <3): you only have thirty minutes left though right?

(you): okay but gumi what does that have to do with me wanting to pretend to pass out so i can go see you faster

(you): and make fan edits of you while i wait 

(you): I— I MEAN—

(gumi <3): omg

(gumi <3): you’ve made enough of those

(gumi <3): no more

you quietly scoffed in your seat, thumbs rapidly typing away.

(you): gumi i can’t believe you’re not supportive of my extra curricular activities rn

(you): after EVERYTHING i’ve done for you

(you): after all the times i’ve sucked your dick

(you): and i thought you liked my edits :(

megumi took a minute to respond before your phone buzzed again.

(gumi <3): LOL

(gumi <3): i do baby i’m kidding

(gumi <3): and don’t put that image in my head rn

(you): oh??????

(you): and why not???? ;))

(you): boner alert perhaps??? ;))

(you): maybe today during our cute little date you can take me to pound town in the back seat of your car and make me cum and cry all over your dick gumi!!

you shrunk further down in your seat and snickered quietly, funnily shielding your phone to prevent anyone else seated around you in your lecture from seeing the absurd messages on your phone.

(gumi <3): jesus fucking christ

(gumi <3): why are you doing this

(you): because i loooveee youuuu <33

(you): and i can’t wait to seee youuuu <333

(you): maybe i should go to the bathroom rn and send you a boobie pic :P

(gumi <3): please

(gumi <3): fuck wait my breaks over i have to go

(gumi <3): fuck

you mushed a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing out loud, typing a response.

(you): BAAAAHAHAHAH

(you): OMG IM SO SORRY GUMI

(you): HAVE A GOOD REST OF YOUR PRACTICE OKAY ILL SEE YOU IN A BIT! <3

(gumi <3): do you think if i pretend to pass out coach will excuse me

(you): NO GUMI 

(you): GOOOO

(you): GO PLAY GO PLAY

(gumi <3): god

(gumi <3): fine

(gumi <3): i love you pretty baby i’ll see you 

(gumi <3): and pay attention

(you): i love you too gumiiii !!! <333

(you): NO PROMISES BYE !!!

(you): SMOOOCCCHHHH

you breathed out softly through your nose and set your phone back down, one leg crossing over the other as you impatiently waited and practically glared at the powerpoint slides in front of you, your ankle bouncing and mind drifting off again— double checking over the list of things you and megumi needed for your date instead repeatedly in case you forgot something.

since your anniversary couldn’t be an all day thing, the two of you planned a cute little car picnic date at a star gazing hotspot out in the hills of the city, a place megumi had actually been to before in his childhood with gojo and his sister, and one he said he remembered to be nice and quiet with a good view of the stars, similar to how they looked like when you all went on that trip in the mountains a few months ago with his dad, yuji, and your best friend— the fact only making you overly ecstatic, since megumi suggesting something like that without a little gruff and huff was always a special rare sight to see.

and the only things megumi literally allowed you to bring were the fuzzy blankets and pillows and such, him forbidding you from buying absolutely anything else like snacks, drinks, and the food, saying that he had it and it was okay— simply only chuckling and lightly flicking your forehead when you grumbled and fought with him over it in the hopes that he would let you take care of at least half of the things.

he did not.

“alright i think i’ll stop here for today and let you guys go a little earl—”

you shot up from your desk and shoved your books in your bag, not even letting your professor finish before you were already up and speed walking out of the lecture hall and down your building, thanking the gods above for the thousandth time that megumi’s stadium was only a fifteen minute drive from your campus, and therefore made it so much easier for you to drive on over without difficulties and pretty much whenever the fuck wanted… which was all of the time.

just as you plopped in the drivers seat and chucked your bag to the passengers side, an apparent buzzing vibrated through the right back pocket of your skirt as you reached in to pull it out, your best friend’s name flashing at the top.

“hellooo!” you answered, swinging the door shut and turning on the ignition, the heater unit blasting through the vents and warming up the spiking chilly temperature in your car.

“hi babe!” your best friend greeted. “how far away are you?”

“i just got out of class! i should be there in about ten if i go over the speed limiiit.” you grinned, putting your phone on speaker and setting it down on your lap, backing out of your parking space.

“SHE SAID TEN MINUTES GOING OVER THE SPEED LIMIT MEGU— what?! i can’t— i can’t hear you idiot you’re across the fucking field!—”

you laughed loudly as you drove out of your campus parking lot, zooming down the street and going the usual route to his stadium.

“oh my— megumi ordered and yelled at me to call you to see how far you were babe.” she sighed. “when is this man ever gonna treat me fairly this is ridiculous— WHAT?! TELL HER WHAT?!—”

“i’m about eight minutes away now!” you laughed. “tell him that please i’m almost there—”

“WAIT SHE SAID SHE’S EIGHT MINUTES AWA— oh my god okay megumi says not to go over the speed limit and to park next to him in the players parking lot.”

“tell him i said watching him play baseball is more important than the law i don’t give a—”

“SHE SAID WATCHING YOU PLAY BASEBALL IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE LAW— oh he’s coming. save yourself and hang up y/n he’s coming— YUJI GET HIM HE’S GONNA TAKE MY PHONE— ARGH STOP!—”

“—go over the speed limit and see what happens.”

a different deeper voice muttered over the line, partially out of breath and one you instantly recognized to be megumi’s as you giggled.

“gumi the speed limit is a social construct and if i don’t get to watch you play for the last thirty minutes of practice i’m gonna gauge my eyeballs out.”

“baseball’s also a social construct.” he deadpanned. “and you watch me play all of the time baby don’t speed you drive like a fucking street racer sometimes.”

“but isn’t it cool and sexy that i do? eehh?” you quipped in a silly way. “and i don’t care how many times i’ve seen you play gumi… i still need to be admitted into a mental facility each time it’s embarrassing.”

he chuckled softly.

“you almost here?”

“yeah! i’m just pulling into the stadium i’m going over to your structure right now.”

“okay.” he spoke. “park next to me please.”

“—megumi i told her that already—”

“can you not eavesdrop—”

“—if it has to do with y/n fuck no—”

“—okay!” you sputtered while shifting your gear to park and turning off the ignition, cutting their bickering off. “i’m here gumi i’m gonna walk to the stadium now.”

“alright i’ll see you baby.” 

“i’ll see you!—”

“your phone time’s revoked asswipe give me my device right now—”

“—can you mind your fucking business for two seconds—”

“NO!—”

you winced and hung up the phone, shaking your head amusedly as you grabbed your keys and stepped out of the car before locking it, walking your way over across the parking structure and to the entrance of the stadium, maneuvering through various hallways and corners like muscle memory and politely saying hello to some of the team’s staff that you recognized as you walked.

you passed through the main hall— megumi’s giant glorious handsome portrait still displayed proudly against the wall amongst his other teammates, prestigious awards and trophies in glass frames and casings littering the room from practically top to bottom as you happily moved through the hall, passing by the same bench that you first unknowingly and officially met megumi in while you were embarrassingly crying your eyes out over him— a treasured memory that you swoon over every now and then at the way he kindly gave you his sunglasses to hide your big fat tears.

you hoped that megumi’s management never replaced that freaking bench, as you wanted to put a plaque on it in commemoration of you and your emo man, knowing that if they ever did you’d be at those stadium doors first thing in the morning to grab and take it home with you to keep.

upon opening the doors to the stadium, you continued on down the steps as you looked on ahead and squinted your eyes, distant hollers and the clanking of bats echoing through the otherwise peaceful atmosphere, several players out on the field practicing and pitching but none being megumi as you reached the bottom and went inside the bullpen, expecting to see your best friend sitting there and possibly still fighting with your boyfriend, but faltering instead.

because megumi was sat there on the bench by himself with his baseball cap on… waiting for you, a bouquet of pretty pink tulips in his arms as he looked straight over the field with an emotionless gaze, his head snapping to you once he heard you coming in and standing up, his face gradually warming.

pink tulips were your favorite.

“gumi…” you spoke softly, astonished and mushy inside as you grabbed the bouquet from him, it neatly tucked in brown paper wrap and pretty pink tule with a little matching bow around the stems to tie it off, the paper crinkling in your arms.

“hi.”

“oh my— these are gorgeous baby thank you!” you gushed, your cheeks hot and you absolutely beaming as you swung your unoccupied arm around his neck and brought him in, pecking his slightly sweaty cheek repeatedly as he huffed out a breathy laugh and pulled you to him.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured, cheek lightly resting against the side of your head as you smiled.

“you really didn’t have to gumi you bought basically everything for today…” you spoke softly, bringing your head back a bit to look at him.

he shrugged.

“so.”

you scoffed. “so? you don’t let me do anything and i feel oppressed.”

he snorted, playfully rolling his eyes and kissing your forehead. 

dramatic.

“it’s fine baby.”

“okay but it’s not.” you grumbled lowly, and the corners of his lips quirked up, taking a tiny step back as he released you and lifted a hand, gently pinching your cheek.

“you look really pretty.”

your pout slid into a cheeky smile, a cute blush rising to your cheeks.

“thank you gumi!” you readjusted the bouquet in your arms and shyly looked away, his direct dark blue eyes on you still nerve wracking even after two years. 

“h— how come you’re not on the field?”

“oh.” megumi’s gaze shifted to his playing teammates. “i wanted to give you the tulips before going back out.”

your eyes softened, chest clenching as you stood up on your tippy toes and gave him a little kiss.

“you’re so nice…” you murmured. 

“i—”

“fushiguro i need you back on the field!”

megumi huffed and rolled his eyes at his coach interrupting his time with you, hands reluctantly dropping from your waist as he took a step back.

“m’sorry baby...” he sighed tiredly, lifting his cap up from his spiky hair and adjusting it back on. “practice is almost over i promise.”

you frantically shook your head. “no gumi it’s okay don’t apologize! go please though i don’t want you to get in trouble.”

he nodded, quickly pecking your cheek before stepping out of the bullpen and back out on the field, turning his body slightly just as he reached the home plate and raising a hand to you as a little goodbye, shifting his attention to his coach and the rest of his teammates once he saw you give him one back.

you walked over to the benches then and sat, your eyes happily watching the mock game unfold as you settled your pretty bouquet carefully over your lap.

“please tell me you guys are done it’s fucking cold up here in the stands—”

your head shot to the side and you instantly smiled, your best friend popping her head in from the bullpen entrance and shivering.

“heyyy! oh my god yes come come—” you scooched over and patted the spot next to you, her trodding over and plopping down.

“let me seeeee!” she squealed and nudged your shoulder with hers, gesturing to your tulips as you lit up and turned the bouquet in her direction, her jaw dropping.

“i hate him but he’s good.” she muttered, shaking her head as you laughed and lightly hit her arm. 

megumi ran through a few bases, passing by the bullpen and stopping at a base closest to it with remnants of brown dirt puffing and swirling through the air, him looking over his shoulder at you briefly before turning back to the game.

“he does so much for me that i feel like a big fat loser that does mediocre for him.” you spoke worriedly, and your girl friend looked at you bewilderedly.

“are you kidding? y/n you being with him is enough jesus that man is an ogre—”

you flicked her forehead and she cackled, pushing your hand away.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry i’m joking… kind of…whatever— babe you literally do so much let him dote on you like this… that man loves you.”

you pursed your lips to suppress a giddy smile.

“plus after the pain and torture we both went through with your high school boyfriend christ—”

“oh my god don’t remind me.” you mumbled, shifting your attention back to the field. “he sucked so bad.”

she laughed. “and it took you forever to realize that he was a loser y/n… you gave him too much and he gave you absolutely nothing.”

you solemnly nodded, the feeling of miserable regret filling your body.

“granted i think megumi’s also a loser.” she continued, and you playfully glared. “but! he’s a different kind of loser. he’s good for you babe… and you’re super good for him.”

you grinned brightly at her, set your bouquet to the side, and threw your arms around her shoulders, bringing her in a tight hug as she laughed loudly and held you back with just as much love.

“have fun on your anniversary date tonight!” your girl friend exclaimed. “you guys are still going to that stargazing spot right?”

“mhm!” you nodded. “we’re going up in his car and setting up the backseat once we get there.”

“are you guys getting freaky too back there?—”

your head snapped ahead to find yuji leaning against the gate of the bullpen on the other side, your eyes wide and mortified as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestingly.

“h—huh?—”

“eehhh?” your best friend matched her boyfriends expression, her eyes twinkling and mischievous. “valid question yu! what are you wearing under your outfit let me see—”

you yelped as your best friend pulled and tugged at the collar of your chunky knitted sweater, basically shoving her head through to see what you had on and you pushing on her shoulders to try and get her away.

“stop you sicko!—”

“y/n why the fuck don’t you have a lingerie set under here—”

“oh my god shut your mouth right now—”

megumi curiously turned his head over to the commotion by the bullpen, jaw dropping and eyes growing big in absolute dumb struck horror as he watched your best friend basically trying to strip your sweater off of you, and yuji just standing there and watching like a fucking pervert—

“itadori!” he barked, and yuji jumped a whopping fifteen feet in the air, swiveling around to face him.

“oh hey man!— WHAT THE FU—”

megumi hurled a literal baseball at him and yuji dove out of the way, the ball hitting against the gate of the bullpen as you and your best friend jumped at the slamming noise.

“the fuck are you guys doing?!” megumi yelled, arms out in emphasis as he quickly strode over with pinched brows.

he looked to you as soon as he properly reached the bullpen, the collar of your sweater stretched out over an exposed shoulder with your black bra literally peeking out, your pretty eyes wide and downright alarmed as your best friend still had an iron tugging grip on your sweater.

megumi’s gaze hardened, switching to your girl friend.

“get off.”

he looked to yuji, his legs wobbling in fear as he used the gaps of the bullpen gate to lift himself up from the dirt.

“close your fucking eyes—”

“yes sir fushiguro sir!—”

“what?!” your best friend exclaimed. “megumi if you guys are gonna fuck in the backseat she needs to be looking scrumptious—”

his face paled and his cheeks turned a vibrant pink simultaneously.

“why are you guys always like this?” he muttered exasperatedly, stepping inside the bullpen now and pushing her off of you, your girl friend scoffing as megumi pulled your collar back over your shoulder and fixed your sweater for you, your lips clamped shut as you tried your best to refrain yourself from laughing.

“oh my bad. thought the perv in you would thank my services—”

“why the hell would i thank you for stripping my girlfriend in front of the entire fucking team—”

“—y/n i literally think i have a lingerie set in my car i’ll give it to you it’s new i just bought it to show yuji—”

you gasped. 

“wait really?! what color? i wanted to wear one but i didn’t want to show up to class with it—”

megumi’s eyes bulged and shot to you, mouth opening and closing like an idiot.

“i think it’s red but i’m pretty sure your tits are bigger than mine lemme see—”

your best friend yanked your collar again and you screamed as megumi grabbed you and pulled you up against his chest, shielding you away from your lunatic girl friend as she cackled and pointed at megumi.

“megumi’s getting a boonneeerrrr!—”

his eyes frantically switched between her and yuji— his hands still tightly clasped over his eyes.

“what kind of sick fucks are you both?!”

you giggled uncontrollably over his appalled menacing face, your laughter muffling up against his uniform.

“us?!” your best friend yelled. “don’t get me started on you! i saw that text you sent y/n last week asking to send a video of her fi—”

“oh god babe don’t finish that sentence also can i open my eyes now you guys—”

“itadori! fushiguro! huddle up!”

yuji timidly seperated his fingers and looked at the group, hands dropping and a wide smile spreading once he realized you weren’t half naked anymore.

“off we go fushiguro!” he quipped, turning and the dirt crackling beneath his cleats as he walked. “boss man wants us—”

“i heard him.” megumi grumbled, arms loosening from their hold around you as they slid and fell at his sides, his face just plain out annoyed and over it, and you smiled sweetly at him.

“it’s okay!” you poked his cheek. “i’ll wait for you here while you guys finish up? or do you want me to go inside the locker rooms already?”

“go to the locker rooms baby.” he mumbled. “it’s cold.”

you nodded, and he placed a hand on your head with the tiniest smile, heading out of the bullpen after and jogging up to the rest of his teammates for regrouping and final announcements.

your best friend swung a heavy arm around your shoulders and you both made your way to the exit just as you grabbed your bouquet again, walking up the steps of the stands and down a few corridors and pathways until you reached the echoey hallway, the teams locker room coming into view as you pushed the heavy door open and went in.

“do you still want my lingerie set?” your girl friend asked, fixing her hair in front of one of the big mirrors. “we could still try and see if it fits but your boobs are huge compared to mine—”

you laughed and waved her off. “it’s okay babe! thank you though… i don’t think we’re gonna do anything like that out in the open and in the middle of nowhere…”

she shrugged, sending you a little smirk through the mirror. “megumi’s a weirdo. so i think you in fact will.”

you shot her a funny glare and walked to your boyfriends locker while placing your pretty bouquet down on the bench— turning the little knob around and hitting the numbers that made up his locker combination, the metal clinking open and you opening it to organize his clothes and equipment like you usually did.

you dragged his heavy duffel bag out and unzipped it, rummaging around a little to find the clothes that he had packed for your date today— spotting his thick black crewneck and gray cargo pants as you took them out and folded them neatly on the bench in front of you, setting the rest of the things he needed to the side and perking up once you heard distant chattering and banter, several players starting to pile in as you shot a few polite smiles, stepping over the bench and plopping down to wait for megumi.

“i said no.”

“pleeeaaasee!” yuji begged, the two of them emerging from the entryway as you lit up at the sight of your grumpy man, his agitated eyes to the floor as he trudged over. “i thought we were best friends fushiguro. brothers if you will—”

“no.”

“pleaaaseee!—”

“what does he want?” you laughed softly, megumi’s eyes coming up and moving to his tidily folded clothes that you had set for him on the bench, his gaze softening.

“nothing bab—”

“wrestle!” yuji wailed, dramatically leaning his entire weight on your best friend in a hug as she dumbfoundedly reciprocated, patting his back. “i wanted to see who’s strongest…”

“babe go change you’re sweaty—”

“not until fushiguro wrestles with me—”

“no.”

“whyyy?!”

you giggled loudly, hand over your mouth as megumi sent you a small close lipped smile and stepped over the bench to his locker, taking off his baseball cap and hanging it inside.

“because it’s stupid.” he mumbled, and yuji scoffed.

“wrestling is the ultimate sport for strategy, discipline and character how could any of that be stupid—”

“yu change i wanna go homeee!” your best friend whined, trying to pry him off of her. “i’ll wrestle with you.”

yuji sprung up and grinned. “will you actually?! i won’t go easy babe i can’t play favorites—”

“yes now move—”

“if i win can you suck my di—”

megumi flung his deodorant at yuji’s head and rolled his eyes as he cried out and pouted, the little container clattering against the ground.

“gumi!” you gasped. “be nice please.”

he sighed softly through his nose, unbuttoning his jersey as he begrudgingly and briefly looked over his shoulder.

“sorry.”

“oh wait what was that?” you girl friend spoke up. “i think you need to speak up a little megumi! can’t hear you.”

“i said sorry.” he spat, and she smiled, satisfied.

“you’re forgiven! thanks!”

megumi grumbled as he shook his jersey off and long sleeve underneath with it, his little chain with his promise ring dangling out around his collar, and you shamelessly and obviously drooling over his bare toned frame then as he sorted through his clothes and got his things ready for the shower— the locker room emptying out now and only one or two players remaining besides the lot of you.

you extended a hand out, wanting megumi to give you his jersey and long sleeve as he shifted his attention to you.

“what baby.”

“i’ll put it in the laundry bin for you!” you spoke sweetly. “so you can go shower.”

his heart squeezed as he shook his head. “s’okay. just wait for me.”

“gumi the laundry room’s just down the hall.” you laughed, taking his uniform from him. “i’ll be quick.”

he pursed his lips, feeling like you’ve already done more than enough for him and him just dicking around and playing ball for hours this entire time, wanting to get your date started so he could spend time with you and give you the things he wanted to give you, and not be around idiot insane people anymore (yuji and your best friend).

“sit down please.” he mumbled.

your jaw dropped.

“i’m being oppressed again—”

“we’ll see you guys tomorrow!” your girl friend smiled, coming over and giving you a hug as yuji went to put a hand on megumi’s shoulder. “have fun on your date! and happy anniversaryyy!”

“thank youuuu!” you responded kindly, hugging her back and swaying funnily, letting her go after and looking to her boyfriend. “drive safe yuji okay?”

“will do!” he smiled brightly, wrapping a friendly arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. “have fun you guys. and don’t get mauled by bears.”

you snorted, the both of you pulling back and waving at each other with final goodbyes before they turned and began walking to the exit, now the only ones left in the locker rooms being you and megumi. 

“text me if you have sex in the back y/n!”

“oh my god!—” you miserably dropped your head in your hands as your girl friends vulgar sentence literally echoed throughout the hallway outside, anyone within a one inch radius able to hear it as megumi laughed quietly, the doors to the locker room officially closing.

“your best friend is clinically insane.”

you giggled, nudging him away playfully and him catching your wrist just as you did so, tugging you in and wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“no she’s not.” you smiled cutely, your little cheek pressed up against the warm skin of his chest as he looked at you. “she’s honest. and lovely.”

“and deluded.”

“gumi!”

“sorry.”

he craned his neck down and kissed you, every tense muscle in his body giving away and slowly oozing into a state of peace as your soft lips moved with his, megumi finally having you to himself for the night so he could properly get your anniversary going.

he pulled away and patted your head.

“m’gonna shower really quick baby.”

“okay!” you smiled. “can i sit by the shower with you? heh.”

he chuckled and nodded, interlocking his fingers with yours and pulling you towards the shower room— a spacious and modern area with individual stalls and little plushy sofas across from them, megumi leading you to one as you sat down and took his fresh pair of clothes from him to set on your lap.

“remember when i fucked you in here.”

“gumi!” you gasped as your face grew red. “okay but which time because my favorite time was two weeks ago when you bent me over th—”

he laughed, the boyish sound bouncing off the tile walls as he shook his head with a little faint blush to his cheeks, fingers coming down to unbutton his pants and your hands flying to cover over your eyes, him pausing and looking at you quizzically.

“what.”

“i’m giving you privacy gumi. something you wouldn’t know about in regards to me.”

he scoffed.

“kay fine. i’ll stop asking—”

“no!” you yelled, hands clasping together like a prayer. “don’t finish that sentence i don’t wanna know i don’t need to know whatever it is continue doing it—”

megumi rolled his eyes with a smile, taking off the rest of his clothes and you squeaking as you covered your line of sight again, the sound of the shower running with the door closing an indicator to you that the coast was clear for you to look, hands coming down as they settled over megumi’s clean clothes.

and he literally took less than five minutes to shower… or maybe it was because your little endless chattering made the time go by faster or the fact that you always took close to an hour, but he was out of there with a towel around his delicious waist before you could even realize and on the way out to change into his outfit.

megumi straight from the shower was always an interesting sight to see, for the usual spikes in his jet black hair were nonexistent for the time being as his hair just laid flat, and he almost looked like an entirely different man as you stood on the other side of the bench behind him while he sat tying his shoe laces, you drying his hair with a small white hand towel.

“i’m really excited for tonight gumi!” you cheesed. “oh! and i brought my laptop too incase you wanted to watch a movieeee.”

he straightened up from his hunched over position and stood, turning around to kiss your head in gratitude before taking the towel from you and drying off the last bit of his hair.

“sounds good baby.” he grabbed his duffel bag and swung it over his shoulder, keys hooked from one of his belt loops on his pants as he offered his hand out to you on the way out of the locker room, you happily taking it and interlacing your fingers in the hallway, the both of you walking on to leave the stadium with your bouquet in your arm, making a quick pit stop at the laundry room first to toss his uniform and towels in one of the various hampers, leaving and going through the main hall hand in hand after with the building basically vacant now— not a single player, staff, or management member around as you moved your way down corridors to the exit, entering the parking garage.

megumi grabbed his keys and clicked a button upon reaching the players parking lot area, his shiny black car beeping and flickering its lights and him opening the door to the backseat to throw his stuff in, you catching a glimpse of the piles of grocery bags filled with chips, snacks, pastries and such as you smiled, unlocking your own vehicle and opening your trunk as megumi did his.

he swiftly stepped in and grabbed your blankets and a few pillows, transferring them over to his car and you setting your bouquet down in the back, throwing in a few other things.

“oh gumi!” 

“hm?”

you opened your drivers side door and reached in, megumi peering around from his open trunk to look at you.

“i got us a little lunchbox cake!” you pulled out a small white cake carrier and showed him. “and a number two candle too so we can light it!”

“oh nice baby.” he calmly smiled, reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulling out his wallet.

you blinked.

“what are you doing?”

he gave you a confused look, opening the folds and taking out a few twenty dollar bills.

“for the cake.”

“what?!” you frantically shook your head. “no i got this for us—”

he scoffed, extending his arm out to you regardless with a pile of bills in hand that was way over the initial cost of the little cake, your jaw running slack.

“oh absolutely not sir i’m not taking that—”

“take it.”

“nope!”

“y/n.”

“nuh uh.”

megumi sighed and retracted his hand. “i’m putting it in your purse—”

“if you put it in my purse i swear to god i’m never letting you see me naked ever again—”

he froze and narrowed his eyes at you, you standing there with a shit eating grin as you tilted your head.

“just get in the car.” he grumbled, slamming his trunk shut and doing the same with yours, you cheering in your head and lighting up over your win as you opened his passenger side door and got in, completely unaware of megumi choosing to take his chances and shove the bills in your purse anyways.

the car ride there was a whopping one hour, seeing as the stargazing hotspot was in the middle of the bustling city where megumi’s apartment was around, your boyfriend making frequent stops at various food places to pick up the food he had ordered for the picnic, and you still fighting with him over the fact that he should let you pay at least half, him just laughing at your huffs and puffs until he simmered you down to a mere grumble with a kiss to your cheek.

“i don’t care how many times i’ve done it there isn’t a limit.” 

megumi backed in reverse once he found a good spot for you both on the hill, looking behind through his rear view window with a hand on the back of your headrest.

“but you have to let me pay sometimes gumi.” you sighed softly. “i feel like im freeloading off of your millions and doing fucking nothing.”

he gave you a bewildered look.

“first of all.” he shifted his gear into park. “you do everything so don’t give me that. second of all—”

he unlocked the car and you both got out, the trunk latching open on its own as you walked over.

“you’re not supposed to pay baby.” he stared at you sincerely, a little crease in between his brows. “ever. i don’t care.”

he unhooked the backseats and pushed them down, the trunk now extending even wider and leaving plenty of space for the two of you to set up your picnic, your shoes off and down below next to the car.

“i just—” you struggled, shaking out the blankets and splaying them out. “i worry that it’ll bother you eventually…”

“it won’t.” he responded firmly, yet still gentle. “did your ex-boyfriend make you feel bad about it? is that why?”

you froze.

“no…”

he looked over his shoulder just as he set a pillow down, dark blue eyes staring you down.

“wow i’m so hungry right now gumi are you—”

“i heard what your best friend said during practice about him.” he set a few more pillows down. “she talks like a linebacker.”

you laughed, grabbing the box of fairy lights you had brought and pulling them out, untangling them by sections.

megumi never really asked too in detail about your ex, just because he knew he’d get bitter and bothered by the thought of it, and the only things he really knew was that he was a moron who said you were a blabbermouth and didn’t treat you right at all, your three and a half year relationship with him in high school one megumi wished he could erase entirely.

but now with the way you squirmed and stared off into space in avoidance over this particular topic… he was curious.

just how bad was he?

“did he pay for your dates or did you.”

you fiddled with a little fairy light bulb.

“well— he did… but then we started splitting it… and then i started paying…”

megumi shook his head, reaching for the grocery bags and taking out the snacks he’d bought.

“why.”

you finished untangling the cord and reached up, looping the lights around through the grab handles of the car.

“i don’t really know…” you mumbled. “but i felt bad because he always did initially pay… so i was just giving back. but then—”

you looped it through the last handle and grabbed the battery box.

“i remember one time he asked me if we could split the bill on our anniversary dinner.”

megumi stopped.

“and then every time he did pay for me he would say side joking comments like— ‘are you gonna pay this time? are you gonna take care of the bill? since i bought you dinner are you gonna buy me this?’ blah blah—”

megumi was looking directly at you at this point, eyebrows furrowed and with slightly parted lips as he slowly set up the food and listened.

“and i don’t mess around when it comes to things like money.” you finished off screwing the battery box after putting a fresh pair in, switching the small lever and the fairly lights twinkling to life. “i appreciated so much every time he did pay so i just felt like i was— i don’t know i just felt guilty. his side comments made me feel a little awkward…”

you scooched over and sat back on your ankles next to megumi, helping him with the groceries.

“i remember one time too for valentine’s day, we had gone out to eat dinner and he paid with his usual side comment… but when we got back to his place i had given him his gift and he hadn’t gotten anything for me at all.”

“huh?” he spoke up. “did he give you flowers at least?”

you shook your head, a little sad look on your face.

“he told me my gift was dinner… which again i did really appreciate that he paid. and he never really got me flowers either unless it was for special occasions like anniversaries… so once a year?”

megumi was in complete and utter disbelief.

how in the ever living fuck were you ever with a guy like that for so long? a girl like you whom he literally worshipped the shit out of the ground you walked on, the thought of you being so incredibly sweet and doting and selfless for some dumb fuck who just took advantage of your kindness again aggravating megumi, him chucking the pastries he bought out of the bags one by one bitterly and you blinking at him.

“what a fucking idiot.”

you giggled, nodding in agreement as you both finished setting up, you crawling and sitting down by the mountain of fluffy pillows as you extended an arm out for him.

“that’s why i just get nervous gumi…” you spoke softly, pulling him to lay down next to you as you looked at the beading stars through his open sun roof, the view and landscape of the sparkling city below insane as megumi slid an am around your shoulders, nudging you to lay on his chest. “i don’t wanna end up bothering you or upsetting you about it and repeating the cycle so—”

“oh god baby no…” he looked at you, squeezing your shoulder. “you realize all of that was because he’s a loser right.”

“yeah to an extent—”

“no not to an extent.” megumi cut you off. “i know for a fact he never did anything for you… and for him to do shit like that on top of it is crazy.”

you slid a slow arm across his torso and held him tighter.

“i do what i do because i love you… and because you deserve it. and because i’m supposed to.”

you smiled big, your heart hammering in your chest as you slung your leg across his lap and straddled him then, megumi’s hands instantly coming to settle on your waist as you gave him a cute wicked look.

“i’m tired of talking about him, but you know what else you’re supposed to do?”

the side of his lip curled.

“what pretty baby.”

“make out with me.”

he laughed, a shiny smile on his face as he reached a hand up and brushed your hair over your shoulder, cupping your face after and bringing you down to his level.

“if you tell me you love me.”

you giggled.

“i love you gumi.”

megumi brought you in then and kissed you, light little smacks and wet lips parting and moving as your noses brushed against each other’s delicately, his thumb running gently over your cheek as you readjusted and leaned in, deepening the kiss and megumi parting his lips wider as a result to drink more of you down.

your hips subconsciously rutted downward, him taking a sharp breath in through his nose as he responded and lifted his crotch up, meeting with yours and grinding sensually with every steamy exchange of your soft plush lips on his, both of his hands quickly going down to grab your smooth thighs and knead them.

megumi suddenly slid a fast hand up your chunky sweater to cup your tit, you squeaking and trying to pull your lips off of his so you could speak, but him only chasing after your mouth and trapping you in.

“wait what if— mmph!—” 

“hm?” 

he forced your hips down again and you both moaned at the stimulation.

“what if someone walks by there’s a— fuck— there’s a few cars not too far—”

“don’t care.”

“gumi!—”

he yanked your bra cup down and your tit spilled out, his head diving in under your sweater and popping your nipple in his mouth, both of your hips still grinding and rocking against each others as you dazedly tried to look around for any passing people.

you tried to pull off and megumi yanked your other bra cup down, jerking you roughly to him as your weight gave out underneath you and you basically fell on him, his face fully submerged and stuffed in your puffy tits that he nearly lost it and came in his pants.

lewd slobbering sounds filled the car as he sucked and laid his tongue flat all over your boobs, your shuttering gasps and whines making his dick rock fucking solid in his pants as he continued to make out with your chest, relishing in the feeling of your panties running up and down his crotch and your pretty little skirt exposing your ass.

“baby i’m flashing the city please—”

“m’gonna stick my dick in.”

“no!” you whined, your clit pulsing with every rut from his hips. “when we get home when we get home please it’ll be so obvious we’re having sex if we do—”

he bit the fat of your tit and you yelped.

“it’s our anniversary.”

“i— i know gumi but there’s people!—”

he groaned and let your tits go with a pop, head falling back on the pillows as he looked at you with a dead look— knowing you were completely and absolutely right but refusing to believe it because he was fucking horny, the only conscious brain cell that he had left telling him to just wait and that he’d actually cum in his pants if he kept going.

a tiny smirk spread across his face.

“thought you texted me that i could take you to pound town in the backseat of my car.” 

you blushed, totally forgetting you did that.

“y—yes but—”

“and that you were gonna send me a picture of your tits.”

“i—”

“you lying to me baby?”

“no!” you sputtered. “no gumi we’re still gonna have sex just not here!”

he laughed loudly and nodded, pinching your cheek as he fixed your bra and pulled your sweater down, sitting up a bit.

“i’m kidding s’okay.” he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “m’taking pictures of you when we get to my apartment though.”

“huh?!” you exclaimed, your face buzzing with embarrassment but need at the same time. “what— what kind—”

he poked your side. 

“naked.”

your jaw dropped.

“legs spread with—”

“okay i get it i get it!—”

you slapped your hands over his mouth and muffled the rest of his sentence, desperate to get him to stop.

“i have your gift i have your gift open your gift!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and licked his slimy tongue on your palms, you snatching your hands away and giggling as you wiped them on his sweater.

“i told you not to get me anything.”

“too bad!” you grinned, pecking his cheek before swinging yourself off of his lap and reaching into the passengers seat. “close your eyes!”

he sighed softly, a small smile on his face as he complied, hearing slight tissue paper rustlings and things moving before he felt you next to him again.

“okay open!”

his long lashes lifted, eyes growing soft at the ginormous basket you made him— his favorite candies and chips neatly propped up inside with a little baseball teddy bear that had ‘cool baseball man’ embroidered across its jersey, a framed silly picture of the two of you from one of the nights you slept over at his place, various volumes of his current favorite manga wrapped in black tissue paper along with a lego race car set, and a separate shoe box next to the basket— a brand new pair of baseball cleats that he had been specifically eyeing and needing to buy, and knowing that it was ridiculously expensive too as his bulging eyes shot up to your giddy ones.

“baby—” his words got caught in his throat, shaking his head. “baby thank you but you didn’t have to get anything seriously—”

“the fuck.” you snorted. “yes i did! do you likeeee?”

you pushed the shoe box towards him.

“did i get the right ones? these are the cleats you’ve been wanting right?”

he nodded dumbly. “y—yeah but they’re expensive i don’t want you spending this much.”

“gumi money is a social construct.” you smiled. “but my love for you isn’t… it’s bible! happy anniversary!”

megumi looked down and slowly took the little grizzly bear out of the basket, everything you gave him absolutely perfect and filled with the things he loved, but the custom bear with the nickname you always called him— the same one he adored ever since you first said it, somehow pulling at his heart strings more than anything else.

“i love you.” he mumbled. “thank you.”

you beamed, leaning over and pecking his lips.

“because you do everything for me gumi.” you spoke. “i can’t thank you enough for the things you do for me… and i love you.”

a cute pink blush rose to his cheeks as his gaze stayed locked on the bear, feeling his throat closing up from how much you were affecting him at the moment.

he sent you a smile.

“can i give you mine?”

you stopped.

“what? i thought the pretty tulips were my gift?”

he snorted, giving you a look.

“no you dummy.” 

he reached under one of the seats, pulling gift bag after gift bag after gift bag from somewhere as he placed them all in a line in front of you, a shocked look on your face as you looked at the amount of tissue paper and packaging that was in your line of sight.

“holy shit.” you flashed him a growing dazzling smile. “are you— for me? actually?”

he nodded.

“guummiii!!” you flung your arms around his neck and pulled him in a tight hug, rubbing your cheek on his head side to side in a silly way before you let go and sat back on your ankles again, him chuckling at your excitement.

“i don’t even—” your eyes darted around. “i don’t even know which one—”

one by one you unraveled each wrapping and tore open each bag, your lap filling up with things that you fucking loved as you tried not to cry between opening each gift— pretty intricate coquette bottled perfumes that you liked to collect everywhere as you knew they were also a pretty penny (so him complaining about his cleats was dumb), cute mary jane pumps and makeup you needed as well as new that you’d been wanting, silver and gold sparkling jewelry that resided in small boxes and wrapped in pretty pink bows, sweaters and cute tops and just fucking everything as you ended up a crying snotting mess at the end of it anyways, him laughing at you.

because each item were things that you needed, things that you knew he couldn’t have possibly known unless he was truly paying attention to the things you were saying and the things you were looking at… this moment proving that he most definitely was.

and a crazy wicked amount too— because some of the items in front of you were even things you had merely mentioned once and done with, accompanied by others that you babbled on about whenever you could.

“gumi we can have sex right now let’s have sex i don’t care—”

he laughed for the millionth time and shot his hands out, literally trying to pull you off of him as you lunged and leaned your entire weight on him, practically fighting him by the end of it as you giggled and tried to get in his pants.

“you’re harassing me.” he mumbled, and you scoffed.

“like you don’t do this to me everyday of my living life— eek!”

megumi bit your cheek and you pushed on his chest to get him away, him not budging as his nibbling travelled down to your neck as you gasped for air laughing at how much that was tickling you, and him knowing that was what usually set you off into a giggle fit, your stomach aching and him dodging your hits and swings, but both of your hearts full from a days worth of complete and utter unconditional love.

and neither of you would have it any other way as you shared the food and pastries you bought, stuffing your faces full of chocolates and mochi specifically as you both had insane sweet tooth’s and weren’t ashamed of it, chatted on about future plans and your excitement for megumi and the upcoming world series, and you elated for the holiday season too that was fast approaching, your little mind already thinking of gifts and plans and decisions because your boyfriend’s birthday was coming up as well.

and you wanted to do everything you possibly could to make it special.

for he made you feel that everyday.

especially now in this moment, the little heart shaped lunchbox cake you bought with ‘happy 2nd anniversary’ in cursive still looking fucking delicious even after you and megumi had just downed an entire pack of brownies, megumi lightning up the number two candle as you pushed it in the cake, and the both of you sweetly pecking lips as you held up the cake in between the two of you and him snapping a picture with his phone— candid and lovely and everything you’d both ever wanted in your lives rightfully yours right then and there.

happiness. love. 

and your hearts were swelling with everything you had built for the past two years, and swelling in anticipation for the hopes and curiosity of what else the two of you would continue to build… something you only hoped would last forever and ever and that you got to count and spend even more anniversaries with megumi from this point forward.

with nothing less, nothing extra, and just like this.

for a million more november’s to come.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @fushigurioo @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @saelov3 @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @stilettoheelz @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire @dee-writes-anime @megumisluciouslashes @peachyaeger @yourstru1y4ever @yoonights @skendos @babylambdietcoke @yunstarz @dinomdubs @kalulakunundrum @s777athv @sugoroo @wastednightsonyou @miri222 @jayawaya @dazailover4ever @courtneedsleep @kcch-ns @halovianembrace @tsukuhoe @kayamor @lupicalbestwolf @therealkurapikakurta @amarahi123 @poisonharlivy @a-sorrowful-tune @amarraaxd @cheeseburgerr69 @sleepiibunniiii

[luffysprincess]

LIE DETECTOR TEST : RENSUKE KUNIGAMI 

⊹ summary : the blue lock boys are invited to take a lie detector test, but they’ve got to answer twitter’s unfiltered questions

⊹ pairing : rensuke kunigami x reader (established relationship)

⊹ wc : 740

⊹ warnings : fem!reader with she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as a “girlfriend”, unedited, suggestive/nsfw. MINORS DNI

⊹ a/n : kunigami was highly requested and I’m sorry for such a long wait but I finally got the motivation to write his part!! lmk who should be interviewed next <33 ALSO if anyone has a reblog of bachira’s version pls send me the link. I never saved it before I deactivated my previous acc TT

⊹ isagi’s version | bachira’s version

Kunigami’s never been hooked up to a polygraph before. He’s never been in an interview like this before either. When the team’s PR manager introduced the idea to the team, Kunigami was rather excited for something so fun and unique. It’d definitely get them more attention and hopefully expand their fan base. Not to mention, he used to love watching those ‘answering your tweets’ interviews so he was looking forward to being on the other end of the screen this time. 

He, however, did not expect the fans to be so dirty minded. 

“Twitter user @/rensuckmyclit asks ‘How do you feel about breeding and how do I get myself a rensuke creampie??’”

He shouldn’t be so surprised, not after hearing what Isagi and Bachira had to answer but he was hoping he’d get some tame questions. How in the hell was he supposed to answer this?

It didn’t help that he could hear the two men beside him laughing at his expression, one of shock, confusion and embarrassment. But he’s made his bed and now he’s gotta lie in it or however the saying goes. 

“Yeah breeding is…nice, and uh you can’t?” his statement coming out as more of a question. 

All heads in the room turn to Milo, the polygraph examiner, curious to hear his verdict but are met with an old man frowning at his machine. “Inconclusive.”

“Maybe try saying more than just two words, idiot,” Isagi sarcastically adds as he punches his arm. 

“Don’t bother lying, Milo’ill catch ya,” Bachira adds, grinning mischievously at the ginger. 

“I’ll repeat the question for you: ‘How do you feel about breeding and how do I get myself a rensuke creampie??’”

“How are you even saying that with a straight face?!” Kunigami questions. “Ugh nevermind.…Breeding is uh…a yes for me.”

“So you’re into it?”

“Yes I’m into it,” he sighs.

“Milo?”

“Truth”

“And as for the second part of the question—god I can’t believe I’m about to say this on camera—,” Kunigami drags his hand down his face and mutters out the rest of the answer, “only Y/N gets a ‘rensuke creampie’.” He uses his free hand to form air quotes for the embarrassing term. 

“Y/N?” the interviewer questions.

“My girlfriend. Now can I get the next question before these two pass out? Megs looks like he forgot how to breathe– dammit its not that funny!” Hearing their usually collected teammate lose his temper over this only released another wave of cackles from the boys, contagious enough that even the polygraph examiner and the interviewer couldn’t hold back their chuckles. Kunigami can only huff in embarrassment as he waits for what’s next.

“Okay, okay… our next question is from twitter user @/kunigamisrightasscheekhairs.”

“What the fuck are these handles?”

“I think they’re creative,” Bachira snickers.

“They ask ‘What’s the weirdest thing you’ve been asked to sign?’”

Kunigami takes a second to reflect on all his fan interactions. Frowning, he hums in thought and just when he thinks he’s got answer he remembers an even odder instance. On the outside he looks like a fish opening and closing its mouth with nothing ever coming out until finally he sits up straighter to respond, “Someone once asked me to sign her tits.” 

“What’s the verdict Milo? Is he telling the truth?”

“Yup.”

“Well did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Sign the girl’s tits.”

“I don’t need to answer that so I won’t” Kunigami smirks at Isagi feeling smart but the blue eyed man just smirks back, “Well that just makes it seem like you definitely did. I wonder if Y/N knows about this. Should I tell her?”

Isagi is met with Kunigami’s playful glare and a series of curses thrown at him, all of which will be censored out when this episode is posted on BlueTube. 

However, the room is silenced when Kunigami goes serious. He turns to the camera with a straight face, “I’m only admitting this because I don’t want any false accusations of me cheating or anything going around. Yes I signed her tits. And yes Y/N knows about it. They were her tits. And because I know one of these two idiots will ask, yes we were dating at the time.”

“All true,” the examiner confirms but one look at Kunigami’s face would be more than enough to know if he was really telling the truth. Afterall, his face was turning redder than his hair. 

taglist:  @kazuubaby @satanblessing @saiki-enthusiast @nnasv @nymphsdomain @mitzukichan18 @celestair @ilovechuuyaa @mortallytenaciouskoala @tsumu-senpai @hweartiish

[strang3lov3]

My Treat

Roman has a very special present to give you on your birthday, whether you want it or not.

Tags - dddne, noncon, face fucking, fingering, unprotected piv, rough sex, creampie, overstim, forced orgasms, degradation, mocking, intox kink (drunk reader/sober Roman), dacryphilia, manipulation, coercion, victim blaming, whooo boy. Roman’s gonna have some tender moments, but don’t be fooled. He’s a fuck and a half. Maybe even dark!roman? Excessive use of the nickname ‘birthday girl’ and too many dick in a box references. 4.4k words A/N - HAPPY BIRTHDAY @cum-a-calla !!!! You know much I love you and your work. Meeting you has been a highlight of my 2024!! I love you and I hope this nasty Roman scratches alllllll the itches. It had a tentative start but I’m really pleased with how this turned out 🩷 i tagged my usual roman readers but no pressure to read if noncon is not your thing, i will see you next time! @endlessthxxghts, you know what you did. thank you for your eyeballs and for holding my hand through it♡

9:27 and Roman’s still not yet graced his office with his less than illustrious presence. Not that you really mind, as his lateness gives you time to get work done without his hovering, his mocking comments and juvenile jokes at your expense, his nitpicking. With your morning work completed, you rest on his uninviting, scratchy office couch and inspect your manicure, freshly done for the occasion. 

Then, the doorknob rattles, jerking you from your peace and in comes Roman all self-assured and weirdly confident, his pelvis leading his awkwardly long strides. He spots you immediately, smiles with crinkling eyes and those little dimples appearing on his cheeks. He’s got a bubblegum pink pastry box in one hand and a cardboard drink carrier with coffee cups balanced neatly on top of it.“Hey, hey, birthday girl!”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “I didn’t tell you it was my birthday.”

Roman smirks mischievously, that infuriatingly smug tilt to his lips. “I have my sources,” he replies cooly, setting down the items on his desk. With flourish, Roman opens the pastry box and pulls one of the drinks out of the carrier, the one drowning in chocolate swirls and topped with more whipped cream than there is coffee in the beverage. “For you.” He holds the drink out for you to take. “I believe this is your Frankenstein coffee-shake-thing.” 

“You know my order?”

Roman scoffs and rolls his eyes for maximum effect. “Yeah, I know your order. Cookies and cake and ice cream all blended up with just enough coffee to pretend you’re a big girl. It’s just fuckin’ liquefied dessert, am I right?”

You take the drink from him and take a sip, humming at the sweetness as it hits your tongue. “Close enough,” you joke, and Roman pumps his arm in excitement, the satisfaction in his eyes. Digging through the trash days ago to copy the scribbled order on your old, empty cup was disgusting, sure. But worth it to see that pretty smile of yours. 

Roman beckons you to his desk with a curl of his finger. Excitedly, you make your way over and inspect the box of pastries he’s brought. Four oversized cupcakes, absolutely dripping in frosting. They’re from that bakery you’re obsessed with—the one you’ve maybe mentioned in passing once, because Roman really doesn’t do thoughtful. Or so you thought. It was obnoxiously out of his way, of course, but you deserve it. 

“Uhhh…” Roman points to the cupcakes, “That’s carrot cake, and then chocolate, obviously. Strawberry shortcake and birthday cake. But I call dibs on the birthday cake.”

“But it’s my birthday.” 

“Do you think I give a shit? I mean, I do. A little. Got you a present and everything.”

You perk up at that, eyes widening as you reach for the chocolate cupcake. “Yeah?” you ask, “What is it?”

“My dick in a box. What else would I get you?” he grins shamelessly. 

Roman watches you laugh as you suck a bit of frosting off of your fingertip. His cock twitches in his pants and he bites down on his lip, eyeing you up and down. He reaches into the pink box for his birthday cake cupcake and takes a bite. “Mm. Fucking delicious,” he mumbles, mouth full. “So what’s the plan, huh? How’s the birthday girl living it up tonight?”

“Uhm,” you hum, pulling back a little bit of the cupcake’s wrapper to take another bite. “The usual. Working for you, then going home.”

“Seriously?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

“That’s your plan,” he deadpans.

“Yeah,” you say again, shrugging.

Roman shakes his head, disbelief painted all over his face. “No. You’re celebrating. Properly,” he adds with a pointed look, as if daring you to argue with him. Which, of course, you do. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, Roman. What’s there to even celebrate? Do birthdays even matter past turning 21?”

“Yeah, of course they do. And what’s there to celebrate?” Roman parrots your question, pausing to eat another bite of his cupcake. “Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you’re alive,” he answers, smirking as you roll your eyes. “And hot,” he adds. 

You press your lips to hide your smile. “Yeah, see? You know I’m right. So here’s the deal: you, my dear, are going out tonight and you’re getting shitfaced.” 

“Rome-”

“Non-negotiable,” he winks, and it sends a flutter through your stomach. His charm convinces you, almost. Almost. 

“Mmmmaybe,” you hum, tilting your head. “With who, though?”

“With this handsome devil, obviously,” Roman says, pointing to his face and swirling his finger around in a circle. “What other sucker likes you enough to take you out on a pity-date for your birthday?”

“Wow. Gee, thanks, Roman. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Well, you know. It’s my specialty,” Roman says, reaching for your face. 

Your eyes widen as his hand makes contact, thumb swiping across the corner of your lips to collect a bit of chocolate frosting. “What–”

Roman smiles at you and sucks his finger, “It’s my treat,” he tells you, voice dropping a notch, mischief written all over his stupid grin. How flustered and bashful you are. Too fucking easy. 

The sun dips below the horizon, painting Roman’s office in warm shades of pink and orange as he closes down the tabs on his computer. Not that he was really doing anything, anyway. Just Connections and Wordle, and he sucks at both, but still plays them religiously. He’s gotta learn to beat you somehow and unfortunately, he can’t cheat very well at those games. Roman sighs loudly and dramatically, running his fingers through his hair before he stands up and stretches like he’s done real work. “C’mon, birthday girl. Off we go.” 

You glance up from your phone, startled. “Wait, now? I need to go home and change. I’m not wearing, like, going-out clothes.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Roman groans, throwing his head back. “You’re hot. You’re always hot,” he says, slipping into his jacket. He grabs yours off the coat hanger and holds it open, motioning for you to come over and slide your arms into the sleeves. Roman takes your purse and continues, “So hot, in fact, that I’m gonna give you my dick in a box for your birthday.” 

“Creep.” You zip up your jacket and turn around, snatching your bag back from Roman. “Stop making that joke. You’re a walking lawsuit.” 

“Mm, thanks, but it’s not a joke,” he mutters, straightening out the front of your jacket. “I’m as serious as a heart attack. I put a bow on it and everything.”

“Sure, Roman.” 

Roman holds the door open for you, mumbles “Ladies first,” and hits the lights on his way out. He follows you to the elevator and takes it to the garage level where a black car waits for you, vapor spilling from its exhaust. Roman plays the gentleman act well, swinging the car’s back door open for you, too. He gives his driver the name of some bar he thinks you’d like, and you’re on your way. It’s not a long drive, but he pours you a glass of champagne anyway. 

“Roman-”

“You gotta get wasted. Don’t fight the birthday rules. And,” he adds, pouring himself a glass, “This is the good shit, too.” 

Cautiously, you take a sip of your champagne. Before you can even put your glass down, Roman’s topping it off.

“See? Fancy bubbles.”

“Mhm.” 

By the time you reach the bar, you’re already buzzed. Warm, giggly. Just how Roman wants you, and he’s eating it up. He ushers you inside and straight to a private corner booth, then orders you appetizers of all varieties. The food keeps coming, and so do the drinks - Roman never lets you have an empty glass and keeps your attention entirely on him.

And then, it happens - the moment he’s been working towards all night. His hand lands on your thigh under the table, and it rests there with a casual confidence. And you don’t move it, either. Your inhibitions are lowered enough to the point that there’s no polite brush off, no shy smile as you timidly wrap your fingers around his wrist to kindly shove him away. You don’t even flinch. Fuck, do you even notice?

He lets you talk his ear off. Whether he knows what you’re talking about or not, he’s nodding along, pretending to listen intently to you. Throwing in the occasional hum of interest to really sell it. And you’re smiling, cheeks are warm as you slur your words, telling him all about this and that and the other as you launch into another tangent. Something about your neighbor or your fucking cat or whatever. Roman doesn’t give a shit. He snaps his fingers at the server and points to your drink.

You take a sip from your glass, then lazily toy with the melting ice in your glass with your stirrer. “Well,” you announce, a little hiccup breaking your sentence, “I think I’m wasted.” 

“Are you, now?” Roman’s grin stretches wide. 

“Pretty sure.” 

Roman smiles and claps his hands together once. “Well, there we go. My work here is done, birthday girl. Thanks for humoring the boss. You’re a real, you know - team player, or whatever the fuck HR would call it. A good sport.”

You laugh at him, and Roman’s already sliding out of the booth and waving down the check. “Shall I take you home?” 

“I haven’t-” you hiccup again, “Haven’t finished my drink.” 

Roman waves dismissively. “Meh. Take it with, who gives a shit. Call it your fuckin’ party favor.” 

Giggling excitedly, you slide out of the booth and Roman wraps your jacket around your shoulders, his hands warm against your flesh. You stumble a bit when you begin walking, like the floor is crooked or something, sloshing your drink onto him. “Shit, m’sorry, Rome.” Those first drunk steps always hit you hard.  

“You’re fine. I got you.” Roman wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes you tight, tapping his fingers against your back in a way that’s equal parts soothing and impatient. Just like before, he helps you into the car, hands steadying your wobbling frame. 

The ride is a blur. As the vehicle moves, the motion relaxes you, lulls you into a haze. You’re resting against his shoulder, which is your own doing. He didn’t have to wrap an arm around you and tuck you into his side or anything. 

Your breathing slows, and your eyes are fluttering shut. Roman notices immediately. Awake. Roman needs you awake. “Hey,” he mutters, patting your cheek lightly to jolt you into semi-alertness. “Eyes open. You’re not clocking out on me yet, need to finish that drink, yeah?”

“M’dunno,” you mumble. “Kinda-”

Roman takes the drink out of your hand and brings it to your lips, encouraging you to drink the rest. “Yeah, no. You do know. Drink up,” he tells you, tone flat. “Waste not, want not.” 

You take a few more sips, not counting them, though Roman sure as hell is. He makes sure you drink it all, every last drop. He needs you completely intoxicated. Absolutely fucked. 

The car pulls up to the building, and Roman’s out before the driver can even shift into park. He’s got a hand on your arm, moving you forward. The world tilts again, but he’s there, patiently guiding you to the elevator. Your eyelids are fighting a losing battle by the time you’ve reached the top floor, and Roman guides you inside and turns on the light. 

“Wait- wait a second,” you mumble, eyes adjusting to the light as you take in your surroundings.

Roman gives you a look and raises an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“This isn’t my home.” 

“Yeah, no shit. You’re in my home,” he replies. Roman watches the gears turn, your brows are knit together and you wear a pout as that first little bit of uneasiness sets in. “Doesn’t really matter though, does it? You’re at a home, y’know. Still a roof over your head. I can’t just leave your drunk ass alone somewhere.”

“I guess,” you mumble, blinking slowly. “Can I uh, can I have some water?”

“You’re not thirsty,” Roman cuts in, voice clipped. “You’re just tired. C’mon, let’s get you into bed, yeah? Bedtime for the birthday girl. She partied too hard.”

Roman takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom, his grip more steering than guiding. Everything’s still spinning in dizzying circles, but there’s an added layer of…of something. You can’t name it yet, but it’s there. That strange feeling in your gut, the itch in your chest. You’re nervous. Why do you feel nervous? 

Roman locks the door behind himself and sits you down on the edge of his neatly made king-sized bed that smells like laundry detergent and himself, then kneels in front of you to pull off your shoes one at a time. The casualness of it all, the intimacy of his fingers brushing against your skin. It makes your skin prickle. Roman stands up again to undress you, unbuttoning your blouse and tugging on the zipper at the side of your pencil skirt. “Get this off next,” he mumbles, pulling it down.

“Roman…”

He cuts you off with a dismissive shh as the fingers of one hand work the buttons undone on his shirt, then shrugs it off his shoulders and leaves it crumpled on the ground.

“Rome, stop- what is this? What are you doing?” The quiver in your voice and the slur to your words betrays you. You tried to sound firm.

“Giving you your last gift,” he says casually, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Duh. It’s my dick in a box, remember? I man-scaped for you and everything.”

He’s not being serious, right? There’s no way. “Pretty small package,” you joke, trying to ease some of the tension you feel. It doesn’t do much.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, and his eyes are dark. “Good things come in small packages, so fuck you.” 

You’re not sure how to respond. “Right,” is all you murmur. You manage to crack half a smile, laughing without much humor. “I guess I just - fuck, I really want that water, Roman,” you complain, pressing your hand against your forehead. You feel lightheaded, fuck. 

Roman doesn’t flinch or show any of that manufactured tenderness from earlier. “Yeah, I know. Everything, everything, everything. You’ll get it when you get it, okay? Relax.”

You groan quietly, rocking on the bed. “I guess I just don’t get the joke,” you say, changing the subject. “Like, how is your dick supposed to be a present for me?”

Roman scoffs. “How isn’t it?” he says. “It’s thoughtful. Wrapped nicely and everything. It’s all about the presentation, you know?”

“Umm…sure.”

As a silence hangs, you gather your strength and concentration to get up - you need water. Advil. Coffee. You’re ready to be done being drunk, ready to feel in control of yourself again. Roman’s drunk, too - has to be, even if he doesn’t totally seem it. He’s not slurring his words, his eyes aren’t droopy or red, he’s…unnervingly him. You hope to god he won’t remember this. You hope you won’t, either. You try to stand up, but Roman sits you back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“W-”

“Water, I know,” he snaps.  He tilts his head back and groans as he rubs his bulge, cock hardening beneath his touch. Your mouth drops open as he sucks in his belly and reaches for the button of his slacks, then unzips them. “So I lied, birthday girl. It’s not in a box, but-”

“Stop. This isn’t a funny joke. I don’t want this, Roman.”

“It’s a gift.”  

“But I don’t want-” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t - don’t fuckin’ be like that,” he snaps, sliding his pants down his legs until he’s clad in only his navy boxer briefs. “What do you say when I do something nice for you, huh? What do you say?”

“St-”

“Wrong. You say thank you. Say ‘thank you, Roman’.” 

Roman waits with both of his brows raised, but you never thank him. And something changes then. He’s always had an ugly streak, but this is different. There’s something sinister, almost, like a mask has slipped, exposing something awful that’s been festering beneath the surface. The crumbled facade. Your heart pounds so hard in your chest that you feel it in your throat. 

“You’re being kinda rude,” Roman says with a wave of his hands. “Like, really rude, actually. This whole night, I did it all for you.”

“And I can appreciate that, Roman, I do appreciate that. But I said-”

Roman crushes his palm against your lips, not allowing you to complete that sentence. “I have ears,” he bites, reaching under his briefs to pull out his cock, now at full mast. He moves the hand that’s on your lips to your shoulder and forces you down so that you’re kneeling on the floor, pinned between his body and his bed. Nowhere to run. 

He’s quick in how he does it, or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s fucked up how you process reality. Roman shoves his cock past your lips, harshly hitting the back of your throat so that you gag and choke. Tears blur your vision, though you can’t distinguish whether it’s from the pain or the rising fear. You reach for Roman’s torso and hit him as hard as you can, but he doesn’t stumble. Instead, he simply pouts at you. He takes both of your wrists in his hand and begins rocking his hips. 

“Oh, perfect - the fucking waterworks,” Roman mutters, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as his thumb brushes away the tears streaking down your face. He tilts his head, studying you with that sharp, calculating gaze, like he’s cataloging every tremble and shudder, filing it away for later. “Always so dramatic, aren’t you, sweetheart? I have to give credit where credit’s due, though. Oscar-worthy performance. Truly.”

Roman pauses, his smirk tightening, the false gentleness in his touch a sharp contrast to his words. “You know,” he adds, voice low and biting, “maybe if you’d been a little less… I don’t know, yourself - kinder, sweeter, less of a goddamn buzzkill - I wouldn’t make you choke on it. Just a thought.”

Roman’s cock tastes salty, slightly sweaty, and you’re disgusted that you kind of like it. The smell of him, too, that musky and heady sort of scent. Still holding your hands above your head, Roman squeezes your wrists hard enough so that your bones grind against each other. There’s a pinching, aching pain between your shoulders as Roman fucks into your mouth, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat with each thrust.

You’re growing aroused despite yourself. You can feel yourself dripping into your panties, the dampness making you feel sick. Roman slides in and out of your mouth with abandon, zero regard for your comfort.   

He draws out of your mouth entirely, biting his lip as he admires the sticky, shiny mess of your saliva and tears on his cock. You attempt to pull away, but with a tug of his hand, Roman holds you exactly where he wants you. “I don’t think so, birthday girl. Where the fuck do you think you’re off to?”

Roman thrusts into your mouth harshly once more. There’s no gentleness to it at all, just raw fucking ferocity. He ruts into your mouth so fiercely, turning you into a drooling, crying, choking mess. The tears rolling down your cheeks - god, he loves them. It fills him with a unique sort of confidence. Power. 

“Cry all you want,” he taunts. Your lips are sore with the repeated motion of his cock drawing back and forth between your lips, jaw throbbing, nose rubbed raw from the coarse thatch of his trimmed pubic hair. Roman continues to roll his hips, relishing in your warm, wet mouth and the way your sobbing makes your throat tighten around him. With your forehead bouncing against his stomach, you squirm and whine in discomfort as he uses you. The brutality. You’re at your breaking point when finally, finally you feel Roman begin to twitch and pulse in your mouth, and you brace yourself for his release.  

Instead, he pulls out. 

That’s it? Is that it? Is it over? You think it’s over. Maybe - god willing - he had a change of heart. 

“Th-thank you, Roman,” you whisper, voice wobbling. That’s what he wanted, right? A thank you?

“Oh, now you remember your manners,” Roman mocks. “How convenient. Too fucking late, birthday girl, ‘cause now this is really my treat.”

Roman forces you to your feet and pushes you onto your back, then climbs over you. He pins your arms above your head in one hand and with the other, reaches between your thighs and pulls your panties to the side. His fingers glide through the pool of arousal at your core, effortlessly slipping through your folds. 

“Please get off of me,” you whimper. “Stop.” 

“Why would I stop? You’re fucking soaked,” he says. “And I bet when I do this-” Roman purrs, pushing his ring and middle fingers into your slick cunt, “-you’ll get wetter. Won’t you?” 

He curls his fingers repeatedly, expertly stroking that sensitive spot inside you. The pleasure makes you cry harder. God, you just want it to be over. If you weren’t so drunk you could probably get out from under him. But your limbs are heavy and uncoordinated, your head is spinning. If you managed to leave, he’d drag you right back to his bed. 

“Shh, do you fucking hear that? Listen to yourself.” Roman covers your mouth to quiet your cries, and you hiccup beneath his palm. He goes quiet too, the only sounds in the room being his heavy breathing and the wet, sticky noises your pussy makes as he fucks you with his fingers. “Sounds to me like you fucking want this.” 

With his hand still on your mouth, Roman uses the other to stroke his cock. Your panties are still tugged to the side when he enters you, one brutal, violent thrust that has him groaning and you wincing in pain. 

Roman lowers his head and bites into your shoulder as he fucks you, rolling his hips over and over into you. You wish it didn’t feel as good as it does. You wish you weren’t so wet, so complicit. That’s what you are, aren’t you? Complicit in this?

“Give me your fucking hand,” Roman pants, taking one of your hands and wedging it between your two bodies. “Goes right here,” he mumbles, pressing your fingertips against your clit. “The quicker you come, the quicker it’s over,” he whispers. 

You nod under his hand, closing your eyes as your fingers circle your clit. If you pretend that Roman’s not here - or, even if he is - that it’s not happening like this, you can do it. As you rub yourself, you do your best to detach from everything going on. It’s just Roman on top of you, Roman inside of you. A body on a body, a body part in a body part. Nothing else. That pleasure deep in your gut is just pleasure, a sensation and nothing more. Dreading your release, you moan under Roman’s palm to coax release along and there it is - your orgasm. 

How deliciously you pulse around Roman’s cock. How needy your moans are, and what’s that you’re doing with your legs, wrapping them tightly around his waist? Roman grins and licks your neck. “Yeah, that’s on you, isn’t it?” he taunts. “Whose fault is that?”

“M-mine,” you cry. 

“That’s right,” he says, kissing your neck. “Now do it again. C’mon, birthday girl, give me another.” You cry harder, shaking your head no. “Come on! It’s your special day. Treat yourself and come for me one more time.” 

“I can’t,” you sob, voice muffled by Roman’s hand over your mouth. He gives you a look. If you do as he asks, it’ll all work out better for you. He knows it and you know it. 

“God, you’re a mess. Your fuckin’ snot’s all over my hand,” he spits, wiping his hand on your torso, then builds the pace again. “One more,” he reminds you, kissing your tear-soaked cheek. “Fuck, you take it so well, honey. Like you’re made for this.” 

Roman repeats his words and a variety of other praises, insults, and swears as he fucks you deeply. He’s got you pressed in half, your knees on either side of your chest as your hips ache in the position. The angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh how he knows what it does to you. Poor fucking thing. Tired, sore, drunk, overstimulated. Partied too hard. 

You don’t even have to rub your clit - the way Roman’s got himself angled has his body doing all the work, pubic bone adding the necessary pressure against your clit to make you come. You can’t quite identify your orgasm as it begins to build; no definitive start, but when it’s there, it ruins you. Washes over your body in waves, devastating you. Your climax coaxes Roman’s own, though you hardly register his pulsing cock as he spurts thick ropes of his spend inside you. 

Roman pulls out of you then, leaving you with an empty feeling as his come seeps from your cunt. He leaves the room and the tears have stopped, but an occasional sob wracks your body every few seconds. He returns to you with a big glass of water, ice and straw and everything. Your trembling hands can’t hold it so Roman does instead, guiding the straw to your lips. 

If you enjoyed, please lmk! Hop in my inbox or reblog with some kind thoughts 🩷 it means the world to me.

roman tags <3

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @/ziggymars

[ithebookhoarder]

If your still taking requests could u pls do “if you were taken by an unsub” criminal minds imagin? Or smth along those lines, if not that’s fine tho

~ ☘️

(BAU Headcanons) If you were taken by an Unsub

A/N: Um, of course you can?! Thanks for sending this one in angel 😇 I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to answer this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Usual Criminal Minds references to criminals, murder, violence etc. Mentions of mental health. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

If you were taken? This man would not rest until you were back and safe with him - and not just because of what happened to Haley (though it doesn’t help). 

He would bark orders at everyone in a cold and blunt manner that tells them he is not in the mood to be messed with.

They will do as they are told and they will do it now. 

This poor man would be fighting not to let his fear show but he'd be seen clenching his fists over and over and taking long deep breaths in front of the mirror in the bathroom in an attempt to ground himself and get his head on straight. 

He's no good to you if he lets himself fall apart. His team - and more importantly, you - are counting on him.

You know he’s blaming himself and you’re both going to need therapy once this whole experience is over with. 

He would go into his hyper-rational mode, focusing on making plans and ignoring anything that isn’t getting you back safe and sound - which means no sleep. None. He’s running on fumes and caffeine - even after you’re found. 

It would take days for him to feel secure enough to close his eyes and be able to trust you’ll still be there when he opens them again. 

Also you best believe he is breaking out his old law text books and ensuring this UnSub goes down for a lonnnnnng time… if they even make it to trial that is. This man is a trained sniper and knows other trained snipers… just saying… 

David Rossi 

He may like to remind you all of his passionate Italian nature from time to time but it’s impossible to miss when he hears what’s happened to you. He’s an emotional mess, staggering between horror and rage to a frighteningly cold determination that is rare for the eldest team member.  

He’d try to act in control, pulling rank on everyone - including Hotch, which obviously doesn’t work. 

“No offence, Aaron, but I was chasing down Unsubs when you were still in diapers. I know what I’m doing.”

However, they know him well enough to see that despite having years of experience under his belt, Rossi is terrified of making some kind of mistake. 

Once they do find you, he’d be one of the first through the door, too concerned with checking you’re ok to worry about anything else. 

He’d also be sure to pay for the best medical care money could buy, if you needed it following the ordeal.

He also knows people and has no problem paying for you to see a counsellor of some sort if the situation required it. He just wants to take care of you now that you’re back in his arms again. 

Derek Morgan

This man is like a whole military unit in himself at the best of times, but he’s a whole other level of lethal when it comes to protecting the ones he loves. You do NOT want to be on the wrong side of Morgan, and that’s exactly where the Unsub who took you would sit. 

There isn’t a door he wouldn’t be willing to kick down to get you - and everybody knows better than to say a word about it. (Hotch is already mentally filling out all the paperwork he’s going to need once this rescue is done, but he doesn’t exactly mind, given the situation).

Also, Morgan may have trained you himself, drilling you in self-defence and marksmanship so you’d known how to protect yourself out there in the field, but none of that matters now. You may have the Unsub at your mercy already, or you may be at theirs, but he doesn’t know and that’s what’s killing him: the not knowing. 

It’s why Penelope is basically glued to his side the whole entire time, telling him everything she finds out the very second she finds it.  

“We’ll find them sugar, I promise. They’re just as tough and strong as you are, so don’t give up on them, ok?”

He’d be leading the pack once you are found though, tearing through anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he cares about is seeing you with his own eyes and getting you as far away from danger as possible. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed you.”

He’d be beating himself up for weeks after and it would take an entire team intervention to get him to let you go back out into the field again without him being glued to your side. After all, he’s not making the same mistake twice. Any Unsub wants that wants to get close to you will have to get past him first. 

Emily Prentiss

This woman is a super spy and a lethal weapon on an average day but if you were taken? Then she would be the most dangerous woman in the entire United States. 

She knows people in every agency and on every continent so you best believe she will be calling in favours left, right and centre. (Even Rossi is terrified by how quickly she was able to get the Pentagon on the phone…)

She would also be action-focused, needing to do something rather than sitting around wasting time. Every minute spent talking was one more minute the Unsub had to hurt you - and that thought makes her feel physically sick. 

This would end up causing her to explode, taking it out on whichever unfortunate soul is closest. Like, you know she would definitely have to be reminded by Hotch that they actually need the local law enforcement to work with them, if they want to get you back alive, after she is seen screaming at an unfortunate officer for their ‘utter stupidity’. 

Thankfully, she gets to turn that rage on the Unsub after they find you. I mean, let’s be real. It would take Morgan physically holding her back to stop her from beating their face in. 

This frustration would ultimately then be transferred to you, once she knows you’re safe. 

You almost can quote her ‘You almost died’ speech by this point, but you know it makes you both feel better to hear it so you let her rant and rant until she’s calm enough to crawl into your arms and squeeze you close. 

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.” 

You’re also pretty sure she now has people following you at all times, watching over you when she can’t, so that this never happens again. 

JJ

JJ is every bit as lethal as Emily is when those she loves are at risk. If anything, she’s more terrifying because she’ll hide that murderous rage behind a ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ smile before deciding to strike. 

However, it would take everything in her not to just charge in and go on the offensive. After all, she was willing to run into a bank full of armed robbers after Will. 

It would probably end up with the team having to physically holding her back to stop her - usually accompanied by a well meaning pep talk about how she needs to get her head on straight if she actually wants to help get you back. 

You know this woman would follow you everywhere afterwards, never letting you out of her sight. In fact, she hits ‘super Mom mode’ where she is constantly fussing over you and seems to have the world in her go-bag. 

You need tissues, pain-killers, chocolate: she got it.

“Hey, it’s ok. You know I’ve got your back, right? I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She would also call you out on all your BS, if you tried to downplay what happened to you or if you were still affected. 

One twitch of her eyebrow is all it takes for her to have you pinned to your chair and spilling your guts about your emotions. You know better than to make her ask twice. After all, she may be the first to downplay it when she’s hurting but when it comes to her team and her family, she’d do anything to take care of you. If that’s driving your ass to therapy or just holding you, she’ll do it without complaint.

Penelope Garcia 

Would immediately panic as soon as she hears what’s happened to you. Like, we’re talking SO much panic.

Poor girl is spiralling and needs the team to help ground her so she can get back to the lair and do her thing. It would probably be down to Morgan or like JJ to get her to actually remember to breathe and not make herself pass out. 

But once she’s up and running? Well, she’d be all over the Unsub like a bad rash. Every teeny tiny detail of their life is suddenly unearthed and splashed on the 

board for everyone to see. (No one dares ask how she found certain items, but knowing her history with the dark web it’s probably for the best). 

Also, she would be begging for constant updates once the team is out in the field.  Any other day, it would drive the team insane to have a constant running Penelope monologue in their ears, but they’re surprisingly tolerant in this case. 

“Guys, do you see them? Are they ok? What’s going on? I need to know people! I have no eyes here!” 

Would be all over you once you’re safe and insists on installing tracking software on everything. She wants a digital link to you, 24/7 so that this NEVER happens again. It’s simultaneously flattering and slightly terrifying how much power this angel has at the end of her glittery, manicured fingers. 

Dr Spencer Reid

Depending on which season-Reid you’re with when you’re taken, you would have a distraught super genius who makes it his life’s mission to get you back. Or, you’d have a prison-hardened super genius with a slightly grey-er view of the world on a mission to find you. 

Either way, there’s probably no one you’d want more to be in charge of locating and rescuing you. 

Like Hotch, I feel he would become obsessed with nothing other than finding you. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. Hell, no one on the team has even seen him leave the briefing room long enough to go pee, let alone take a break. This results in the team all taking it in turns to be parental figures and coax (and eventually threaten) him into pausing long enough to down a glass of water and eat some snack bar. 

Between Morgan’s physical threats, JJ’s guilt-trips, and Hotch threatening to bench him from this case, they’d eventually succeed. 

“You guys don’t get it. They need me. I have to figure this out - they’re counting on me. I can’t fail them. I won’t. So either help me or get out of here and let me think.”

We all know he would probably harass any medical professionals charged with caring for you, once you’re back. He doesn’t trust them - especially when it comes to your welfare. 

He’d also confine you to the couch and force you to rest, queueing up endless re-runs of Doctor Who and whatever shows you find most comforting to have playing in the background. It’s selfishly what he needs too, being able to sit and hold you long enough to quell any fears he may have about you and your wellbeing. You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe. 

Masterlist

[kikyoupdates]

Infatuated ⭑˚💌⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

yandere!bnha x reader

yandere, reverse harem, bnha x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Your Quirk is rather unique. It plays out almost like a game, giving you missions and goals that help you become stronger. On top of that, you also have the ability to charm those around you. It sounds innocent enough on paper, and you can’t help but revel in the attention everyone keeps showering you with. But what happens when their feelings give way to something more sinister?

story masterlist | next

“Alright, keep marching straight ahead! The Bakugou Adventure Team is nearing its destination!”

Leading the charge is none other than Katsuki, the most fearless and headstrong kid in the neighborhood. He's never shy about saying whatever what's on his mind, and that, coupled with his natural take-charge attitude, makes countless other kids gravitate towards him. 

One of those kids, of course, is you.

It hasn't been long since you’ve moved into the neighborhood, but Katsuki has such a strong presence that you found out about him and his crew almost immediately. They get up to all sorts of fun stuff, and being new to this part of the city, you have to admit that it feels nice to have made friends so quickly.

At first, Katsuki was a bit resistant to you joining his circle. He insisted that there was a strict no girl policy, but it didn't take very long for him to give in. Since then, you’ve gotten into the habit of hanging out with him and the rest of his friends pretty much constantly.

Right now, you are all trudging through the forest, on a very important quest to retrieve a powerful weapon.

“It’s close,” Katsuki says, grinning ear-to-ear. “I can feel that the sword is hidden somewhere nearby. But we have to be careful! There are probably enemies waiting to ambush us. I hope you’re all ready to put up a fight.”

Katsuki’s closest friend, and also his most devoted follower, is a freckled boy named Izuku, who nods vigorously in agreement.

“W-We’re ready!” Izuku insists, voice trembling a bit. “We’ve got Kacchan on our side, after all. There’s no way we can lose. You think so too... right, [Name]?”

Now it's your turn to respond with a vigorous nod.

“If anyone dares to mess with us, we’ll kick all their butts!” you proudly exclaim, punching your little fist in the air.

“That’s right,” Katsuki beams back. “Don’t do anything crazy, though. You’re not as strong as I am, so if it comes down to it, I’ll protect you.”

You can't help but blush. “Alright. Thank you, Katsuki.”

Onwards you march, clearing more and more of the forest. Most four-year-olds probably wouldn’t feel so comfortable in such a place, but Katsuki has made it clear that nothing scares him. Even mysterious areas hidden by countless trees and bushes hardly even faze him.

True to his word, Katsuki eventually lets out a gasp. “There it is!” he cries out, pointing towards the ground ahead. “The sword is right there!”

Since you are only children, your imaginations play a big role in making this quest seem a lot more grandiose than it actually is. In truth, the “sword” is really just a massive stick, but being out here without any parental supervision has already gotten to your heads and makes you all feel as though you are brave, valiant adventurers. Thus, you have no qualms whatsoever about pretending that the stick is the most impressive sword you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Enemies!” you exclaim, referring of course to the little birds that are pecking at the ground, right next to where the stick is. “They’re trying to keep us from getting our hands on the sword!”

Katsuki balls up his fists. “Well, they can try all they want, but they won’t stop us. Bakugou Adventure Team, it’s time! Fall into the attack formation we planned out before! Come on, let’s get them!”

There are five of you in total, and upon Katsuki’s signal, you all sprint straight at the birds while making battle cries, causing them to scatter. It only takes a few seconds to clear the area, and once Katsuki has ascertained that they're all gone, he picks up the stick and lifts it above his head with a victorious grin.

“Heh,” he chuckles. “That was easy as pie. They never stood a chance. Good job, team. Well, I obviously fought off the most enemies, but still.”

“Katsuki, you’re so cool,” you gush. “Thanks to you, we’re the strongest adventure team ever!”

His smirk seems impossible to contain. “Duh! You guys won’t ever need to worry about anything so long as I’m around. If anyone ever tries to mess with you, just let me know, and I’ll set ‘em straight.”

“Kacchan really is awesome,” Izuku can't help but marvel. His green eyes are glossy and wide, full of admiration. Well, pretty much everyone looks up to Katsuki, so you definitely understand where he's coming from.

Feeling emboldened by your victory against those vicious enemies, you walk over to Katsuki, then promptly kiss him on the cheek

“Thank you for protecting all of us,” you say shyly.

What follows is that Katsuki’s cheeks break out into the most violent shade of crimson you’ve ever seen. It even gives his deep red eyes a run for their money.

He jolts back almost immediately, letting out a strangled little yelp.

“W-What was that for?!” he stammers.

“For protecting us,” you say again, suddenly feeling quite embarrassed. “Um... I’m sorry. I just really wanted to thank you for being such an awesome leader. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Are you mad now...?”

Katsuki gulps. “I-I’m not mad. You just surprised me, jeez.”

Two of the other neighborhood kids are already oohing and awing, going on about how Katsuki had cooties now. Of course, he's quick to shut them up, but that doesn't make his blush disappear any faster. Izuku is the quietest of the bunch, mostly because he appears to be incredibly embarrassed based on what he just witnessed. He's even covering his eyes with his hands, peering out from between his fingers.

Your face feels quite hot after what you’ve just done, but as it just so happens, your embarrassment doesn't last.

Because something else catches your attention. 

[𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫! 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝.]

[𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢?]

You furrow your brows. “Hey, guys,” you say. “What’s this weird stuff that just popped up all of a sudden?” 

You are met with nothing but looks of confusion. 

“Um... what are you talking about?” Izuku frowns. “I don’t see anything.”

“Right there,” you insist, pointing to the screen in front of you. “There’s this screen with all kinds of writing on it.”

Everyone shakes their heads, which makes you feel incredibly self-conscious about the whole thing. Are you really just imagining it? Katsuki likes to tease you at times, but Izuku isn't the type to play pranks on others, so if even he is saying he can't see the screen, then they're probably telling the truth.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you mumble, casting your head downwards. “I swear I can actually see it... I’m not crazy.”

Katsuki stares at you for a few moments longer, eventually letting out a chuckle. “Oh! I get it. The screen you’re seeing must be some sort of alert for our new quest. So, go ahead, [Name]. Tell us what our next quest is.”

He thinks I’m still playing around.

While it's incredibly frustrating that no one believes you, there is still another thing you can try.

[𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢?]

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

Nothing really happens once you make your selection, and you're starting to think that maybe you really are going crazy.

But within a few moments, Katsuki suddenly collapses to the ground.

“Ugh,” he groans, clutching his head. “What’s going on...? I feel dizzy all of a sudden...”

Panicked, you drop to your knees beside him. “Katsuki!” you cry out worriedly. “Are you okay? Does something hurt?”

His gaze is glassy and unfocused, and his cheeks are only getting redder by the second. It looks like he’s just started burning up with a violent fever. When you wrap your arm around his back to try and help him rise to his feet, he flinches, as if your touch is electric.

“I-I’m fine,” he says, but he doesn't sound all that convincing. Then again, Katsuki is the type to never want help from anyone. He's always determined to shoulder everything on his own, because of how strong he is.

Under normal circumstances, he probably would’ve gotten quite annoyed that you were offering to help him, but he doesn't seem entirely like himself right now.

Guilt sets in when you realized you are probably to blame for it.

Is it because I used that charm ability on him? Is that why he’s not feeling well all of a sudden? 

You can't fully explain it, because you still don't even understand what that weird screen you’ve seen is supposed to be, but you doubt it's mere coincidence.

Katsuki eventually shakes you off and collects his bearings, although he still looks rather unstable on his feet. You hope that whatever this is, it'll pass soon.

Izuku leans closer to you and whispers in your ear. “Is Kacchan going to be alright? He’s not looking too good...”

You part your lips to respond, but don't quite have the chance to form the words in time.

Katsuki has already shoved Izuku onto the ground.

“Get away from her,” he grits out, and something about the look in his crimson eyes deeply unsettles you.

Small tears rise to Izuku’s eyes, and he just barely manages to wipe them away before they spill over. “I-I’m sorry,” he splutters, even though he can't seem to understand what he did wrong.

Katsuki’s lips split into a grimace. He looks incredibly angry. He’s always had quite a bit of a temper, but you can't recall him ever being this upset. Completely out of nowhere, too. It doesn't make any sense.

“Don’t get so close to [Name],” Katsuki hisses. He takes a few steps forward, clenching his fist as if he's ready to outright punch the freckled boy, but he doesn't make it very far before swaying unsteadily and falling over a second time.

This time, he's out cold.

“Oh my god! Katsuki just fainted!”

Panic ensues. You are only a bunch of preschoolers, and none of you know what you're supposed to do in a situation like this. You all desperately try to shake Katsuki awake, even lightly slap his face a few times to try and jolt him back to his senses, but nothing works.

You end up having to carry him back to his parents, who promptly tuck him into bed and promise that they'll keep an eye on his condition.

Izuku sniffles, unable to mask his concern. “I-I’ve never seen something like that happen to Kacchan before. I really hope he’s going to be okay.”

You don't say anything. You can't. After all, you have a sneaking suspicion that the only reason this happened is because of the choice you made.

It's strange, though. Even though you can't exactly understand how you caused Katsuki to faint, you assume that ability of yours had something to do with it. But then why did he get angry at Izuku all of a sudden? That part just doesn't make any sense.

You don't know it yet, but your Quirk has just manifested for the first time, and while most kids are thrilled to obtain their powers, yours will end up causing more harm than good.

story masterlist | next

Enjoying the story so far? Read more on Quotev!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

💌 main masterlist ♡ oneshot masterlist

[sprite-writes-fanfic]

How would the Tmnt bros (2003) react to a best friend who has a crush on them and at first they don't feel the same way, But way later on they develop feelings for their friend but theres that bit of awkwardness in that they already rejected said Friend's prior confession.

And like the friend took the rejection well and is trying to move on, though theres a bit of tension as the friend is subtly trying to avoid like being alone or like to close physically with their turtle crush so as to not make them uncomfortable and even gets on a dating app (with 0% success there lol) They atleast hide their still very much there feelings and are good at not being obvious they are still down bad for the turtle.

Also I cant get enough of your writing! I love it so much Always looking forward to the next post, Hope your having a wonderful week!

Hey anon! Sorry for the long wait! Thank you so much for your kind words <3 I really hope you enjoy this one!

Awkward…

🐢💙❤️TMNT ‘03 x Reader💜🧡🐢

Word Count: 642

CW: Gender-neutral reader, referred to as ‘you’, a bit more on the angsty side for some, for others they get a bit of fluff. The boys and Mikey don’t know how to healthy deal with their emotions. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

🐢💙Leonardo💙🐢

💙 Leo feels like a huge dick. Like, seriously. He felt really bad having to reject you, now he feels really bad that suddenly he feels those same feelings. Like, man. This is NOT what he wanted.

💙 Will actually avoid you at all costs because he feels so bad, he’s trying to focus on other things. He luckily feels better in a group setting so it’s just not you and him.

💙 He misses old times quite a bit, and when he sees the obvious signs that you’re still into him, he’s a mess. Man is just a goddamn mess. Like what’s he supposed to do in this situation? He’s heavily considering talking to you about this but he’s also very scared too.

🐢❤️Raphael❤️🐢

❤️ Despite your confession, you and Raph remained rather close, I mean he wouldn’t ever let little feelings like that ruin— And he’s caught feelings too. Right after he’s rejected you. Oh he feels awful.

❤️ Taking his frustrations out on the punching bag and sparring lately, RIP Mikey. He’s just really upset, because not only did he reject you, but he’s seen those dating apps on your phone too. He wants to sincerely make it up to you.

❤️ Isn’t sure if he should shoot his shot or just let it be and wait and see if these feelings go away or get stronger… He chooses to wait. He chooses to see if these feelings just happened because of the confession and they’re a short time thing. Will shoot his shot a year or two later if you’re both still feeling the same and you’re still single.

🐢💜Donatello💜🐢

💜 Poor Donnie’s brain is going haywire. It was about three months later that he rejected you that he suddenly caught feelings, and it suddenly occurred to him while he was working on his latest invention. And he could not stop thinking about it either.

💜 Dude was panicking a lot when he first realized, and honestly felt himself wanting to cry. He was overwhelming himself at the moment and ended up going to Master Splinter for comfort. After that fiasco, he’s very distant. Like, he’s worse than Leo, kind of distant. He’s just drowning himself in his work and it takes a toll on him mentally.

💜 You end up catching him one day and forcing him to talk, and he finally kinda admits that he’s been feeling like shit because he’s rejected you, and that he randomly caught feelings as well. You two certainly talked for hours, trying to get it sorted out. And if either goes: You two remain friends and try to move past this. Or, you both give a possible relationship a chance after spending more time together.

🐢🧡Michelangelo🧡🐢

🧡 To say he didn’t expect this was an understatement, the feelings just kinda hit him out of nowhere. When you helped him patch up after a skateboard trick gone-wrong, it hit him. Mikey liked you, but he already rejected your confession. Uh oh.

🧡 He definitely thinks on it, for once, instead of going in and flirting with you. For once he was thinking about this, as he felt guilty about it. When he’s thought about it, he’s probably gonna be the only one who’s open about it unlike the rest of his brothers, only one that has really healthy communication.

🧡 When he’s open and honest, he’s extremely nervous, I mean, who wouldn’t be? Rejecting you then telling you how he feels about you is pretty messed up. Luckily, the two of you talk it out and try to reconcile and work it out. Luckily, your feelings were still there and blazing, and it’d take a bit before you could completely forgive him, but you both worked it out. You’re giddy to say you have a date on Friday and you’ve deleted all the dating apps off your phone within minutes after you and Mikey’s big talk.

[frvnkcastles]

You’ve written before about groomers and abusive ex boyfriends. I was wondering if you’d be comfortable writing about running into an old abuser who’s obsessive, borderline psychopathic about you. Someone you’ve always hidden from but almost forgot about under the warm umbrella of franks protection. And then he’s there and you’re so scared you try to run, but Frank won’t let you. This guy takes Frank as some kind of psycho challenge and you don’t want him to get hurt, but also feel ashamed about your problems

I know it’s kinda dark so no worries if it’s too much! As always your mental health and wellbeing is the most important thing 💕

TRADE THE PAIN ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’ve found a safe haven in Frank after an abusive relationship, but your ex resurfaces.

Warnings: Violence, language, references to past abuse but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.9k

Author’s note: Thank you for your sweet words anon! I’m sending you so much love, I hope you enjoy this <3

Meeting Frank was the best possible thing that could have happened to you. He was everything you had dreamed of — kind, protective, charming and most importantly, he trusted you and respected you. He wasn’t perfect, struggling particularly with finding himself worthy of you, but he was ultimately a good man and you had absolutely fallen for him, just like he had fallen for you. He treated you like an angel, always gentle and caring with you, and after your previous relationship, it felt so good to be cherished.

In all fairness, it had taken you a while to warm up to him. Your ex had messed you up royally, and you were hesitant to trust another man so soon after escaping the toxic relationship, but Frank had quickly torn down your defenses and shown you just what kind of guy he was. Even when you learned about him being the Punisher, you weren’t scared. You knew he’d never hurt you, that his aggression was only towards those who deserved it, and that was more than you could say for your ex-boyfriend.

With Frank’s help, you changed your phone number and moved to another part of the city, giving you another chance at life; a fresh start. And you were more than excited to share it with Frank. He was understanding of your situation, even offered to go and take care of him for you, but you had insisted on moving on and forgetting about your past.

It worked a little too well, in fact. You were used to looking over your shoulder and avoiding places you knew your ex frequented, but with Frank by your side, that bone-deep anxiety slowly began to fade away. You felt safe with him, and it wasn’t just an assumption — you knew for a fact he was going to protect you no matter what, and it was enough for you to start letting your guard down.

That meant, however, that you definitely didn’t expect your ex to find you.

You and Frank had spent the evening at your favorite diner, occupying yourselves with fries and milkshakes and laughing about his caveman-like eating habits, and it had been the most fun you had had in years. Frank was a simple man but he knew exactly how to entertain you and keep you happy, sometimes with a humble date like this, and it was all you needed to smile and feel happy for days after.

But as you made your way back to your apartment, Frank walking you home, of course, you found your ex standing at the front door of the building. You spotted him from afar, and you froze on the pavement, pulling on Frank’s hand as he realized you had stopped walking, concern twisting his face while looking you over.

”What is it, sweetheart?” he rasped, trying to read your face, but he couldn’t tell what was causing the immense panic all over it. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, his warm presence consoling you as he stood in front of you, forcing you to look from your ex and over to him. He was right there, and he was with you. God, he was so good to you. Why couldn’t things just stay the way they had been for the past months?

With a scared tear rolling down your cheek, you nodded towards the entrance of your apartment building where your ex was standing with an impatient fidget. ”It’s—it’s my ex-boyfriend. He… he found me”, you shuddered, genuine fear turning your body rigid. Your heart was hammering in your chest so hard, it felt like it was going to burst through, and every part of your body was screaming at you to make a run for it. You wished you could have been relieved Frank was there with you, but you felt ashamed and embarrassed that your past was still causing you trouble and you couldn’t just be happy with him.

Turning around, Frank stared at the man who still hadn’t noticed you. ”Alright. Come on, I gotchu. This is your home and he ain’t gon’ invade it. Not while I’m here”, he decided, and despite your reluctance, you didn’t fight back when Frank tightened his hold on your hand and walked you straight to the front door.

At the sight of you, your ex’s face lit up. ”Finally, you’re here. I’ve been waiting for hours. I ringed your apartment but you didn’t answer so I figured you weren’t home. I can’t believe I found you”, he began rambling, as intense and obsessive as you remembered, and it instantly unsettled you. You tried to hide behind Frank, even if you felt bad that he had to be in the between.

”You need to leave”, you spoke up, but your voice was meek and careful, hardly enough to convince him. Thankfully, Frank was on your side.

”You heard her”, he said coldly when your ex remained right where he was. There was a mean stare in Frank’s eyes, and it was no wonder — he didn’t want you to worry, but he had dreamed of the day he could punch your ex in the face. Now that the opportunity was presenting itself, he surely wasn’t going to back down.

”Yeah? And who do you think you are?” your ex snorted, not exactly threatened, which you knew was a grave mistake.

”I’m her boyfriend. Now, I ain’t gonna say this again. Leave, and don’t even think about coming back”, Frank glared at him, taking personal offense in the fact that your ex had the guts to show up like this. ”Can’t you take a hint, asshole? She doesn’t want anythin’ to do with you”, he added, tilting his head at your ex like he was addressing a child.

That pushed him over the edge, and without warning, he swung his fist at Frank. With ease, Frank dodged the incoming punch, and officially in a fighting mood, he carefully let go of your hand and guided you a little further away just to be safe. You didn’t know what to say, so you obeyed and stood aside, watching as Frank grabbed your ex by the neckline of his shirt and punched him in the nose. He did it once, then twice, then once more, until your ex collapsed on the ground.

Frank was about to turn to you and take your hand again, but before he could, your ex had swiped him in the calf with a knife he had pulled from his pocket, causing Frank to stumble with a groan. You flinched, but you didn’t have to do anything when Frank was acting already, brutally stomping on your ex’s wrist so that he was forced to drop a knife. He snatched the knife from the ground and pointed it at your ex, and you were well-aware he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

You were almost right — Frank wanted to bury the weapon in your ex’s guts, but he wasn’t going to do it in front of you. ”Get the fuck outta here. I don’t wanna see your face ever again”, he spat, his hands balled into fists as he waited for your ex to crawl up from the ground and run away.

And when he did, Frank wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders and steered you to the front door. ”Alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice much softer now, and it made you smile weakly. Even though he had a violent streak, he was always so tender with you.

”Yeah, thanks”, you spoke quietly, and he could tell you were still a little uneasy, but he chose not to comment on it as he took you upstairs to your apartment.

Once you were inside, you went to change into your PJs, needing the moment alone to gather your thoughts and feelings. You were grateful to Frank, but you also hated that he had to get involved. It felt like such a burden, like you were far more than he had signed up for, and it made you worry that he was going to get sick of you eventually. Your ex was your problem, so it didn’t feel fair to make Frank take care of it.

Little did you know, he wouldn’t have had it any other way. As soon as you had started dating — Hell, even before that, he had acknowledged that he was going to protect you with his best efforts, and that he was going to help you carry the weight of your past. You helped him too, after all.

You trailed out of the bedroom and saw the light on in the bathroom, so you swiftly figured Frank had gone in to take care of the cut on his calf. A bang of guilt for not looking after him hit you square in the chest, but you swallowed it down. You were feeling more calm now, the shock of seeing your ex slowly retreating, so you drifted back to Frank after grabbing some ice from the freezer.

You found him seated on the edge of your bathtub, his leg hoisted on top of his other one so he could get access to the torn fabric of his jeans. ”Is it bad?” you asked shyly, and quick to reassure you, Frank shook his head.

”Nah, it’s barely anythin’. Piece of shit’s pretty lousy even with a weapon”, he chuckled, trying to make light of the situation, and it did get you to smile.

”I’m sorry”, you sighed while walking over to him and taking his big hand in yours, so you could press the ice pack against his red knuckles.

He frowned while looking at your forlorn expression. ”Sorry for what, darlin’?” he questioned, and with a lick of your lips, you looked down at your feet. He wrapped an arm around your waist and reeled you in, getting you to sit on his lap while he wiped your hair away from your face.

”It’s just so embarrassing. I never wanted you to get hurt. Or to have to deal with him in the first place. It’s not your problem to fix”, you explained, shame loud in your voice. Frank was having none of it. Gently, he tilted your head up, so he could meet your gaze and give you a completely serious look.

”Hey, your problems are my problems now. What kinda boyfriend would I be if I made you deal with it all by yourself, huh? ’Sides, ya do know it’s kinda my area to fight assholes, right?” he reminded with a soft smile. You shrugged, but you couldn’t deny he was right.

”I just wish I didn’t have to worry about him anymore”, you lamented, and nodding in understanding, Frank leaned in to kiss your forehead.

”Lemme take care of it, aight? I promise, it ain’t gonna be a problem anymore”, he swore, and with a budding smile, you dropped your head onto his shoulder. You knew exactly what he meant, but you didn’t argue — if anyone deserved to be on the wrong end of Frank’s fists or gun, it was your ex. And the world would be a better place without him.

”I don’t know what I’d do without you”, you admitted sheepishly, and breaking into a grin, Frank caressed your hair.

”And you never gotta find out, little lady.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Idée Fixe.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Some not SFW elements, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation, depictions of general & social anxiety disorder, depictions of a panic attack, mentions of anxiety medication, Chrollo administers medications to Reader without her consent, and mentions of religion. Also Chrollo just really, really sucks. Word count: 12.3k.

You met a strange man at the arboretum today.

Perhaps you aren’t in a position to describe others as ‘strange’, considering your latest proclivity for expressing earnest thanks to any honey bees you happen across for their service. After much contemplation, however, it’s ultimately the word you arrive at. ‘Strange’ not in a disconcerting sense that inspires fear, but just being out of the ordinary enough to exude an undeniable allure. A raised panel on the floor you stumble over yet suffer no serious injury from. 

Well-kept gardens might be the closest imitation to heaven on earth. That’s what brought you to this little oasis hidden in the desert that is urban life. It’s the type of day romanticists wax poetic about: baby blue skies, puffy clouds, and moderate temperatures with a light, forgiving breeze. 

You situated yourself strategically, so you’d be beneath the shade of a magnolia tree whose pink petals kept fluttering down as if in greeting, and near a patch of daffodils that matched the shade of your gingham dress. Blades of grass tickle your legs, but not unpleasantly so, they scratch an itch found only in nature’s loving reprieve. There’s no thought of upcoming assignments, what to eat for dinner, or if buying that purse you thought was a steal at 30% off was a good idea or not. 

It’s just you and your book. 

Until it isn’t. 

Every woman is connected in the experience that is trepidation whenever a man randomly approaches. There’s no telling his intentions, if he has any. You’re left to smile awkwardly and temporarily realign yourself with religion by praying to a higher deity for his hasty departure. You map out potential escape routes and recall the pepper spray situated in your impulse-bought purse. He gently calls out “Miss”, confirming that he hopes to speak with you. 

At least he has the propriety to stop a few paces from where you sit, electing not to intrude on your personal space. This causes your shoulders to relax. In the few seconds you’ve been made aware of his existence, you recognize his appealing features. He has loose, dark hair, along with wide and seemingly unassuming eyes. His outfit of a dark gray turtleneck accompanied by a black jacket and pants somewhat strikes you as odd, considering spring is in full bloom. Two other details steal your attention away from this; those being the beige wrapping around his forehead and his spherical, turquoise-colored earrings. It’s like he was caught undecided between wanting and not wanting to attract attention. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he begins. You try not to think about how pleasant his voice sounds. “I’ve been trying to make sense of the directory, but I’ve never been the best with directions. Do you by any chance know how to get to the Starling House?” 

You nod. It’s a quaint, centuries-old mansion, maintained by the non-profit that oversees the flora here. Getting over the initial apprehension from his approach, you try verbalizing the most efficient path to get there. This proves more difficult than you expected since the arboretum is vast and has few waypoints that can be used for reference. Still, throughout your explanation whose unhelpfulness you grow painfully aware of, he patiently nods and makes no attempts to rush you through. 

This willingness to put up with your scattered description wins over your sympathy, pushing you past your sheepishness. 

“I guess I’m not good at giving directions. I could just show you the way, if you’d like.” 

“I’d hate to disturb your reading, but… if it isn’t a bother, I’d certainly appreciate it.” 

You’re already setting your bookmark into place. “It’s no bother. This is my second time reading it, anyway. So don’t worry. I’m not being left off on a cliffhanger or anything.” 

He smiles at that. When you’re preparing to stand, he extends his hand, a gesture that gives you a momentary pause. Well, you are wearing a dress. You suppose it’s the polite thing for him to do. You accept his unspoken offer and he hoists you up without the least bit of exertion on his part. His hand is warm and bigger than yours, slightly coarse too, surprisingly. His immaculate presentation gave you the impression of a trust fund kid or something in that vein. He’s tasteful in ensuring his touch doesn’t overstay its welcome. 

Your heart pounds in your chest. 

You catch a hint of his cologne. Sandalwood, amber, and leather blend together to form a delightfully woody fragrance. As amazing as he smells, you create a little distance, walking ahead motioning for him to follow. His longer legs have no trouble catching up, yet he never creeps too close. 

The short journey that you expect to only be accompanied by the sounds of cardinals chirping and house finches singing is interrupted by the man speaking up again. Oddly enough, you don’t mind. 

“Do you find your thoughts on Prince Myshkin’s initially endearing simple heartedness changed, knowing how the book ends?” 

You pause, taking a moment to realize he must be familiar with the work. This revelation fills you with a tentative giddiness. It isn’t often you have a chance to delve into your literary thoughts to a willing audience. There’s plenty more you could say on the subject, but you try to exercise restraint nonetheless. 

“I thought I might, but I found myself more critical of the other characters instead.” 

“Oh? And why is that?” 

He appears genuinely interested, otherwise, you would’ve kept it at that. 

“Ah, well, maybe it’s that they serve as proof that innocence is never meant to last. Or if it does, it’ll inevitably be punished. There are moments where I feel frustrated with the Prince’s naivety… but then I stop and wonder why it’s so bad to want to see the best in people. Does that speak to a flaw in his character, or to a flaw in the character of others? Maybe it’s both. I can’t help but feel the Prince’s case is more sympathetic.” 

His eyes never leave yours while you give your answer. Heat rises to your cheeks and you internally groan over the prospect of making a stranger listen to your ramblings. He was probably just looking to make casual conversation, not everyone wants an existential crisis on a Saturday afternoon. 

“You must be someone who wants to see the best in people as well,” he surmises. There’s no hint of mockery in his tone — he’s oddly sincere. He says it with a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. 

Before you can hazard a response, you come across a sign displaying information for an event at the Starling House. The building itself lies in waiting atop a hill less than a quarter of a mile ahead. He stops to read it, as do you, operating under the assumption he came here for the event. It seems that they’re displaying historic artifacts from around the area. You suppose this will be where you part ways. You’re about to wish him well when he sighs, the miffed noise stopping you. 

“I got the time wrong,” he frowns, staring at his wristwatch. 

The sign says the event begins at 6:00 p.m. and a quick tap of your phone reveals it’s 4:00. 

“If you’re looking for a way to burn time, there’s a nice garden behind the House that’s always open to the public,” you explain. This piques his curiosity. “If the sage is in bloom, you might get lucky and see some hummingbirds.” 

“That does sound lovely,” he says. Then, his lips quirk up, promising the start of a smile. “Would you care to join me, Miss…?” 

You give him your name and he nods, as if deciding it fits you. 

“[First]. I understand if my tour guide wants to get back to her reading, though.” 

Bashfulness creeps up your back and threatens to sink its fangs into your neck. Your heart’s rhythm takes an erratic cadence. He’s posing the proposition in such a lighthearted way, offering an easy out if you want to take it. You internally weigh your options on a scale that’s worn from overuse. He’s being friendly, you tell yourself. That’s all it is. 

“Well, I guess I’d be a shabby tour guide if I didn’t show you where the gardens are.” 

On the brief walk to the gardens, the man introduces himself as Chrollo. You both situate yourselves on the same stone bench. You sit on the right, he sits on the left. Once again, he leaves you plenty of space, never testing boundaries. The scent of nascent sage wafts in the air. While you scan your surroundings for hummingbirds, he tells you that his work often necessitates travel, hence his unfamiliarity with the area. 

“Does it ever get lonely?” You ask, not thinking much of it. He gives you a look you can’t quite place, so you elaborate. “Traveling all the time, I mean.” 

He tilts his head, more inquisitive than offended. “What makes you think it’d be lonely?” 

“I just think I’d get homesick after a while, always being in an unfamiliar place. I’d miss my family and friends.” 

When he continues staring at you in silence with those unreadable eyes, you swear you want to slam your head repeatedly against a wall. Not everyone has a good relationship with their family or people to call their friends. The weight of your potential insensitivity comes crashing down on you like a tsunami. 

You move your hands around wildly, rushing to correct your discourtesy. “Uh, I mean, that isn’t to say you need those things!” 

“You don’t think I have any friends?” 

Your face must be radiating more heat than a furnace. Still, the embarrassment doesn’t reach a point where you’re unable to notice his omission of the word family. “I didn’t—” 

Contrary to the reaction you were expecting, Chrollo laughs. Not a little chuckle, but a genuine laugh, hearty in a way that stands in stark contrast to his otherwise reserved demeanor. The smile it imprints on his face somehow feels different than what he’s displayed before. Those were always so well timed, lasting as long as necessary and never a second more. It hits you then just how handsome this man is. Alabaster skin, soft and glossy hair, lips as rosy as the blush on his cheeks from his outburst of laughter. 

It doesn’t last long, he’s quick to school himself. The speed he does so is almost unnatural. “I apologize, I’m only teasing. You’re very expressive, [First].” 

You let out something between a huff and a sigh. “God, I felt so awful…” 

“I can tell,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender when you send him a non-threatening glare. “To answer your question… I’ve never thought about it much. I suppose it is lonely at times.” 

This revelation pours a bucket of ice-cold water over the embers of your indignation. Your face softens and a stinging pain shoots throughout your body. You can’t bring yourself to remain miffed when you’re the one who dredged this topic up. People use humor as a means to cope, that may be what Chrollo does. 

“Enough about me, though. I’m far more interested in you.” 

You shift in your seat. Did it always feel so warm out? 

“Here, let me guess. You’re certainly a student. Hm… of the humanities, perhaps?” 

“You got the student part right,” you agree. “I’m majoring in criminal psychology.”

There’s something like a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh? Is that so? You want to catch criminals, then?” 

“Er… not exactly. It’s more that I want to help them.”

He blinks. “Help them?”

“Not, like, as an accomplice,” you earnestly reassure, to which he smiles, “How do I explain it… take the city around us, right? It’s considered one of the most dangerous in the United States of Saherta.” 

As if on cue, a cacophony of police sirens begins blaring in the distance. 

“In the 80s and 90s, there was a surge of incarceration, yet crime as a whole set higher records each year. The policy at the time was ‘build more prisons, give longer sentences’. Obviously, that didn’t work out very well for anyone… except for private prisons maybe… that’s a whole different beast. Anyway, you reap what you sow. Crime rate is going down, but communities were gutted by these policies. There’s still a lot of work to be done. I want to understand ‘deviant’ behavior so I can see what safety nets would benefit them the most.” 

Chrollo is such an excellent listener that unlike before, you no longer feel the pressure to remain succinct and have little qualms completely delving into your passion. His body language suggests total engagement. 

“Ah, so you view crime as a result of societal shortcomings.” 

“It’s more nuanced than that,” you shake your head. “Hell, even when there were only four people on earth according to the Bible, Cain went ahead and committed murder anyway. That’s like… killing 25% of the population… how messed up. Wait. If there were only four people on earth, who did Cain go on to marry? How does that work…? Asexual reproduction…?” 

“The Quran says Cain and Abel both had twin sisters,” Chrollo offers. 

“Alright, that makes more sense than asexual reproduction. Okay! Enough about theology! Back to crime. There’s no totally eradicating it, but there is circumventing it. That’s what I want to help do.” 

You’ve been so preoccupied with verbalizing your thoughts, you failed to notice he’s scooted slightly closer to you. There’s enough room for decorum yet you can’t help feeling slightly flustered. Why this cute guy is still hanging around despite the fact you casually mentioned asexual reproduction not once, but twice, is a phenomenon that transcends human reason. 

This is so going to be one of those interactions that haunts you periodically at three in the morning for the rest of your life. 

“It’s a noble pursuit,” Chrollo comments. Then, he places a hand to his chin. “Forgive me if this comes off as pessimistic, but… what if you put in all that work, only for nothing significant to change?” 

You shrug. “I’ve considered that plenty, trust me. It’s fine if I don’t kickstart a utopia. So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.” 

“One person, huh?” 

It seems more like a rhetorical musing on his part, so you allow yourself to be momentarily distracted. In your peripherals, there’s a flash of colors, shades of green and red bleeding together. A low buzz accompanies the sporadic sight. The blur moves erratically, high to low, then low to high. 

You cover your mouth to stifle a gasp, then whisper to your companion, “Chrollo! Look! A hummingbird!” 

The thrum of nature is a wonder you’ll never tire of. It inspires awe that reflects in your eyes like a mirror, enchants without needing to cast a spell. You wrongly assume that Chrollo must be partaking in the same miracle that has stolen your attention. He’s fixated, yes, but not on the right subject matter. He’s still staring at you. This disruption of your expectations can only be explained away by the possibility he hasn’t spotted the creature yet. To remedy this, you slowly point in the hummingbird’s direction. Finally, he breaks his gaze from your form, acknowledging what it is you find so fascinating. 

By then, it’s too late. Your newly made acquaintance departs as swiftly as it arrived. 

“Aw, that’s a shame,” you lament. The disappointment you’d feel if you were in his shoes would be immeasurable. “You didn’t get to see it for very long.” 

You have no concrete proof, but you swear every smile he wears is different than the one before it. 

“It’s alright. I saw something far better.” 

Curious, you glance to your right, searching for whatever it is. You must’ve misinterpreted whatever he was looking at before. “Something better than a hummingbird?” 

“You could say that.” 

The remainder of the time you spend together is relatively uneventful. Chrollo asks you a great deal about yourself, ranging from your hobbies to book recommendations. You try to return the favor — as is only polite, in your opinion — yet the conversation never lingers on him long before circling back to you. It isn’t until you say you feel vain talking about yourself so much that he offers some morsels of knowledge. Aside from traveling for his occupation, he’s something of an antiquarian, hence his interest in the Starling House’s event. He also reveals he has colleagues coming into town soon, the aforementioned ‘friends’ you questioned the existence of. The way he teases is so devoid of malice, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. 

The hour flies by. Good looks aside, he’s a remarkable conversationalist. There’s never an awkward silence or social misstep. One could even call him perfection incarnate. His steady cadence, command of language, meticulously formed ideas… they’re reminiscent of cogs in an automaton turning together in complete harmony. Paradoxically, this immaculate image speaks to some underlying defect in his character he mustn’t want anyone to see. There is such a thing as being too perfect. 

For whatever reason, this draws you in closer rather than repelling you. 

Chrollo’s disappointment is palpable when he glances at his watch. It’s then you’re reminded that all good things must come to an end. 

“I—” 

“It—” 

You both start and stop talking at the same time. When it’s made obvious you intend to stay silent until he speaks his piece, he motions to you with his hands, insisting you go first. 

“It was very nice meeting you, Chrollo,” you say, your voice softening. It’s amazing how you can feel your previously discarded sheepishness returning in real-time. Amazing and annoying. “I, uh, hope you enjoy the event.” 

“Please, I should be the one thanking you,” he insists. Then, for such a well-spoken man, he goes uncharacteristically quiet. Deliberating on some issue you’ll never be privy to. “You’ve already helped me a lot, but could I possibly ask for one more thing?” 

You give a nod.

“May I have your phone number?” 

You stare at him.

He stares at you. 

You continue staring at him.

He continues staring at you. 

His request echoes through your head like it was spoken in a vast cavern. Phone number… phone number... you have one of those. He is asking for it. He wants to remain in touch. Indeed, that is what the statement normally means. Ah, it must be in a platonic sense! It’s nice to have someone to talk to, especially since you both share many interests. Not many of your friends are chomping at the bit to discuss if obtaining the philosopher’s stone was a literal practice or meant to be interpreted metaphorically. 

Whoops, you left the poor guy waiting for a response. 

“S-Sure!” 

He hands you his phone without delay. You put in your contact info, then hold it up for him to take. His fingers brush over yours when he picks it back up and you shiver. 

Well, that was certainly nice. You’re forming a blossoming friendship. You love making new friends. The word repeats in your head as if it were a broken record. Friends, friends, friends. Don’t look too into this. Put your magnifying glass down, brain. The stupid three pounds of gray matter delight in tormenting you with outrageous ideas and conclusions. There’s nothing flirtatious happening here. 

“Also, I hope you don’t mind my saying so…” he trails off, weaving a web you willingly allow yourself to get trapped in, “But you are very beautiful, [First].” 

… 

Ohhhh, he’s been flirting with you this entire time, hasn’t he? 

-

Going on a date is a harrowing experience. 

For some unknown reason, your traitorous amygdala regards going to a café at noon with the same severity it would if a lion were actively chasing you down. Your flight or fight response raises the banners of war. The army it amasses digs its trenches, readies the cannons, its matches lit to fire off the artillery on standby. Who is the dreaded opponent, one may ask? No one. Absolutely no one. Incredibly enough, you can actively recognize this fact, and still, your physiological response claims it knows better. 

Social anxiety is so stupid. You thought you and your body were supposed to be on the same team. Whatever inspired this mutiny, whether it be serotonin deficiency or some other science-y term you can’t pronounce, you most certainly don’t appreciate it. 

To be fair, your parent’s reaction didn’t inspire much confidence. Your dad was asking for information on Chrollo you’re 90% sure could be used to conduct a background check, whereas your mom posited the idea he’s a human trafficker. You felt like a lawyer trying to plead your case for why it’s okay that an adult such as yourself may go on a date (sacrilegious, you know, premeditated murder would be more excusable). With some solid arguments and a few instances of stretching the truth (this sounds far nicer than the word lying), the tempest was dissipated. If Chrollo ever were to meet your parents, you’ll have to tell him he’s actually a sensitive, poetic soul that donates to orphanages and saves kittens from burning down buildings. He’s also celibate. More important than any of those things, though, he’s a political centrist. 

Suddenly everything in your closet either felt prudish enough to befit a woman entering the convent, or raunchy enough you’d need to wear a trench coat to leave the house unobstructed. In the end, you find a skirt that’d pass your middle school fingertip test and a cute blouse that shouldn’t land you in purgatory. 

Your hands are shaking when you go to do the winged eyeliner on your left eye. Then you sneeze while applying mascara, granting a raccoon appearance you could’ve done without. You feel wound up so tight there a mere poke could shatter you into millions of pieces. This is great. Millions of years of evolution led up to this. That selfish, inconsiderate fish should’ve never grown legs and stepped on land. Everything’s gone wrong since then. Fuck that fish. 

Ultimately, you succumb and take one of your ‘stage fright’ medications. If it’s doing anything to help, you can’t tell yet. 

You have to beg your dad to stop staring out the window with a pair of binoculars. 

Eventually, a sleek black car pulls in front of your house. 

Following the theme of the day, you almost trip over yourself walking out the front door. Your phone buzzes — no doubt it’s Chrollo telling you he’s here — but you decide to just go to the car rather than text him back. He must’ve spotted you, for he exits and gives you a wave. You’re grateful he did that while a considerable distance away. There was a time a guy waved at you and you thought he wanted a high five. Needless to say, that was a traumatic incident no amount of therapy could help alleviate. 

“You look absolutely lovely,” he compliments. Your Broca’s area temporarily malfunctions at this bold declaration. Fortunately, you gather yourself fast enough to stop yourself from saying “you too”. 

“Thank you,” the phrase comes out as smooth as butter. You silently congratulate yourself for your immaculate delivery of two words. “Wow… you have such a nice car. And here I thought you were a fellow member of the middle class. Am I allowed to touch this?” 

Chrollo chuckles, having gotten used to the peculiar way you word things after all your electronic communication. No matter how you expressed yourself, he still texted you back, so you figured he must be okay with whatever it is you’re doing. He would’ve blocked you by now otherwise. 

His reply comes as he holds the passenger side door open. “Ah, don’t worry. There was a bit of a mixup at the car rental place. I wasn’t expecting something of this quality either.” 

You tuck this piece of knowledge away for later, should any sugar daddy-esque allegations be thrown your way. One can never be too prepared. 

Sinking into the leather seat is a luxurious experience, although it's cold against the exposed area of your thighs. Chrollo slides into the driver’s seat not long after and sets the car into drive. You silently wonder if your neighbors think you’ve gotten into an Uber. 

The short trip to the café soothes your electrically fried nerves. You’re once again reminded of how good he is at making you forget your anxiety, he could put SSRIs out of business. Or maybe the propranolol is finally working. Whichever it may be, by the time you both order your drinks, you feel more giddy than nervous. Is it a good idea to drink a caffeinated beverage when anxiety threatens to drag you into limbo at any second? Probably not. Does that mean you’re going to wisely choose a different beverage? Nope. 

The sunlight is harsher in the afternoon, but you find this is offset by an occasional breeze. No one else is present in the outdoor dining area except for you and Chrollo. You choose the seat facing a row of bushes so you can observe the house finches and house sparrows fluttering about. One little fella is helping itself to a dirt bath in the freshly spread-out mulch. You coo at the adorable display, pointing it out to Chrollo who admits it is a precious sight. You’ve made it your raison d'être to convince him that every bird is equally fascinating, whether it be a rainbow lorikeet or a common pigeon. 

He takes the first sip of the drink you recommended. 

“Well? What do you think?” 

“It’s good,” he decides with a smile. “I can see why you get it so often.” 

“Right? I’ve thought about conducting an Ocean’s Eleven type heist to get the ingredients they use to make it.” 

“Oh? Do you grant a moral exception to thievery?” 

Despite how lightheartedly he phrases this, his eyes have a certain intensity to them. You mull over the question for this reason. 

“Hm… it depends, I guess? Some people need to steal to survive. I probably wouldn’t care if a rich person or mega-corporation got stolen from either,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow at your last statement and you hastily add, “A-As long as no one gets hurt, of course.” 

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his amusement. “Your reasoning is very cute.” 

You groan and shrink back into the garden chair. “I know, I know, that probably came off as terribly naive and self-contradictory… the issue is complex. Giving a one-size-fits-all type of consensus feels impossible. How about you? What do you think?” 

“Coveting is mankind’s original sin,” Chrollo begins. He’s using a tone that tells you to prepare for an in-depth explanation. “It’s a theme that’s recurrent throughout history. David and Bathsheba, Hades and Persephone, Heathcliff and Catherine… we always want what we cannot have. This dilemma never leaves us entirely. We either ignore it, despair in it, or succumb to it. The desire to steal is as involuntary as the diaphragm contracting for us to breathe or the electric signals that cause our heart to beat.” 

A house finch begins its soulful serenade in the background. 

“Wouldn’t you say that calling it involuntary implies we can’t control it, though?” You query. 

“The only way to exercise total control over it is to kill it.” 

“Some parts of us are better off dead,” you decide. “Getting what you want doesn’t guarantee satisfaction. The examples you listed… maybe they were happy for a time, but ultimately, their transgressions caught up to them.” 

“Is a moment of bliss not worth a lifetime of anguish?” 

“Maybe, if I was a sensualist.” 

He rests his chin on his fist, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Is that what you’re saying I am, darling?” 

Your eyes widen and you almost choke on your drink at the unexpected pet name. Warmth floods your cheeks and you take a long second to recompose yourself. Your blatant display of embarrassment further fuels his amusement, he actually chuckles. You consider kicking him under the table, but decide that isn’t very ladylike. Then you remember it's the twenty-first century, and to honor your feminist ancestors, you scrunch up a napkin into a ball and fling it at him. Although the aerodynamics of your makeshift projectile are questionable, it almost hits him. Until he catches it with admittedly impressive reflexes. 

“You have a good throwing arm.” 

“And you should consider retiring from your white-collar job to join a baseball team,” you take a sip of your delicious drink. This is definitely the most memorable date you’ve been on. “But no, I don’t think you’re a sensualist. I honestly don’t know how I’d classify you. You’re jaded… almost misanthropic. You acknowledge the world for what it is, but it’s like you once thought it could be better. You don’t care to be proven right or wrong about it anymore, you want something else.” 

“Ah… when put that way, I must seem pathetic,” he muses, his casual air hardly matching the severity of the words spoken. 

“Not at all!” Your passionate outcry appears to momentarily take him aback. “If you’re still looking for something, that means deep down, you have hope you might eventually find it. To me, that’s admirable.” 

He regards you for a few moments, before closing his eyes, his countenance strangely content. “You’re a very interesting woman, [First].” 

“Pfft, not really.” 

“I’m afraid this a point I’ll have to insist on,” or so he says, but you both know he secretly relishes his contrarian ways. “I have to wonder, though. How is it you came to gather any of this about me?” 

“Your opinion on books.” 

He blinks. “Pardon?” 

“We interpret media through a lens that’s formed by our experiences, so… I dunno. You can just infer a lot from what a person gets caught up with in a story.” 

In Chrollo’s case, what he doesn’t pay attention to is equally telling, although it took you a while to notice his unique display of apathy. He’d brush on certain themes while giving a rather surface-level commentary. Playing it safe, almost. He still had such an excellent way of weaving his words, that telling it came from another person's loom was difficult. It wasn’t until you hit on a subject he truly cared for that you could tell the difference. He’d give insights so particular to him that they must contain the true essence of his character. 

Even if it is a mere glimmer. 

He speaks your name.

“Hm?” 

“About what I’m searching for…” he unwraps the napkin you unceremoniously threw his way earlier, smooths out the wrinkles, then returns it. “I think I may have found it.” 

-

Everything has a way of escalating faster than you anticipated. 

You’re about thirty minutes into the movie Perfect Blue. For some time now, you’ve been praising its merits to Chrollo, who recently said you should watch it together. This begged the question of where. In the months since you’ve begun dating, while your parents have taken a liking to him, you didn’t think the subject matter of the movie should be proudly displayed in your living room. 

To remedy this, Chrollo suggested watching it in his hotel room. 

You couldn’t fully explain your initial apprehension if you tried. You felt comfortable around him and have been alone together plenty. Yet for some reason, being alone with a man in a hotel room produced this mental image you weren’t sure you were ready for. He never pushed you or asked why you seemed hesitant to take things further than kissing and some light petting. His lack of questioning had the unintended side effect of birthing different doubts. 

Does he not want anything else? Is he only acting like it doesn’t bother him? Will a day come when he tires of your squeamishness and simply moves on? 

It’s this taunting mantra that haunted you in the lobby, the elevator, then the long, impersonal hallway to his room. 

Your chest feels heavy enough that you wonder if lead has filled your lungs. 

When he sat next to you on the couch, you barely registered his presence, much less his question if the temperature in the room felt agreeable. At some point, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Then his hand began to meander, although his attention never left the screen. He played with your hair. Gently stroked your forearm. His hand wandered down, down, down, to the hem of your skirt. He straightens the lightly bunched fabric out. Your heart pounds. 

Chrollo’s fingers stay there, seemingly placated. 

During the scene where Mima sees her reflection as her idol persona, his hand creeps onto the exposed skin of your thighs. He gives it a gentle, tentative squeeze. A soft gasp leaves you and your attention turns to him. Immediately, your eyes meet his in the dark. The side of his face is lightly illuminated by an array of cool tones. He uses his free hand to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb rubbing your lower lip. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He speaks the question with such rapture, low and quiet. 

Your heart violently hits your ribcage like it’s trying to burst free. 

Silently, you nod. He tilts his head to the side and slots his lips against yours. There’s a pleasant buzz that tries so hard to overpower the frantic adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your body is at war with itself; indulgence or indignance. It’s a conflict that’ll never have a winner. You want to enjoy it — and you are, you think — so why does your biological makeup hold you as a prisoner without ransom? He tastes nice, feels nice. He did everything right. You don’t want to tremble at what’s a normal aspect of a relationship as if it were death itself hanging over your head. 

It’s this mounting frustration at your condition that spurs you into action. 

While maintaining the languid kiss, you situate yourself on his lap, a gesture that causes him to inhale sharply. He may be as surprised at your boldness as you are. You snake your arms around his neck and intensify the kiss. Humming, he reciprocates your ardor. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips and you grant him entry. He tastes of dark chocolate and mint, a combination you wish you could get drunk on, if only to put your tense body at ease. 

One hand squeezes and massages your thigh, the other cups your feverish face. In this position, you’re afforded no modesty. You can feel your skirt hiking up, exposing more of you. His fingers explore the new territory. They venture dangerously close to your panties, though he doesn’t go beyond there, as if respecting an invisible barrier. The cocktail of emotions this invokes is impossible to properly sort through. 

Can he feel the heat emanating from your body? Your pulse which finds new highs every minute? You want to lose yourself, but you can’t, your anxiety always drags you back kicking and screaming. It is an unforgiving warden that thinks you’d be better off in a cell. 

Chrollo admires you when you pull back, in desperate need of air. You’re starting to feel dizzy and you don’t know if it’s the right kind. There’s something hard forming beneath where you sit. His lust for you is apparent, and you want to please, want to be normal. It should be fun. Your friends regale you with stories of taking strangers home and never feeling more than butterflies in their stomach. That’s what you want. Not this contortion of the aforementioned organ that makes you think your insides are slowly liquifying. 

You still haven’t fully caught your breath, each one growing more shallow, more panicked. He finds other ways to entertain himself, namely, by lavishing your clammy skin with kisses. Your jawline, neck, then collarbone. He’s so calm you think you might be envious. Finally, he works his way back up, teasing your earlobe with his teeth, his breath warm as it fans against you. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

“[First],” his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Garbled, distant. “Should we take this to the bedroom?” 

You break into too many shards to fix. 

You get up. Straighten your skirt. You think you mutter something about needing a moment. Your legs don’t feel right. They move anyway. The bathroom’s door knob is like ice. You grab a hand towel. Turn on the faucet. Soak the towel until it drips water down the sink basin. Sit on the floor. The tiles are almost as cold enough to help. You place the towel around your neck. Your ears are ringing and you wish they’d stop. You hug your legs to your chest. What is it you’re supposed to do? Breathe? 

It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass. 

It always does. 

Just hold on a bit longer. 

Feeling comes back in your hands first. It spreads throughout your body, though the antidote is far too late. Exhaustion is the next thing you register. The kind that seeps into your cells, makes your limbs feel like dead weight. Cognition returns as well. You remember where you are, who you’re with, what you’ve done. 

It’s been a while since you’ve experienced one of these. Somehow, it’s worse than you remember. Infinitely worse. 

A shiver runs down your spine. Has it always been so cold? You wonder what temperature your body was running at for you not to have noticed sooner. 

How nice it is that your homeostasis decided to return. Is your sympathetic nervous system giving itself a pat on the back? Celebrating and popping champagne bottles at yet another job well done? We’ve done it successfully again, folks, you imagine it cheering. We’ve stopped her from doing something completely normal and harmless! 

You’d laugh, but this time, you can’t bring yourself to. 

As tempting as it is to stay here and pray for the tile floor to swallow you whole, you sincerely doubt that’ll happen, so you’re left with the far less appealing option of being an adult and facing the predicament you’re in. Getting back up, you’re treated to a glimpse of your reflection. 

The change in your complexion would make any onlooker think you’ve seen a ghost. 

Abruptly, you’re fourteen again, trying to get your mom’s attention so you can beg her to take you home because the social gathering of ten or so people is just too much. Next, you’re fifteen, talked into some weekend youth getaway because saying ‘no’ makes you feel guilty and the car ride has another two hours remaining. You feel sick, terribly sick, but you don’t want to get sick, because then your peers would think you’re strange, so you sit there and endure. Then you’re sixteen, locked in the stall of your high school bathroom, trying not to pass out because you think it’d be an inconvenience to anyone that happened upon you. 

You thought you were over this. You’ve done the therapy, read the self-help books, and taken your medication every day like clockwork. 

What’s left for you to do? 

Why does it always come back? 

Chrollo asks if everything’s alright when you walk back over to the couch. You say yes. He then asks if he can get you anything. A glass of water, please, is your reply.

You can tell he’s examining you when he hands the glass over. Your face warms — not in a fun way. The television screen is dark and yet you’re fixated on it like it’s the most intriguing thing in the world. Going from feeling as if you’re a stranger in your own body to being hyper-aware of everything never fails to give you whiplash. You can hear the low thrum of the air conditioning, footsteps coming from the hallway, the steady drip of the sink he filled your glass from. You think to rub your eyes then stop yourself; that’d smudge your mascara. It’d be nice if he could at least think you’re pretty as you struggle to hold yourself together. 

“Was it something I did?” Chrollo questions. He almost sounds… curious, a concept you furiously scrub from your head. You’re exhausted and your brain is waving the white flag. Attributing false interpretations to his words is not going to help. 

“N-No, not at all, I, um,” you have the words, you just don’t want to say them, so you opt for taking another drink instead. The glass runs out of water, your safe haven disappearing with it. “Just… a panic attack. It happens… sometimes.” 

“Entirely unprompted?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. “Kind of…? It— nothing about it is exactly logical. I can know I’m fine, believe it too, and still, that doesn’t matter. It’ll happen anyway. I guess I have some reservations about that level of physical intimacy, but what my body decides to do is completely overkill.” 

“You always minimize the role your anxiety plays in your life,” Chrollo points out. You’re grasping the glass tight enough that your knuckles hurt. “You can’t mention it to me without making light of it in some way. Is there a reason for that?” 

Well, he’s got you there. 

You’re about to joke and ask if he’s the one studying the behavioral sciences, when you realize that’d just be proving his point. 

So uncharacteristic acrimony bubbles to the surface instead.

“A reason? I can give you more than one. It’s stupid, it’s annoying. The most simple things become like a fucking life or death experience for me and I can’t stand it,” you feel tears gather at your lower lashline but you’re too far gone to care. It’s a good thing your mascara is waterproof. “And then I… I think sex sounds nice, but when it actually gets to the moment, I feel so guilty and anxious and wrong that I leave my partner frustrated or thinking they’re some sort of monster.” 

Usually, Chrollo's countenance is difficult to read, but there’s this raw emotion that makes itself known. Understanding? Relief? You don’t know for certain. It disappears without a trace, leaving you no way to confirm or deny your intuition. It’s probably too fried to be reliable, anyway. 

“Hm… you must think all this would put me off, then. Make me want to move on to someone else.” 

A knife stabbing you in the gut and twisting its blade until your viscera turned to mush would hurt less. 

“Sweetheart, I was already aware that it was worse than what you let on,” his voice sounds so kind and near, you marvel at it, the gravitational pull drawing you in. You barely realize he’s brought you into an embrace. Your cheek is against his chest, right above his heart. His has a calm, steady rhythm, whereas yours is picking back up once more. “Your avoidance of talking on the phone, how soft your voice gets when interacting with strangers, the way you act like you’re an inconvenience by asking for the slightest assistance.” 

The tears you tried holding in break free, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I find these qualities of yours very endearing. You can go from passionately speaking about your interests over dinner to going shy the second the waiter walks over. You care so much, feel so much… it’s a wonder to me. You experience this life in the exact opposite manner I do.”

With the hand he isn’t using to keep you secure against him, he rubs your back up and down. 

“Ah, my poor, sweet girl. What a tender heart you have,” he whispers. His grip on you tightens. That’s when you hear it — the undeniable sound of his heart beating a bit faster than it did before. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not after all the effort I put into stealing it for myself. No, I’m almost hurt you entertained the thought. Have I ever treated you with anything less than the utmost care? Hm?” 

Chrollo starts to pull you away from him, yet you refuse, clinging adamantly to his torso in an attempt to hide your face. He ignores the way you shake your head and by exerting the slightest force, achieves his original goal. His fingers find purchase on your chin, which he tilts upward, allowing himself an unobscured view of your puffy eyes and runny makeup. He smiles, wiping away your tears with such gentleness, he must think you’re made of porcelain. 

Sniffling, you remember he asked you a question, and attempt cobbling together a coherent response. Such is the polite thing to do. “I guess not.” 

“And why do you think that is?” 

“... The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to conduct an in-depth case study for your future dissertation on GAD and SAD?” 

His visage lands somewhere between mild bemusement and exacerbation. “I know you’re smarter than that. Try again.” 

“My winning personality, once you wade through all the mental illness?” 

“That certainly plays a role.” 

“I know I’m cute, too. I suppose that helps. Otherwise, I’d be completely and utterly fucked.” 

“Yes, yes — you are terribly cute.” 

Sensing your hesitancy to land on a definitive answer, he decides to spell it out himself. “I’m fond of you, to a degree I previously thought myself incapable of. I have a… callous disposition, for lack of a better word. Yet for whatever reason, this doesn’t seem to bother you. I’ve never cared for subjective terms like ‘good’ or ‘evil’, but… if there is goodness in this world, it’d be found in you.” 

Chrollo’s knuckles brush against your cheekbone as he speaks, seemingly bewitched by the glittering stream your tears left behind. Tangible proof of your emotions that tumult like a tempest, whereas his often remains an unmoving body of water. 

You take his cheeks in your hands and glare at him. This time, when your lower lip trembles, it’s with righteous anger, not sorrow. “Why do you always talk about yourself like you’re the world’s biggest villain?” 

His eyes slightly widen — you’ve never used a tone like this with him before, or anyone else, for that matter  — though his composure doesn’t wane for long. 

“So what if you don’t think everything is sunshine and rainbows? You aren’t heartless; you just know the dangers of putting your heart on display for everyone else to see. I can’t blame you for that, from what you’ve told me.”

He’s never been particularly forthcoming about sharing details from his past. What you do know is that he grew up in extreme poverty, without parents or a guardian, scraping by with some other children in a similar situation. You never pushed to learn more. There was this quiet melancholy that possessed him in the rare moments he shared glimpses of his childhood. The specters that haunted him could almost be felt lingering in the atmosphere, turning the air heavy and thick. 

“You lost a precious friend in such a cruel way. That loss of innocence, it’s unforgivable, it’s completely unfair…!”

This time, your tears aren’t for you, they’re for a little boy you’ll never know and a girl that you couldn’t if you tried. “I don’t get why you’re so harsh on yourself. You act like you’ve done something unforgivable.” 

He parts and closes his lips. Whatever he intended to say, he must’ve decided against it. Instead, he pulls you back against him, almost greedily. He presses kisses atop your head then murmurs a few words you can’t quite catch. Your body is deprived of energy, having flickered through almost every major emotion a human being can experience. If your parents wouldn’t have fussed over the act, you could’ve fallen asleep on him for the night. 

The person who inadvertently caused your blistering anxiety is also the best balm for it. 

It’s unexplainable, teetering on the edge of delusion, this sentiment that he could shield you from all harm. He’s always so sure of himself when you remain plagued by indecisiveness. He can talk you out of any irrational thought, anchor you when a stressful situation is beginning to be too much, and understand you almost eerily well. He’s able to piece together your chaotic thought processes with next to no context. He listens to you, remembers everything you say (and you mean everything), and genuinely values your input, even if he disagrees with your opinions. 

This level of an intimate connection is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

“No one’s ever cried for my sake before,” he thinks aloud. He’s stroking your back again, almost mindlessly. You swear there’s something magical about his touch. 

“Do you think I’m weird?” 

“There are a lot of words I’d use to describe you,” he decides. As always, he’s clever at avoiding questions he doesn’t wish to answer. “Currently, the one that stands out to me the most would be…” 

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you. 

“Warm.” 

-

The arboretum is far different in autumn. Green leaves have transitioned into rich auburn and golden shades, hesitant buds nowhere to be seen. The grass beneath your feet is crunchier, the foliage dry and scattered, almost as if it were trying to form a protective sheath for the earth. No longer can you hear the melody of grasshoppers and buzzing from busy bees. The wind whistles when it blows, the underlying frostiness biting at your cheeks and ears. 

“Ah, would you look at that, it’s a junco,” Chrollo points out. You cover your mouth to muffle a gasp. Thanks in part to your guidance, he’s gotten better at identifying different types of birds. While you’d like to think it’s because he appreciates them too, you’re convinced he finds your excited reaction far more interesting. 

The little blob of black and white hops to and fro, using its feet to rummage for anything edible. You silently lament your lack of birdseed. You’ll have to settle for cheering the tiny friend on from afar. 

Hand in hand, you both traverse the area of your original meeting. Sweet nostalgia swirls in your chest. You’ve always found it befuddling how a single chance encounter can permanently change the trajectory of your life. In the moment, you have no idea how your actions will go on to form ripples that influence the future. Whether this is chaos theory or some other fancy metaphysical-sounding concept, you haven’t the slightest clue. 

What you do know is that meeting Chrollo was a catalyst for something greater. 

A wave of chills cascades over you.

“Are you cold?” He inquires, his tone having this ‘I told you so’ quality to it that you don’t appreciate. You’re wearing a light beige, plaid fitted blazer, that while chic, doesn’t have much insulation. You waved off his initial concern by saying you’ll warm up once you both get to walking around. So much for that. 

“Cold is a mindset,” the chattering of your teeth doesn’t do much to help your cause. He raises an eyebrow. “Mind over matter… mind over matter…” 

Chrollo shrugs his coat off and drapes it over you. “I wouldn’t want you to get sick, dear.” 

“You sound like my grandma.” 

“The one who tried taking my head wrappings off, or the one who kicked me?” 

“A combination of the two that coalesces their tendency to fuss over me.” 

“You’re very easy to fuss over,” Chrollo chuckles at the face you make at him. “You’re absolutely precious. It’s a mystery to me how you make the smallest acts endearing.” 

At this, you strike a dumb pose, winking at him all the while. “Aha, it’s no mystery. You have my irresistible charm to thank for that.” 

He sighs wistfully. “Indeed I do.” 

Although the sage gardens behind the Starling House are no longer in bloom, you decide to swing by anyway. The plans for the remainder of your day follow a similarly simple yet pleasant precedent. You’re going to go window shopping in a quaint commercial district, grab something to eat at a pub, then end the night off with a movie. Chrollo’s trying to convince you to watch some indie flick that’s in black and white and uses a 1.19:1 ratio. You want to watch Alien, a classic he’s never seen like the weirdo he is. 

The walk isn’t long or monotonous. It’s so idyllic that you could believe you’re the only two people in the world. 

However, that isn’t the case. Upon entering the garden, you’re quick to note the presence of another.  

A young woman is kneeling down, murmuring under her breath. She’s acting as if she’s lost something and can’t find it. Frowning, you detach yourself from Chrollo, approaching her with the intent to offer your assistance. She doesn’t lift her head upon hearing the obvious sounds of your footfall. She just continues blindly grasping at the ground. 

“Miss?” You ask, to which her entire body freezes. “Did you drop something? I could help you look for it.” 

She mutters another incomprehensible jumble of words. 

“Hm? What was that?” 

You lean over in an attempt to hear her better. 

Then, much to your confusion, she enunciates your full-given name. Even while doing this, she doesn’t spare you a single glance. 

“Have to… have to…” she’s back to being difficult to make sense of, “I have to…”

 A strange sensation possesses you.

Have you met this woman somewhere before? You do a quick mental scan of her disheveled appearance and come up with nothing definitive. Her hair is matted, her complexion sallow and her cheeks sunken in. Her disoriented state stirs concern within you. It’s a good sign that she’s still conscious and exhibiting motor functions, but the longer you examine her, the more you can tell she isn’t in a proper state of mind. You don’t want to leave her out here alone in such a vulnerable state. You try to push aside the uncanny feeling that came from her apparently recognizing you when you’re certain you’ve never met. 

Chrollo speaks your name. Turning around, you face him just in time to catch a surreal expression forming on his countenance. His eyes widen slightly, his lips part, then he’s reaching out for you. 

The passage of time grinds temporarily to a halt. 

And then there is a visceral burst of energy. 

It’s as if a blizzard manifests from the direction the woman is hunched over in. There’s this thick, harrowing tension that causes your legs to buckle at the knees. Swirls of negative emotions wrap around you in shadowy tendrils. Grief. Hysteria. Rage. Bitterness. Most notable, however, is the sickening yearning to inflict harm. How can a human being produce and project such raw feelings? It’s like hatred itself has been given a palpable form, submerging you in a swamp of mire. 

You don’t understand what’s happening to you, but you do have this primal foreboding that the longer you’re exposed to it, the more endangered you’ll be. 

In the millisecond it takes for you to blink, Chrollo is no longer in your line of sight. 

It’s strange, you think. There are no knives, guns, explosives; or anything that could hurt you in the traditional sense. In a way you could understand and reliably assess the threat level of. 

And still, despite this uncertainty, you have this unshakable premonition that death isn’t far away. 

-

You wake up in a bed that is not your own. 

Your body is drenched in sweat, your muscles sore, and your head feels as if it’s being clamped in a vice-like grip. Trying to get up proves to be a poor decision. Nausea and dizziness force you to lie back down. You take shallow, frantic breaths, wincing at yet another wave of throbbing coming from your temples. Your senses aren’t reliable either. The first few times you open your eyes, dark spots dot your vision. Then there’s your hearing, or lack of. There’s this distant ringing that while slowly fading, isn’t replaced by anything better. Your hearing grows so muffled you almost think earplugs have been jammed in your ear canal. 

Groaning, you manage to lift yourself off the mattress with trembling arms. The dark spots fade away enough for you to make out your surroundings. 

You’re in Chrollo’s hotel room, lying on his bed. 

It’s nighttime. The digital clock sitting on the bedside table reads 3:40 a.m.  

The next thing you do is feel around for your phone. It should be in the back pocket of your jeans, but it isn’t there. 

The brisk air takes your breath away when you tug the comforter off. Your body groans with protest at all the movement, yet you ignore its request to lay back down, the situation at hand far too perplexing. Your outfit is the same as the one you put on this morning, aside from your boots, which sit together near the wall. You then assess your body for any physical injuries, finding nothing visible to explain your current malaise. Are you hungover? Frowning, you dismiss the idea. You know your tolerance well and never try pushing it. 

Taking small steps and using the wall as leverage, you make your way over to the adjoined bathroom. You fill a dental cup with water and down it instantly. After satiating your thirst, you call out for Chrollo, your voice gravelly with sleep. 

No response. 

Sighing, you slink over to the closed bedroom door. Your equilibrium steadies itself enough that you only need to grab onto something every few steps. The handle doesn’t budge. You try again, exerting more force — still nothing. The subsequent attempts end in the same manner. There’s no denying it, it’s been locked. That begs the question of why. Safety, maybe? It’s possible Chrollo stepped out for whatever reason and wanted to ensure no one could get to you. Then again, that’s what the deadbolt on the door leading to the hotel hallway is for. 

You don’t want to start rattling the door and making a scene when you’re certain there’s a solid explanation for this. He has to come back eventually, his stuff is still here. Although, you can’t help noticing how sparse his personal belongings are. The book he was reading no longer sits on the bedside table, the framed picture of the two of you gifted by your parents isn’t on the wardrobe either. Next, you check the closet, finding it in a similarly desolate state. You once pillaged a shirt of his when you grew tired of wearing a dress, so you know its usual presentation. The hangers remain on the rack yet everything else is gone.

Chrollo told you his job had placed him in this city indefinitely. Is he planning to move to another hotel? 

Not knowing what else to do, you sit on the edge of the bed. The former pounding in your head has soothed into a far less egregious dull ache. You must’ve been asleep for a decent chunk of time, this initial grogginess is what you experience upon first waking up in the morning. You hope you weren’t unconscious for too long. It's an unsettling thought, being in that vulnerable state, totally shut off from the world. 

A few minutes of absentmindedly admiring the twinkling lights that make up the city skyline’s pass. 

Then you hear the door handle jingle. 

Chrollo silently examines you. It’s almost as if he’s gauging your entire being, anticipating what is to come. His mouth is set in a straight line and he’s standing unnervingly still. There’s this intensity to him that has you breaking off eye contact. Your mouth goes dry and you temporarily forget how to form words. You had so many burning questions in his absence, why is it that they've been wiped clean from your head now that he’s here? 

When you find the courage to look up at him again, there’s not a vestige of his former expression. The grave lines have smoothened out and you no longer believe you’re face to face with a stranger. 

“How are you feeling?” He’s quick to close the distance. The mattress dips, adjusting to his presence by your side.  

“Oh, uh, not the best, but… I don’t think it’s anything serious,” you say. Silvery moonlight shines into the room, illuminating him in an otherworldly veil. Goosebumps line your skin when he takes the side of your face into his hand. He’s cold. “I’m mostly just confused. Is— is everything okay? Why am I here?” 

“How much do you remember?” 

Remember, remember… that’s right, you hadn’t given that much thought. You pick through your hazy memories aloud. “Well, we were at the arboretum, just walking around. I remember heading to the gardens behind the Starling House. Then… um…” 

You squint and furrow your eyebrows together. It’s as if your recollection was a film reel that had been trimmed after that point. You try piecing together a mental image of the garden. Hummingbirds? Sage? No, that isn’t right, you’re thinking of its spring appearance. The colors would be more muted, there’d be less shrubbery. The image grows sharper.

Then there’s a shadow. 

Vaguely human-shaped, situated right in the middle of the mosaic you’re trying to form. Their outline isn’t solid, it’s splotchy, like water paint left to run on a canvas. 

Finally, something clicks. 

“That woman!” You exclaim. The corner of his lips twitch downward. “That’s right! Is she okay? She seemed so out of it.” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“How is that possible? You were—” 

“Let’s focus on you for now,” he cuts you off. There’s a finality in his voice you can’t bring yourself to challenge. “Can you tell me what symptoms you’re experiencing?” 

“Um, some disorientation and a headache.”

“I see. I’ll get you some painkillers, then.” 

You grab his wrist to stop him when he starts getting up. “I’d really prefer you told me what happened first.”

When he doesn’t immediately acquiesce to your request, you quietly add, “Please.” 

His eyes soften at your gentle, uncertain timbre. He intertwines his fingers with yours and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“Earlier, when we arrived at the garden, you grew lightheaded and fainted.” 

You take a moment to process the information. It seems plausible enough, yet the more you mull over it, the more little details start to catch your attention.

“Okay…” you trail off, pursing your lips. A vengeful throb from your head causes you to wince. He notices — frowns — then places a featherlight kiss against your forehead. The thoughtful gesture doesn’t invoke any pleasant warm fuzzy sensations. “So I fell unconscious for over ten hours and you didn’t… call an ambulance…?” 

“That is correct.” 

You shuffle in your seat, momentarily taken aback at how easygoing he’s acting about the entire ordeal. “Why?” 

“I’ve been monitoring your vitals,” he reassures. Sensing your growing apprehension, he adds, “I can promise that you were never in serious danger. I would’ve acted accordingly if you were.” 

The phrase ‘acted accordingly’ doesn’t tell you much either. What does he mean by that? Is there some threshold you needed to enter for him to have taken you to the hospital? Your various volunteer experiences with the city’s vulnerable communities taught you that if a person is unresponsive for over a minute, an ambulance should be called, just to be on the safe side. Besides, isn’t that just common sense? Chrollo is an intelligent man. You can’t fathom any line of reasoning that’d justify not erring on the side of caution. 

You glance at the clock again. 4:03 a.m. glows in the dim light of the room. It’s late. You wonder what your parents—

Holy shit. 

“Do my mom and dad know?” You glance around as if expecting to find them. There’s no way they wouldn’t have insisted on calling emergency services if you were unconscious for that long. 

“I didn’t inform them, no.” 

“What?” You make no attempts to tone down your incredulity. “Then— they must be out of their minds with worry! My phone, where’s my phone? I need to tell them I’m okay!” 

You shoot up off the bed too fast and your body doesn’t take kindly to the rushed movement. Debilitating lightheadedness causes you to lose your balance. Chrollo steadies your swaying form and helps sit you back down. You scoot away from him as far as you can, your thoughts an absolute mess. Nothing here is making sense. It’s not even a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces, there’s almost nothing to work with at all. 

He’s staring at you in that strange, anticipatory manner again. It makes your stomach churn. 

“My phone, Chrollo,” you hold your hand out. “There’s no way you don’t have it.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t give it to you,” he sounds apologetic too, which makes your subsequent temper flare up even worse. 

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, exasperation winning out. You were trying to be reasonable, but that is over and done with. “You’re acting like— like there’s nothing weird happening! Can you please take this seriously? You’re really starting to freak me out.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I knew this wouldn’t be easy for you, so I wanted to remain calm for your sake.” 

Your tongue couldn’t properly form words if your life depended on it. Sure, remaining calm in a crisis is helpful, but he isn’t acting like this is a crisis. He’s treating it as if he was burdened with sitting you down to relay bad news that no one else had the heart to share. 

You’re starting to think you don’t know the person you’re talking to. 

“For my sake,” you repeat in a wry deadpan. “If that’s true, then tell me what’s actually going on, Chrollo. Because I know you’re bullshitting me.” 

Not calling the ambulance or informing your parents, withholding your phone… then there’s the matter of how he got you here in the first place. Did he carry you through the lobby? No good samaritans thought it was unusual to see a man carrying an unconscious woman up to his room? Hotel staff these days are trained to have a vigilant eye for these situations too. Not one person thought it might be a good idea to ring up law enforcement over such a blatantly suspicious act? 

Nothing is adding up. 

“I’m being more forthcoming than you think,” Chrollo says, as if he’s doing you a favor. He tries reaching out for your hand again, only this time, you don’t allow him. “Everything I’ve said and intend to say is the truth, even if you don’t particularly like it.” 

That’s a hell of a creative way of putting it!

“Who was that woman earlier? What did she do to me?” 

“I have someone ironing out the details, but from what I’ve gathered, she was sent with the intention of killing you. I don’t believe she was aware of the fact herself until you entered her vicinity, triggering the necessary condition for the true culprit’s ability to activate. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t have allowed you to get so close.” 

Someone was sent to kill you? You? A run-of-the-mill college student who has no enemies to speak of? It’s not like you’re a part of the fucking mob. That can’t be right, not to mention the bizarre jargon he’s using. There’d be no plausible motive. If he says she was sent, and you choose to believe he isn’t making this all up, that implies it was premeditated. Not a spur-of-the-moment decision. That’d almost make more sense. 

That is, unless… 

You stare at him, eyebrows knitting together. 

“If you’re telling the truth — and right now, that’s a big fucking if — does this have something to do with you?” 

“That’s my clever girl,” he praises, entirely devoid of condescension. The pure fondness in his voice makes you sick. It’s almost as if he’s delighting in watching you piece this nightmare together. “Yes, you haven’t deliberately done anything to earn the wrath of the wrong people. They simply know getting to me is near impossible, hence their decision to go for the next best thing instead. That’d be you, dear.” 

“Oh my god,” you bury your head in your hands. “Why… why am I not freaking out more? I should be hysterical, or, or— I don’t know…” 

“Beta blockers,” he reveals. You look at him like he’s speaking another language. “In anticipation of how… touchy this conversation was going to be, I thought it might be best for you to be in a good headspace while receiving this information for the first time.” 

“You drugged me?” 

“If that’s how you want to look at it.” 

“Because that’s how it is!” 

A lump forms in your throat and lodges itself there. Are you stuck in a hellacious dream? Or hallucinating, perhaps? Visual hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this cohesive or clear. There has to be another explanation. Something you’re missing that’d make this all go away. The beta blocker admission certainly holds weight. Your heart rate, while slightly elevated, isn’t anywhere near as chaotic as it should be. It’d explain the general malaise, fatigue, and lightheadedness too. That, and you doubt you’d be able to think this clearly if there wasn’t something heavy pumping through your system. 

Your eyes hesitantly settle on Chrollo, who sits there perfectly still and almost relaxed. He’s observing you like a hawk. 

“Listen,” you try using a mellower voice. He raises an eyebrow at your drastically different approach. “You had ample opportunity to hurt me and you didn’t. That must mean you have my best intentions at heart, right? Why don’t we try to work something out, because this isn’t sustainable. My absence isn’t going to go unnoticed.” 

Chrollo sighs, heavy if not unsurprised. “Sweetheart, I’m not suffering a break from reality, although I’m sure you’d prefer to rationalize it that way. I assure you I’m lucid and everything I’ve done is intentional. You’ll come to accept it eventually.” 

It isn’t going to help, yet you feel your remaining grains of patience slip through your fingers. 

“What’s this talk about a ‘condition’ and ‘ability’, then?” You challenge. 

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d mention that,” he doesn’t sound like you landed on a reason that’d prove him wrong. “How to explain it… you once told me you think there are phenomena in this world that can’t be explained by empirical evidence. Consider this an example of that. I’m sure you must’ve felt it before you fainted. An intense, concentrated sensation that awoke your primordial fear. Bloodlust.” 

You want to argue until you run out of breath, but this description does strike a chord. Reality itself feels as if it’s drifting further and further away. In an awfully cruel twist, Chrollo and his collected disposition is the most grounding factor you have to latch onto. 

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” he finally replaces that matter-of-fact tone with something resembling compassion, “But know this: you’re not in any danger. Neither are those you care about, so long as you act sensible.” 

Shivering, you hug your arms around your chest. “How can you say that to me so easily? I thought… I thought you…” 

He’s enveloping you from behind. You didn’t even see him move. Weakly, you struggle against his hold, but you’re not in any condition to put up a fight. In the event you were, it’s doubtful it’d make much of a difference. He’s strong. It goes beyond physical strength, into some esoteric realm you’ve become forcibly acquainted with. He’s exerting this slight pressure that makes your heart skip a beat, despite the medication. It isn’t comparable to what you experienced in the garden — there’s no malice — it feels more like a warning. 

“You’re surprisingly sensitive to Nen,” he murmurs, humming contentedly when you go limp against him. His chin rests atop your head and his arms ensnare your midriff. “How interesting. No matter. Whatever your fascinating brain concocted is still true. You may think me merciless, but if you knew me, you’d find this to be my greatest act of mercy yet.” 

“I thought I did know you,” is your weak reply. You don’t recognize the sound of your voice. 

“The parts of me I wanted to show you, yes,” he moves your hair aside so he can press a kiss to the nape of your neck. “And a few glimpses you gleaned in your own way. Really, you are such a sweet girl. Willing to overlook discrepancies to see the ‘good’ in me.” 

Heat rises and ignites on your cheeks. “I-I could scream, you know.” 

“You could.” 

That’s not the reaction you were expecting. 

“You’re… not going to try and stop me?” 

“No,” he responds. “I’ve always found experience to be the best teacher.” 

“You really,” you heave a humorless laugh, uncertain of what else to do, “You really don’t see anything wrong with this?” 

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, marveling at how your pulse remains steady, thanks to his intervention. 

“‘So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.’” 

“What?” 

“It’s what you said the first day I met you,” Chrollo explains, nostalgia evident. “I’ve thought about those words often. Your effulgence, your desire to do right by others. It made me wonder if there could ever be anyone more perfect for me than you. You, whose pretty neck I could snap before you’d ever realize what happened, stirred up a sentimentality in me I thought myself incapable of.” 

Sandalwood, amber, and leather. His scent is the same as that day.

Are his intentions? 

Is this a prophecy he himself ordained and always intended to see fulfilled? 

“You stole my heart, and as recompense, I will steal you. Think whatever you want about me, dear. Just don’t think I’m selfless enough to ever change my mind.” 

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Your Screams Are Like Music (Incubi!SatoSugu x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Geto Suguru x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which Reader accidentally summons two demons when she gets drunk one Hallow’s Eve night in her village. But not just any demons: incubi. And in order to be satisfied, they need her or else they’ll haunt her forever…but that may not be such a bad thing. 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS DNI); Incubi!SatoSugu; Sex Magic; Summoning; Drunk!Listener; Dubcon; Dom!SatoSugu x sub!Reader; Edge Play; Degradation; Choking; Cum Play; Daddy Kink; Spanking; Unprotected DP; Oral + Analingus; Fingering; Double Deepthroat; Marking; Bruising; Breeding Kink; Creampie + Throatpie; Facials

Writer’s Note: I’ve had this idea for a looooong ass time & figured there’d be no time to write it like now for spooky szn! Just as a note: This takes place in a medieval time period (think 17th century). I thought this would be fun to write since I’ve NEVER done a fantasy-based time period fic. I hope y’all enjoy it! -Jazz 💋💋

********

“Shot for the road, anyone?!” you holler at your friends, both old and new…new as in those who you just met an hour ago and have gotten drunk and danced all night with. 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, girl,” Nobara says, snatching your jug of addictive red berry wine from you. “You can’t even stand up!” You stick your tongue at her and try to prove her wrong by standing up from the barstool, but you nearly trip over your own two feet in your boots and have to grip the bar for balance. 

Nobara cracks a smile, snickering to herself as she sips her third beer of the night. The girl can drink anyone under the damn table. “Lightweights,” she chuckles. 

You gape at her, offended. “Hey, you’re the one who was pushin’ shots at me just an hour ago!” you scoff, referring to the shots of Bourbon infused with the taste of fall baked goods, including pumpkin pie, caramel, and apple strudel. You may have overdone it by slugging down some berry wine too, but damn, can’t you live? This is a celebration! And a bar with drinks half off, no less. 

You turn towards your other longtime besties that you’ve been celebrating all night with. “Yuji, Megumi, tell her to stop bullying me!” You shout, pouting your glossy lips at them. 

Megumi’s emo, I’m-too-good-for-this ass sits next to you, nursing the same Jack Daniel’s he’s been sipping on since he got here. “I’ve got nothing to do with this,” he grumbles. “I’m just waiting for this idiot to pass out so I can carry him home.” 

He juts a chin at the tall, muscular, pink-haired guy currently dancing around on the floor with the rest of the crowd, skirts spinning, boots stomping, and bodies twirling to the live band playing outside. “Y/N, come dance!” Yuji shouts, waving you towards him. “Maki needs a dance partner!” 

One of the Zenin sisters is twirling for her life in the crowd that has made space for her, cheering her on. Maki, the oldest, sternest, and whom Nobara calls ‘Ms. Four-eyes’, is literally letting her hair down tonight. Her long, dark green locks spin around her as she dances, drunk and giggly.

“Oh, shit!” you giggle, immediately moving to join her. It’s not every day you see such an uptight person let loose for the night. 

But Nobara stops you, grabbing the skirts to your pretty, ruffled dress. “Nu-uh,” she says. “You need to get your ass home and in your bed before you pass out too.” You turn to her, fixing your dress. It’s the kind that falls off the shoulders and exposes just a bit of cleavage, giving you a very sexy but classy look.

You picked it out just for this occasion. “But it’s only midnight!” you whine like a child. “And it’s Hallow’s Eve. I haven’t even been out here long!” 

That’s a lie and Nobara knows it because she, Megumi, and Yuji have been with you since the Hallow’s Eve Festival began at 6 PM sharp…but everyone in your village knows that festivals don’t start until nightfall. That is when the drinks start flowing and the real entertainment begins. 

Hallow’s Eve aka Halloween is a big holiday in your small village. Hallow’s Eve is considered the peak of autumn and a time of fun in your village…but it is also a time of caution. Traditionally, all of the villagers gather together in the town square to set up vendors, have costume contests with cash prizes, and drink alcohol at cheap prices. It is your way of building community and celebrating the holiday. 

But behind all of that fun is something less bright and cheery. Home-cooked goods from bakery and tavern vendors are set up beside statues and burial sites as offerings. Candles are lit. Garlic is set outside windows and on door knockers. The festival is shut down after midnight and everyone is home before dawn. 

Your village is very superstitious. Almost everyone here believes in ghosts, ghouls, evil spirits, or one of the three. Hallow’s Eve is considered a night where all spirits and creatures, good and bad, are at their most powerful and rise from the depths of Hell to wreak havoc on those who do not heed warnings. 

But you don’t believe in that bullshit. You never have. When you come home at night, never have you been snatched up by a ghost or spooked by a demon. You work at your favorite herb shop making good money, you date, you pay your bills, and you mind your grown-ass business. You don’t indulge in any kind of superstitions that your fellow villagers do.

Besides, da fuck you look like cutting your Hallow’s Eve night short all because of some supernatural BS when you should be drinking, flirting, and forgetting about your ex?

“You’ve been out here since 6 PM, you drunk!” Nobara argues. “And I won’t be dragging your ass home like I did last time at the summer solstice fest!” Megumi doesn’t wait to interject and check on his friend. “Actually, that was me who dragged her home,” he sassily says. “You just carried her purse.” 

Nobara scoffs, rolling her one eye since the other is behind an eyepatch. “Oh, same thing! I still helped!” Megumi runs a hand through his spiked, black hair and tries to argue, but a jug of ale slamming onto the bar stops him. 

Mai, the youngest Zenin sister and the flirtiest of the two of them takes a seat at the bar beside Megumi. “Leave the girl alone, Nobara,” she scoffs. “Besides, she still has to look for some fun to take home tonight…unless she already has.” She turns to you with a smile playing on her red lips. “Give me the deets, girl! You scoop up a hot guy with your fine ass yet?” 

“Why, thank you,” you giggle, twirling your hair. “And no, definitely not in his tiny ass town. I swear, I’ve either fucked or dated half of the men here!”

Nobara rolls her eye while Mai laughs into her drink. “She’s exaggerating. But I agree, hon; you won’t be finding your next prospect here in his shitty little village.”

Mai titters, winking at you girls. “That’s why I travel.” 

You don’t want to tell them that you won’t travel just for a quick fuck. You don’t want to tell them that every single one of your prospects in your little village has been lackluster or below average leading to your sex life being nonexistent at this point.

Luckily, Maki comes stumbling over and tosses her arms around Mai and Megumi. “Heeey, you guys,” she hiccups. “What are we talkin’ about?” 

“Why Y/N hasn’t found a hot guy to replace her garbage ex yet,” Mai replies. “Honey, that man wasn’t anything short of trash!” The buzz from the alcohol suddenly dissipates a bit, leaving you feeling tired. “Tell me about it,” you grumble. 

Megumi and Nobara instantly glare at the youngest Zenin sister. “Read the room, Mai,” Nobara whispers. Mai gasps, covering her mouth with a dainty hand. “Oops! My bad, darling.” 

You crack a smile despite your stomach flipping at the mention of your ex-boyfriend who dumped your ass almost a year ago for a new prospect in the next town over. As a traveling writer looking for his new big break, your ex often told you stories of women who flirted with him…but you didn’t expect it to work one day. 

After two years of dating, he came to you, admitted that he wasn’t happy, and a week later, you found him on the front page of the newspaper with a famous singer’s daughter. You were devastated, to say the least. Even more so when you realized just how toxic, immature, and horrible of a lover your ex really was. 

After that, you bounced from guy to guy, dating some, fucking some, ghosting some or some ghosting you. It was a hit or miss, really, but you’re tired of hitting or missing. If you didn’t get something that would knock your socks off, you didn’t want it. Life is too short for mediocre romance and sex. 

“It’s cool,” you reply to Mai, passively waving your hand. “Plus, I’ve done the dating and hookup thing. It’s all getting old for me. I want someone who’s really gonna satisfy me, y’know? Someone exciting. Someone who will make every boring man in this town look subpar.” 

Nobara snorts, tossing an arm around you and squeezing you close to her blouse. “I don’t know about that one, but if you want romance, you’ve always got Todo.” She nods at the hulking, fine-ass man with biceps the size of watermelons currently in the middle of an arm wrestling contest. 

You scoff as the Zenin sisters laugh. Even Megumi cracks a smile. “What?! Girl, you know good and damn well that I am not his type! He likes skinny, white girls.”

You down the rest of your wine before slipping out of Nobara’s hold and grabbing your cloak. “Aaaand on that note, I’m headin’ home. Thanks for tonight, y’all! I’ll see y’all in the afterlife.”

Yuji swoops in on you from the dance floor and wraps you up in a big, sweaty hug. “Be careful out there, Y/N!” he yells in your ear over the music. “Ya never know what’s out there.” 

Your friends bid you farewell before you leave the cramped tavern and travel through the throng of vendors, entertainers, and guests meandering among the closed-off streets coated in orange streamers, carved pumpkins, and colorful leaves from the trees. The air is crisp and fresh with autumn and the night is dark, only lit by some gas lamps lining the streets. 

“Hon, you don’t have to follow me,” you say, not even turning around. “I literally live right up the road.” You can sense Nobara behind you despite her quiet footfall in her ankle boots. You opted for the sexy, heeled knee highs to pick somebody up, but that plan fell through. 

“No, it’s not that,” she argues, catching up with you to stand by your side. “I wanted us to chat! Real talk, Y/N, and be honest: do you really not wanna date anymore after your ex?” 

You keep your eyes trained on the trail as the festival gives way to quiet businesses closed for the night. “It’s not that,” you sigh. “But he��s part of it. I don’t wanna waste my time and get hurt like that again.” You cross your arms under your cloak where your leather clutch is, hugging yourself. 

“Then what about just sticking to sex?” Nobara asks. “When’s the last time you hooked up with a guy?” You heavily sigh, depressed by the thought. You gave up on all of this a month ago and haven’t been with any guy since. “A month ago and that was all I needed to see that hookup culture ain’t for me anymore. He was awful, girl! He didn’t even try to get me off and had the nerve to use my shower without asking when he was done bending me over.” 

Nobara giggles despite your sob story. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want good sex. I want great sex! I want someone to take me on a bed and do me in a way that’ll make me see God.” 

And God, do you. Though you manage to get yourself off fine, your fingers and erotic books can only do so much for a girl. Humans need sex, right? It’s essential to survival and lately, you feel like you’ve been failing miserably without it…especially sex with a partner who is interested in pleasure YOU, not just themselves. 

“Well, that’s a testimony if I ain’t heard one before,” Nobara laughs, her footfalls falling in line with yours on the cobblestone. You nod, looking up at the clear, starry sky above. “I guess I’m just….waiting. I’m tired of searching and getting disappointed.” 

Nobara stops suddenly and so do you, turning to her. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder and squeezes.“Well, just know that you deserve better than anyone I know.” You smile at your friend and press a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll take that with me on the way home.” You turn, walking away with a click of your boots. “And don’t follow me! I’m a big girl!” 

Nobara listens and watches you trot away down the path to your home. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to go through the woods, she stops you. “Y/N!” she calls. You turn, looking at her expectantly. Her lips press into a thin line. “Just…be careful, okay?” 

You scoff, cocking your head at her. “Oh, not you too! Is Yuji’s superstitious ass rubbing off on you?” You laugh, but Nobara doesn’t. “Look, I’m just sayin’! It’s Hallow’s Eve and you know people can get crazy…plus, you never know what’s lurking out there.” 

She looks into the woods, her expression uncertain and…scared. You’ve never seen her look like that before. But then again, living in a village where people believe in the supernatural will condition you. You strut towards your friend and hug her close to your body. “Kusaki, I’m fine. I’m just up the road and I promise I’ll go around the deep, dark, scary woods. Now go back and scoop Yuji up.” 

You release her and give her a wink before strutting off down the path, your boots clicking across the cobblestone. “Hey,” she calls after you. “If you happen to see a hot piece of ass on the way home, take him back with you.” 

You turn around and blow her a kiss. “Will do,” you laugh. “I’ll make sure to send him to you when I’m done!” She laughs and waves to you as you depart, heading home. 

You feel bad for lying to your friend, but the last thing you need is a lecture or to be afraid of a trail you’ve taken thousands of times. The trail cutting the woods is easier than going around it, so you find yourself doing just that, humming a tune as you do. You don’t pay attention to how the forest looks like something out of a horror film, like how the leafless branches on the trees look like skeletal fingers stretching towards the sky or how the stars are now behind ominous clouds that hang above you like— 

Crunch. 

You skid to a stop, looking behind you. All that moves are the branches in the autumn breeze. Could that have been you? Maybe you stepped on a branch you didn’t see. Though a bit frazzled, you continue on your way until you hear distant voices. As you get closer, the trees give way to a clearing where five kids decked out in Halloween costumes stand. “Fuck,” you sigh. Just what you need tonight. And it’s just a coincidence that this is happening on your trail home. 

You conceal yourself behind a nearby tree, peeking through the leaves. Four are standing in a circle while the other stands in the middle of some kind of drawing in the grass. You can’t make out what it is, but you know that it’s suspicious. Any kid outside past midnight is up to no good.

“No, no, Billy!” one of the kids dressed as a vampire yells. “You’re supposed to pour the pig’s blood before you say the words!” Billy, the big kid in the middle wearing a devil costume, turns towards the vampire, holding a bucket. “Shut up! I know what the fuck I’m doin’!” 

You come out from behind the tree and walk towards them as they bicker. “Hey,” you say, putting some bass in your voice. “What are y’all doing?” Each boy looks toward you, shocked to see you there. Billy scoffs, smirking at you with a face full of freckles. ”None of your business, grandma.” The vampire and poorly-made werewolf snicker at their friend. Billy must be the leader. 

“Grandma?” You scoff, putting a hand on your hip. “What are you, eight? Obviously, since you’re still wearin’ costumes at your big age.” Now all four of the boys, including a cowboy and a bedsheet ghost, laugh. Billy turns as red as his cape. “Shut up!” He snaps. “I said get lost or you’ll be sorry.” He glowers at you, tossing the bucket aside. 

You aren’t at all fazed. “Bitch, I live over here. This is how I get home and I’m not about to let some knuckleheads terrorize my neighborhood with…” You motion a hand over them. “Whatever this is.” 

“It’s just a game,” the ghost says. “That’s all we’re doing.” You raise a brow at him. “What kind of game? One that calls for pig’s blood and some type of speech?” The boys grow quiet, especially when Billy slips a pocket knife out of his cape. “I said. Get lost, lady. Now. Or I’ll gut you like a—“ 

“No, you get lost,” you growl, trying to sound and look as menacing as possible. “And take your little friends with you. My mother is a witch and I know some ‘speeches’ myself that can make your eyes bleed and your skin peel.” 

Billy scoffs and defiantly rolls his eyes, but when you begin to chant something in a nonsense language, he just about shits himself. “Shit, man, run!” The cowboy yells as he and the others take off. Billy stares at you wide-eyed before finally running off, leaving the bucket. 

Once they’re gone, you stop chanting and laugh. “Idiots,” you chuckle. Now alone, you check out the scenery for yourself and walk towards the drawing. It is big, crude, and written in red liquid with multiple lines, each one connecting into a big star you stand in the middle of. 

You scoff when you realize what it is: “Seriously? A pentagram?! Those little shits were tryna summon a demon!” You then giggle drunkenly. “Maybe I should conduct a ritual myself, see if I can summon some good dick. That’s a damn shame: me summoning a whole demonic being just to get laid.” 

You’re aware that you’re talking to yourself out in the woods like a crazy person, but you’re so drunk that you can’t stop. “It’s just so hard to find someone exceptional,” you groan. “Damn men. Damn my ex. Damn this small village. Damn this shitty dating pool! All I’m asking for is a great romance if not great sex. How much longer can I date myself?” 

You turn to the overcast night sky and spread your arms wide, lamenting to the Gods above. “I’d give anything to have someone put me through the mattress! I’d fuck a ghoul, a goblin, hell, even a fucking demon! Anyone—just please FUCK ME!” 

Your voice echoes across the clearing before fading away, replaced by a lone owl hooting. You truly are alone. 

Crunch. 

Or are you? You abruptly turn around and stare into the dark, lush forest, peering through the trees. “Hello?” You call. Nothing responds. “Listen, if you caught any of that, just know that I’m drunk and I didn’t really mean it, so…please don’t follow me. I really do know some spells.” 

They’re really only spells to make your herbs grow at work that your mother, an herbal witch, taught you, but ‘they’ don’t know that. Still, you get nothing but the wind. “You’re losin’ it, girl,” you whisper to yourself. “You’ve gotta lay off the wine.” Quickly, you tighten your cloak around yourself and hurry down the trail, your footsteps brisk and fast. 

When you finally get home to your cozy little cottage, you lock the door and kick off your shoes, finally freeing your tired feet. Cinnabon, your pet cat, greets you with a meow and you return the favor with some scratches and treats for her. You don’t even remember going upstairs to your bedroom. All you remember is darkness. 

You never usually wake up in the middle of the night. You’re usually out like a light. But this particular time on this particular night you do…and you don’t like it. When you awaken, you’re still in your clothes from the festival with a splitting headache and in total darkness. Only the silvery moon shines through your bedroom window. 

You don’t know what makes you wake up or why you feel so on edge, but you do. The fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your heart won’t slow down. It’s as if something is lurking within the darkness of your bedroom and you’re just waiting for it to reveal itself. 

Then you hear it: running water. Like something—or someone—is in here with you. “H-Hello?” You stammer, staring at your bedroom door. “Cinnabon, is that you?” 

Then you hear something else: a very soft moan. You gasp and quickly turn around, finding a lump under your duvet. It shifts and finally moves, taking the warm cover off of it. Beneath it lies a very beautiful and very unfamiliar man. Shirtless. With nothing on him but briefs. 

When he sits up out of his slumber, you realize how tall he is—he is at least a head taller even though he’s sitting down. He’s also big. Big pecs where two silver balls glitter on his nipples, big arms where one is inked in dark tattoos; big hands, big arms sinewy with veins…probably even bigger below. Your eyes trail down to his muscular thighs and washboard stomach before trailing up to his handsome face, snow-white hair, and ice-blue eyes that are framed by long, white lashes. He is gorgeous. Truly a beautiful man…a beautiful man who is also a stranger in your bed with two big horns jutting out of his head and a pointed tail that curls around your thighs. “Cinna-who?” he groggily asks. 

A scream bubbles up in your chest, but you can’t release it. It’s like your brain won’t let you. All you can do is freeze and stare in horror at the stranger, trying to piece together the past events. Did you meet him at the festival and forget? Did you take him home? Did you— 

The water shuts off and the sound of creaking footsteps makes its way to the bedroom door. Creeeeeak. The door opens, revealing a very big, horned, shadowy figure standing in the doorway. When he enters, you don’t know whether to be afraid or aroused. He is just as attractive as the white-haired stranger in your bed with long, black hair tied into a bun and violet eyes that gaze into yours across the room. 

He is big and misdialed too—big pecs the size of watermelons; big arms and biceps inked with tattoos and pierced nipples; thick, tree-trunk thighs that lead up to toned, mouth-watering abs dripping in water; big feet and hands that grip one of your bath towels around his slim waist. He, too, also has giant horns jutting out of his scalp and a pointed tail that sways between his legs. 

“Sorry,” he sighs, his lip ring glittering as he gives you an apologetic smile, “but I think I used up all of that shea butter soap in your shower. Is that what makes you smell so good?” 

Finally, the scream inside of you escapes you. You jump off of the bed in horror and snatch the bat that you keep by your bed. Both men react in total confusion and alarm as you cower in the corner, holding the bat out for protection. “Stay away,” you warn. “D-Don’t come near me!” 

The long-haired stranger puts his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright, let’s just calm down, sweetness.” Neither one of them moves, probably afraid of scaring you even more. “Don’t call me that!” You demand, pointing the bat at him while glaring at the sexy ass blue-eyed man kneeling on your bed. “And don’t tell me to calm down! Who are you?! How’d you two get in here?!” 

Both men look at each other questionably. “Don’t you remember, baby?” The blue-eyed stranger asks, albeit flirtatiously. “You called for us. You specifically said you’d let even a demon fuck you.” His soft-looking lips curl into a seductive, teasing smile that fills your stomach with warm, fuzzy tingles that you ignore. 

Your brain, still slightly fogged from your slumber, tracks back to when you were in the forest. You damn near facepalm yourself. You did say that…very loudly. And someone clearly heard you because now they’re both standing in your bedroom. “And here we are,” the blue-eyed hottie chuckles. “Lucky for you, we like our humans desperate and needy. Ain’t that right, Sugu?” 

The fine-ass long-haired specimen standing in your towel that is dangerously low on his narrow hips slowly nods his head. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes, so molten hot and lustful, say everything. “Oh, by the way, I’m Satoru,” the white-haired hottie says, flashing you an award-winning smile. “Last name Gojo. That’s Geto Suguru, just in case you like to scream names during sex. Pet names work for us too though! I love being called ‘Daddy’ or—“ 

“Wait, wait,” you interrupt, putting a hand out to stop him. Your brain is trying to process this newfound information as quickly as possible. “Are you telling me that y’all two…are demons?” 

The two slowly, silently nod, sizing you up with their intense gazes. But they grow confused when you begin to laugh, practically doubling over from it. “That’s funny,” you say in a fit of giggles. “C’mon, stop playin’ and just leave, okay? I know it’s Hallow’s Eve and all, but to break into a single girl’s home isn’t—“ 

Suddenly, you find yourself pinned against the wall and Suguru’s big, clawed hand wrapped around your neck. You don’t even have time to gasp because of how fast he is. Did he teleport? The scent of your shea butter soap and something spicy wafts off of him, flooding your nostrils. “Does this look funny to you, sweetness?” He whispers, his lips close to your ear. 

You don’t speak, your mouth frozen in a frightened O. Slowly, Suguru takes the bat from you and sets it down. You let him. Satoru comes over too, smirking. “This isn’t fake either.” He takes your hand and places it on his horn which is smooth like granite. “We’re the real deal, little girl, so you’d better show us some respect since we’re here to please you.” 

It’s like a record scratches as soon as he says it. You close your mouth and blink away your terrified tears. “P-Please me?” you ask, confused. “You’re not here to kill me or e-eat me?” 

The two demons look at each other again and begin to laugh. Even their laughter is sexy. “Nah, we don’t get down like that, baby,” Suguru chuckles, gently releasing you. “Some bloodthirsty demons are, but not us.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Satoru hums, his eyes seductive. “We would rather eat you up in another way that will satisfy both of us.” You can’t deny the way your body reacts to his bold words. Your nipples grow embarrassingly tight under your dress. Your stomach flips with need. And your pussy? A damn flood. 

“We’re incubi,” Suguru explains. “Sex demons. We feed off of humans’ sexual energy to survive and gain more power.” Your eyes widen, your stomach dropping. “Sex demons?!” You yelp, pushing yourself further into the wall. You press a hand to your head as if that will help. “Oh, God, I really fucked up. This has to be a dream or I’m unconscious.” 

Satoru takes your hand off of your head and places his own bigger, calloused one on your face. Your cheeks blaze at the contact and the ocean blue of his eyes. “If this is a dream then it’s the sweetest one, dont’cha think?” He teasingly coos. “Havin’ two men all to yourself? I’d be so thankful if I were you.” 

His smile drops as his thumb begins to caress your bottom lip. ”Are you not thankful to have us here, baby?” He asks, actually sounding saddened by the idea. Even Suguru looks disappointed, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. The sight is damn near erotic. 

You feel bad about letting the incubi down, but this CANNOT happen to you. “Um, listen…Satoru? Suguru?” Gently, you take Satoru’s hand off of your cheek. “I appreciate the offer, but I didn’t really mean all of that. I was just drunk, plus I don’t feel comfortable doing this being that y’all are demons and all.” 

Satoru raises an eyebrow at you and crosses his beefy arms over his best. “Are you discriminating against us?” he pointedly asks. Suguru rolls his eyes, nudging him in the side. “Ignore him. We can understand your hesitation, but we’re not gonna ask you for your soul if that’s what concerns you…however, you automatically created a contract with us the moment you summoned us.” 

The mention of a “contract” scares you out of your wits. A contract does not belong in the context of a demon. “How?” you whisper, but you’re not sure if you want to know the answer. 

A humored smirk slides onto Suguru’s lips and you think he even pulls his towel down farther to show off the snake tattoo slithering up his left hip bone. You’re embarrassed to think about how far it goes down. “You said you’d fuck a demon, babe. It’s as simple as that. Us incubi always go for desperate mortals who are unsatisfied with their sex lives and need to be laid down and filled up. You fit the fuckin’ bill.” 

His violet eyes roll over your form, making you feel exposed. “And disagreeing isn’t an option unless you want us to haunt you for the rest of your days,” Satoru adds. “When you summon a demon, you have to successfully complete your end of the deal or else they stay latched to you.” 

And that’s what you were afraid of. Curse you and your alcohol intake! “What’s my end?” you sigh, pinching your sinuses. 

The two big, sexy demons towering over you smirk in your face. “You fuck us till we’re satisfied,” Satoru smirkingly answers. “And we do the same for you. You cum as many times as we want you to because we know your body needs it while we feed off of your orgasms until we get our fill. Then, and only then, will we leave.” 

Suguru’s gaze grows soft, understanding of your reluctance. “No funny business. No taking your soul. None of that. We just want you to feel good tonight.” His voice is soft yet sexy, promising you endless pleasure. “So do we have a deal, little human?” The demons raise their brows expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

You’re still unsure about fucking a sex demon…let alone two! You’ve never had a threesome before, but you’ve fantasized about them. Plus, the idea of being sandwiched between two men much bigger than you who are devoted to your pleasure doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Two soft lips. Four veiny, calloused hands. Two skillful tongues. Two big, fat, throbbing c— 

“Okay,” you huff. “If I agree to fuck you both, you won’t show up here ever again?” Satoru shrugs, nodding. “Unless you summon us again, but yeah, essentially. We don’t show up where we’re not wanted, baby.” He gives you a lopsided smile, cocking his head to the side. It’s ridiculous how sexy it is. “We can give you exactly what you want and need. All you need to say is yes.” 

You don’t want to be haunted forever, so what choice do you have? Plus, though you’d like to admit it, you need some dick ASAP. And you’ve got two right here that are ready and willing to give you some. “Fine,” you scoff defeatedly. “You’ve got a deal. but we need to go over some rules. I don’t fuck demons, let alone have threesomes, so this is new to me.” 

Suguru looks pleased while Satoru cackles. ”Oooh, this will be fun!” Suguru shushes his partner before giving you a sweet smile. “What are your rules, sweetness?” 

They stay completely silent as you count off each rule on your fingers: “Number one: we use a safeword. Number two: no biting or clawing unless I say so. Number three: I like spanking, hair-pulling, choking, and spitting, but you need to warn me first. And number four: I’d like to be fucked without a condom, but NO cumming inside me. I refuse to have a demon baby like Rosemary.” 

Satoru looks bored but nods regardless. “Understood,” Suguru states, and you exhale, glad that this is starting off so easy for you. Maybe this won’t be as horrible as you thought…until Satoru gives you that wicked smirk. “Now get your ass on that bed,” he demands. His tone is so sultry and low that you can’t resist. 

The demons part to let you through and you slowly climb onto the bed, one vertebrae at a time. The incubi look down at you, the silver moonlight illuminating their lustful eyes, delicious muscles, and silver balls glinting from their hard, suckable nipples. Their pecs are so huge that they’d make great pillows AND motorboat material. “There now,” Satoru coos. “Comfy?” Silently, you nod, adverting your gaze. 

Satoru doesn’t like that. He grips your chin, forcing you to look at his illegally handsome face. “Good girl. Now come here; let’s give that mouth something else to do besides talk back.” He presses his lips to yours and though you initially tense, your body melts into his finally as you fall victim to the kiss. 

Satoru’s kiss is the best you’ve ever experienced. His lips are soft and sweet as they move against yours, dancing with you. There is no fight for dominance because you instantly give him that the more his spell works on you. He begins to moan into your mouth like he can’t handle how perfect this kiss is. You begin to moan as well as his tongue licks your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You allow it and his skillful tongue slides against yours.

As you French kiss, you realize how different Satoru’s tongue feels against yours. You know he has a tongue piercing due to the metallic taste, but you feel something else. Something pointed. 

Satoru has a forked tongue. 

‘Oh, God,’ you think deliriously. You find out that Suguru has one too when he comes behind you and begins gently licking and kissing along your neck, giving you a feel of his soft lips combined with his lip ring. You can only imagine how these silver balls will feel on your pussy. 

“We've never had one be so bratty,” Suguru whispers against your neck. He attaches his lips to one sweet spot there, gently nibbling and sucking on it, intending to leave a mark. Satoru hums in agreement, pulling away from the hot, salacious kiss.

You whimper from the loss. “That’ll make breaking you so much hotter,” he chuckles. “Now wasn’t that nice, baby? C’mon, you can say it. I know my kisses are good.” 

You’re completely breathless and dazed. Your skin is hot and buzzing. Your nipples are stiff and your panties are just about soaked…all from a kiss! “She hasn’t had me yet,” Suguru gruffly replies behind you. He gently turns your face toward him and begins kissing you too. His lips are just as soft and taste like ripe, juicy berries. You moan and whimper into his mouth, his large hand cupping your cheek. 

You feel the bed dip as Satoru sits down and begins kissing your neck, nuzzling your hair, teasingly moaning in your ear. “Hey,” he coos, “whose kiss is better, I wonder? Him or me?” Suguru growls against your lips, irked. He pulls away, a string of saliva hanging on your bottom lips. “Shut up, Satoru. This isn’t about inflating your ego. This is about making this pretty one feel good.” 

Pretty. It’s been so long since you’ve been called such a thing that you shudder. The two demons continue to leave trails of fire on your skin as they kiss up your neck, shoulders, and jaw, until they too grow impatient. “Can we take this off, sweetness?” Sugu asks, tugging at your dress.

Though he is respectful, you can see the wildfire in his eyes imploring you to say yes. “Y-Yes,” you stutter, licking your parched lips. “Just be careful. I like this dress.” 

The demons chuckle, but respect your request and gently begin to undress you. No ripping or tearing despite their long, pointed claws. When you’re finally naked except for your panties, the two demons look ravenously at you in the moonlight. “Just as I thought,” Suguru sighs, a pink blush on his cheeks. “You’re damn near perfection.” 

The two immediately sandwich you between their big bodies, hands groping your soft skin. Fingers stroke your sides, stomach, back, and legs, leaving tingles and goosebumps along your body. You moan and gasp, indulging in their bodies as well with your wandering hands. You can hardly remember enjoying foreplay this much! Your pussy is practically sobbing now, wanting so much to be stroked the way the rest of your body is. 

At some point, the two begin using their big hands to massage and grope your juicy breasts, using their thick fingers to pinch your hard nipples. Feeling their forked tongues and cold metal piercings against your sensitive peaks is a pleasure beyond words. It’s intense and explosive. You squeak in pleasure at the delicious sting, earning two tongue baths in response against your nipples. “That’s it, little lady,” Suguru murmurs. “Cry out for us. We’ve got you.” 

Coaxing you to do so, Satoru slowly slides a hand down between your thighs and presses his long fingers against your wet pussy. You gasp at the zing of pleasure that shoots from your core up to your head and throughout your fingers and toes. All he has to do is pull the thin fabric to the side to sink his fingers in and— 

Satoru takes a nibble of your ear, sucking on your earlobe, and one last squeeze of your breast. “Bend over, baby,” he orders, his blue eyes ablaze with mirth. “Get that prey ass in the air.” Under his and Suguru’s spell, you assume the position: face down, ass up, much to their enjoyment. 

Spank! 

You yelp in surprise at the burning sensation of a hand slapping your asscheek. You turn to look at a sheepish Satoru. “Sorry, baby, but I had to sneak a surprise one in.” You can’t be too mad at him when your pussy is so wet from the assault. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “Just ask next time.” 

The demon smiles, gently running his hand down the cheek he smacked. “May I spank that pretty ass of yours then?” He asks, his tone teasing and sultry sweet. Jerkingly, you nod and the demon hums in satisfaction before raising his hand up again. 

Spank! 

Surprising both yourself and the demons, a loud moan escapes you at the sweet burn. Satoru laughs, jiggling your asscheeks and enjoying the recoil. “Oooh, there’s a moan!” he cackles. “You like that, naughty girl? You want another one?” You weakly stare up at him, your body aflame from the spanks. 

Suguru, however, stops him. “Stop hogging her, Satoru. I want a piece of that too.” His big hand trails down your ass to give it a squeeze. Soon, both demons are massaging your ass which translates well with your already-wet pussy. “Let’s have a little competition then: whoever makes this cutie louder wins,” Satoru says, a teasing glint in his eye. 

Suguru gives him a smile that mirrors the exact same glint in those blue eyes. He then raises his hand above your butt and then brings it down hard against your asscheek, making it jiggle. Satoru follows suit, bringing his palm down a little harder each time to one-up his partner.

Spank! Spank! Spank!

The same sharp sound of their palms hitting your soft globes of flesh fills the bedroom along with each gasp, moan, and whimper that escapes you. 

You can’t believe you’re getting sobbing wet off of getting hit. Neither of them are even touching your pussy yet…until they do. Satoru decides to give your ass a break and experiment with your pussy instead. He gives it a light love tap over your soaked panties and both demons find enjoyment in the adorable yelp you let out….literally. If you could see them, you’d notice how hard they’ve become just from the sounds you make. 

“Ooooh, you like getting spanked here too, baby?” Satoru chuckles. “So fuckin’ cute.” He does it again, humming pleasurably at the way your body jumps and your pussy twitches.

“Mmm, that’s enough, I think. Her pussy certainly thinks so.” The tension in the air has grown thick as the scent of your arousal wafts through the air, intoxicating the two horny demons. 

Satoru does the honors of pulling your panties to the side, revealing your glistening, puffy, soft pussy to them. The demons practically groan at the sight. “You’re so pretty down here, baby,” Suguru murmurs. You feel two of his thick fingers caress your sensitive lips, causing you to moan at the soft touch. You’ve never been this sensitive. This needy. This desperate. 

“Please,” you whimper. Satoru leans in to hear you better, his lips toying with your ear. “Please what, baby? We can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask for it.” His forked tongue slithers out to caress your earlobe, sending chills down your spine while Suguru toys with your pussy, gently rubbing your clit around and around. 

You know you’re going to regret these words, but you’re too desperate to care. You rise up on your arms and look back at them, desperation all over your pretty face. “Please…taste me, Daddies.” Now you can see the two matching tents appearing underneath Satoru’s boxers and Suguru’s towel. The duo looks at each other before smirking deviously. “Oh…you want both?” Satoru chuckles. “Freaky. I like that. How do you feel about getting two forked tongues, hm?” 

You don’t have time to agree or refuse…not that you would refuse. You need something to give you relief and the idea of having two tongues in your pussy is tempting, to say the least. You let the two flip you over onto your back and spread your thighs apart, their greedy eyes glittering at you in the darkness of your bedroom only illuminated by the moonlight cutting through your window. 

Unfortunately for Suguru, Satoru takes up most of your cunt at first. He’s a greedy motherfucker, massaging your ass as he tongue fucks your pussy, filling you up and tasting you in a way unlike no man could ever do. You can’t explain it—the way the forked tips of his tongue tickle and stimulate each sweet spot inside of you; the way the sensitive bundles in your clit sing when his nose swipes against it; the way your body squirms and your thighs quiver under his hands as he spreads you open for him. 

“Oh, fuck!” you whine. “Fuck!” Your voice echoes throughout the bedroom, mingling with the lewd, wet sounds of Satoru’s sloppy eating. His blue eyes pierce up at you through the V of your thighs, staring into your soul as he drinks your pleasure. “That’s it, baby, scream for me. You sound so, so pretty.” He pauses to give your pussy a long lick, his forked tongue sliding against your puffy lips. “I bet no man has tongue fucked you like this, have they?” 

You weakly shake your head, your eyes rolling from the immense pleasure. Sweet Lords in Heaven and Hell, this man can eat pussy! You see stars and space behind your eyelids as Satoru slurps on your cunt, spitting on it before slurping it back up and resuming his eating. 

Tired of watching him have his fun, Suguru shoves him out of the way and kneels between your thighs. “Greedy bitch,” he scoffs. “Move out the way. It’s my turn to taste that pussy.” The demon gives you a wink before he dives between your legs. 

You were wrong about no man having eaten your pussy like Satoru. Suguru takes the cake with that. His lips are pillowy-soft and feel like satin against your sensitive pussy lips. Even his lip ring, as cold as it is, feels good on your needy clit as his forked tongue slides between your lips to explore your little hole. “Shit!” You moan, gripping the sheets for dear life. “Fuck yes, Suguru! You’re so good at this!” 

The long-haired demon smirks up at you, his chin and mouth glistening in your juices. “Thank you, baby,” he coos, ignoring Satoru’s smoldering glare next to him. “Hey, no fair!” He whines. “Y/N didn’t say my name while I was down there!” He forces Suguru to move over. “C’mon, Sugu, scoot over. We need to share.” 

Much to his dismay, Suguru shares your cunt and soon, you have two sets of skillful forked tongues and lips on your pussy, making you feel things you’ve never felt before. Claws dig into your skin, fangs nipple at your lips, and moans send vibrations throughout your pussy that you shake, quake, and ache. “Oh, my God, yes!” you wail. “Like that! Keep going!” 

Your hands grip the demons’ hair and horns, causing their cocks to grow harder. The amount of wetness and sounds you’re giving them are fulfilling every ounce of power they need as well as increasing their arousal. “So vocal,” Satoru chuckles. “I love my girls extra slutty like that.” He pauses to press a kiss to your mound, making you twitch. “Speakin’ of slutty, does my baby need somethin’ else?” 

Yes. God, yes, do you. “After we make her cum,” Suguru growls, tongue still licking away. “I want that orgasm first.” Together, the two of them work to bring you over the edge, their tongues flicking wildly against you and inside of you. It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak. Your clit begins swelling and the knot in your core tightens until it threatens to snap. 

Your back arches off of the bed as loud wails leave you. “OhmyGodI’mgonnacum!” you sob, speaking so fast that your words become one jumbled, messy sentence. Satoru lifts his gaze to stare at you, his blue eyes glowing. “What’s the magic word, baby?” He teases. 

Suguru looks at you too, his violet eyes drawing you in further until your mind is mush. “Please!” You nearly scream to the heavens. “Please, Daddies, make me cum!” 

That’s all the demons needed to hear. They work their jaws faster, their tongues slashing across your clit and against the underside of it inside you while pressing down on your pelvis. When your orgasm hits you, it hits you like a ton of bricks. You don’t make any noise as it washes over you, but when it finally settles into your body, you let out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard yourself make. 

You’ve never felt something so intense before. It spreads throughout your fingers and toes, and courses through your veins and bones. Like you’re coming for Mariah Carey’s career, you sing high notes that are so loud that you’re sure the Devil below can hear it. The demons slurp up everything you give them…which is a lot. Your pussy gushes around their tongues and on their soft lips, more and more leaking out because of your grinding hips. 

It is the best orgasm you’ve ever had…so far. When it finally fades and you’re soaring through the clouds, your hips lower and your soul re-enters your body again. Satoru and Suguru finally finish cleaning you up, they look 100% rejuvenated and replenished, licking your essence off of their lips. 

Satoru sighs, stretching his arms over his head. “I feel better already,” he sighs, “but now I’ve got an even bigger problem.” Suguru concurs, staring down at the tent forming beneath his towel. Satoru fixes you with a lustful gaze, a playful smirk on his lips. “You wanna see what a real cock looks like, cutie?” He asks. 

Slowly, you nod, panting from the intense orgasm. 

With lust and mirth in their eyes, the demons slowly strip themselves in front of you. Suguru unwraps his towel while Satoru pulls down his briefs, showing off their lickable V-lines and happy trails. Then, finally, two big, fat, throbbing, rock-hard cocks pop out from their hiding spots and present themselves to you. Each pink head drips with pre-cum, begging to be licked and sucked, and two big veins cascade from the bases to the tips. 

Though they are equally big, they have their differences too: Satoru is slightly longer than Suguru and has a hook while Suguru is much girthier and has heavier, mouth-watering balls. Either way, both will probably fuck your absolute brains out. 

You don’t realize that you’re staring at them with your mouth open until they crack up at your reaction. “Awww, what a cute look!” Satoru laughs. “She can’t believe her eyes!” Suguru hooks two fingers underneath your chin, making you look up at him. “Think you can take both of us, sweetheart?” He asks, his tone sultry and soothing. 

Something takes over you in that moment. A cock-hungry whore jumps into your bones and takes your place. She uses your body to get on her knees between the two demons, one cock in each of your hands. You watch as your hands begin to gently stroke their shafts from the tips down to the bases, up and down, up and down. 

The soft, sexy sounds leaving the demons’ lips encourage you to keep going, their hands lacing in your ear. “Nice and easy, baby,” Satoru huskily whispers. “Get to know ‘em. There’s no rush.” 

You find yourself falling in love with their cocks, especially once you get them in your mouth. You start with Suguru first, peppering his dick in kisses before taking him into your mouth and gently sucking on him like you would a lollipop. A big, thick lollipop. “Fuck,” he sighs, his head lolling back at the feeling. Your wet tongue. Your soft lips. The way your cheeks hollow and cushion him as he slides in and out of your tight little mouth. 

After some time, you switch to Satoru and give him the same treatment. The demon watches you through hooded eyes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, as you bop up and down on his cock. “Good girl,” he moans, caressing your scalp. “Such a good girl for me.” You moan in response around his cock, stroking him in time with your sucking. 

You begin to switch between the two every so often, stroking one while blowing the other, massaging one of the pair of heavy balls while you slurp on one of their thick, pink heads, licking up the pre-cum. You’ve never sucked two cocks at once before, but surprisingly, you get the hang of it quickly…and you realize how much you enjoy it. 

Satoru chuckles, wiping spit from your mouth that you’ve accumulated from sucking so much. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want us to fuck that pretty face of yours. Is that what you want?” He grips your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. “Tell us what you want,” he orders, his thumb playing with your bottom lip. 

The words flow out of you so easily: “I want you to fuck my mouth,” you softly say. “Both of you give me your cocks…please.” The demons smile down at you, their cocks twitching in your hands. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” Satoru tilts his hips forward and slides his cock into your mouth. 

You nearly gag as he slides into your throat, but keep telling yourself to breathe through your nose as your throat stretches and flexes around Satoru’s cock. Spit drips down your chin as he begins to bump and grind against your mouth, sliding himself in and out. He is very vocal about how good you’re making him feel, full-on yapping as he fucks your face. 

“Oooh, look how deep you’re takin’ me, babe. And you thought you couldn’t do it.” He slides in deeper, his pretty face screwing in pleasure as the walls of your throat flex and clench around him. “That’s it, gag on that shit. Such a good fuckin’ girl!” He fucks your mouth like it’s a toy, pulling you on and off of him as much as he wants. 

Once he’s had enough, he passes you off to Suguru who is way more gentle and slow with his facefucking. He allows you to get used to his girth, your jaw stretching as he slides into your throat, filling your entire mouth up with his cock. “You’re so good at this, sweetness,” he coos. “You must’ve done this before…though the way your body is movin’ makes me think it’s been a while.” 

You don’t realize that you’re grinding your pussy against the bed until he points it out. Getting wet off of a blowjob? That’s NEVER happened to you before. With a moan, Suguru slips out of your mouth and Satoru yanks you toward him to slide back in. “No one’s been fucking this pretty body right?” He tuts as he fucks your mouth. “What a shame. Nobody could’ve done it better though.” 

Suguru fucks your hand while he watches his partner turn your mouth into a fleshlight. “How long has it been since that trash ex of yours?” He asks. You blink up at him in surprise and he laughs. “Yeah, we know. Soon as we were summoned, we were able to see everything about you and your little life.” 

“And boy, did you dodge a bullet with that asshole,” Satoru laughs. Slipping out, he taps his cock against your lips and then your tongue before jamming himself back inside. “Not even eating you out most nights…not that he could do as good of a job.” He gives you a cocky smile as he slides out, allowing Suguru to have you again. 

The long-haired demon taps his cock along your wet tongue, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “You’ve been waitin’ for us to come along and slut you out, haven’t you?” He whispers. “Just the way you need to.” You have. You absolutely have waited for this. “Y-Yes,” you exhale and dive back onto his cock, sucking and slurping as much as you can. 

Suguru is loving it, his clawed hand gripping your hair and his eyes screwed tight. The feeling of your tight, wet mouth combined with how pretty you look with his cock stuffed between your cheeks is too much. “Fuck, keep going,” he groans. “Don’t stop!” His hand clings to your hair desperately, luscious moans and gasps escaping him as you swallow his cock. 

Satoru laughs, watching in interest and lust as you stroke him with your hand. “You’ve got some skills, little human. Sugu isn’t ever this loud unless I’ve got my dick in him.” Suguru glares at him, sliding his cock out of your mouth. It bobs slightly, nearly hitting you in the nose. “Shut up,” he growls. “Someone else definitely needs a dick in ‘em too.” 

You do. Your pussy is clenching around air and gushing all over the bed. You need them like you’ve never needed anything before. Satoru cups your face and lovingly strokes your cheek. “You ready to take us now, baby? How do you want it, hm?” They’re leaving it up to you? Your mind is so foggy from your arousal that you’ve forgotten your first name! 

But you know one thing for sure: you want them. Right here, right now. “I don’t care,” you find yourself answering. “Just fuck me.” The two handsome demons smile like two wolves who have successfully captured their prey. “Yes, ma’am,” they reply in unison. 

They take their time getting you into position. To them, there is no rush, but to you and your pussy, they couldn’t move any slower. They set you on all fours, your back arched and your ass presented to them. After deciding who goes first, Satoru gladly positions himself behind you while Suguru kneels in front of your mouth again. Both of their cocks begin sliding against both sets of your puffy, soft lips, emitting soft moans from both of you. 

“That’s it,” Satoru coos as you begin grinding back into him. “Show me how much you want this. Tell me with your body, baby.” He takes his hand and spits into it before applying it to his cock, making it shine in his saliva. 

“Careful, Satoru,” Suguru warns. “Humans are fragile.” Satoru rolls his blue eyes as he slides his cock against your clit and sobbing pussy. “I’ve done this before. Chill! Besides, she’s wet enough to take me.” Finally, he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly, sloooowly, slides in. 

You can’t explain what you feel when Satoru slides inside of you for the first time. Your mouth falls agape and your eyes widen as he stretches your walls inch by inch, filling you up with all of him. “Just relax,” he whispers, stroking your backside. “Let me do all the work, baby.” 

Suddenly, your entire body begins to feel…different. Your nipples tingle and tighten as if stimulated and your pussy grows so wet that your juices drip down your thighs. You know this has everything to do with whatever powers Satoru possesses as a demon. Whatever he does helps you take his cock deeper until he bottoms out inside of you, his balls tapping your clit. 

Satoru and Suguru begin to fuck your holes with you squeezed between them, their big hands raised above your head to form a triangle. You serve as the bottom half of this Eiffel Tower, swallowing Suguru’s dick as you try to focus on pushing yourself back and fucking yourself on Satoru’s cock too. “How’s it feel, mama?” He teasingly asks. “Is that dick big enough?” 

His clawed hands snake down your ass to squeeze and massage it, his rough palms swatting at your cheeks. You mumble around Suguru’s thick cock in your throat at the sting just as one clawed hand caresses your scalp. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he pants. “You look so goddamn pretty with my cock in your throat.” 

He pushes deeper, filling your throat with him. You nearly gag around his length, but manage to accommodate his size and breathe through your nose as he guides your head back and forth along his shaft. Satoru laughs, pistoning into you so roughly that you see stars. “Y’know, you’re right, Sugu: she does look cute gettin’ stuffed like this…but not stuffed enough.” 

You suddenly feel his spit-coated finger gently swirling around your asshole before gently probing it. “Mmm!” you yelp around Suguru’s cock, but the demon shushes you. “It’s okay, babydoll,” he coos, still feeding you his cock. “Gojo’s just gonna get that ass ready for him.” 

Helplessly, you take Satoru’s finger in your ass, the digit penetrating the tight muscle until he feels that you’re ready. As soon as he pulls out, something else goes in. You yelp as your asshole stretches around the foreign object, making you feel full beyond belief. “Like my tail, baby?” He chuckles. “Your ass looks so fuckin’ good right now.” 

He begins to fuck you harder, gripping your ass so hard that his claws dig into your skin. You wince at the sting, but strangely enough, it adds to the pleasure. Your body has a mind of its own, straying away from your brain as it begins pushing back into Satoru’s cock. ”Bounce on that cock, baby,” he coaxes. “You’re such a good girl for us.” 

You are, you deliriously think. You are a good girl. Taking two big cocks at once is definitely something a good girl does. 

When Suguru takes you, he is just as big and just as thick as Satoru. He grips your hips and pounds your pussy from behind, his moans and grunts so delicious in your ears. Speaking of delicious, Satoru can’t enough of your delicious, sweet, dripping little cunt. He’s so pussy-drunk off of it that he volunteers to get underneath you and eat you out while Suguru fucks you from behind. He’s such a glutton, swallowing everything you give him. 

He hums delightfully as he licks and slurps at your puffy lips and needy clit, even licking at Suguru’s sensitive balls and cock while he slides in and out of you. “You taste so good here, baby!” He mufflingly comments from between your thighs. It comes out more like, “Ywou twaste swo good hewe, babwuy.” 

His skillfully, forked tongue intensifies your already-stimulated nerves, making everything so wet, slippery, and sloppy. Suguru fucks you like you’ve never been fucked before, going at just the right pace that makes your pussy sob and whines of pleasure come out of you. “How’s it feel?” He asks, pressing his lips to your ear. “Tell me how that dick fuckin’ feels.” 

His hand comes around to squeeze your throat, causing a choked sob to escape you. “So-S-So good!” You cry out. “You feel so fuckin’ good, Suguru!” Happy with this, he speeds up his tempo, emitting chants of “Yes, yes, yes” from you as Satoru licks wildly at your clit, digging his claws into the soft flesh of your asscheeks while his partner dicks you down. 

But neither of them makes you cum…yet. That comes after each of them have had their fill of your pussy when you find yourself squished between them again. You straddle Satoru’s lap while Suguru kneels behind you, peppering your back in kisses. “Let’s fuck this bunny until she’s dumb,” Satoru suggests, his tone low and saccharine sweet. 

Suguru only nods and suddenly, you feel two thick, hard cocks sliding into your tight holes. Your eyes water and your mouth widens as you feel your body being stretched open. Your holes feel warm and tingly, the feeling only increasing the more the demons push inside of you. You know that they’re using their powers on you to make this more pleasurable, but it’s intense. “Too much!” You cry. “It’s too much!” 

You drop your head onto Satoru’s chest, whining and panting at the sensations. “Aw but you’re doin’ so well for us, baby,” he coos, bumping his hips up into yours. “Don’t give up now. This is what you wanted, right?” As if coercing you into agreeing with him, he rocks his hips up and hits that spongy part inside of you that makes you nearly lose your voice moaning. 

Suguru rocks his hips too, molding your hole into the shape of his cock. You feel too full, like a balloon filled with too much air. You begin to scramble and squirm in Satoru’s lap, but Suguru holds you firm against him, pressing himself against your back. “Don’t fuckin’ run from this,” he growls. “You want it and now you’ve got it. Hold fuckin’ still.” 

His demanding, no-BS tone turns you on more than you can express. Like a puppet being controlled by strings or a slave by her master, your body relaxes and succumbs to the overwhelming, intense pleasure. The two demons begin to fuck you harder once they find their rhythm, digging their nails into the flesh of your ass. “So fuckin’ tight!” Gojo grunts, fucking up intoyou like it’s his profession. “So fuckin’ wet. Such a good little slut for us.” 

He latches his lips around a nipple, sucking roughly on the sensitive bud. Geto attaches his lips and tongue to your neck, licking and sucking on your skin until he leaves hickeys. Their hips pump faster, their cocks moving in and out, in and out, stretching your holes until you’re sure that they are molded into the shape of their shafts. 

You grip Gojo’s shoulders as they bounce you against them, making you take everything they give you. Oh, my God!” You scream. “Oh, my God!” Your voice rips out of you, satiating the demons. Gojo turns your face to meet his glittering blue eyes. “No God here, baby; just us,” he chuckles. 

Geto presses his lips to your cheek, nuzzling his nose into your sweet-smelling air. “Keep screamin’ for us. We wanna hear more of that pretty fuckin’ voice.” As if to persuade you, he switches up his tempo and moves out while Gojo moves in until the both of them are moving in tandem with each other, filling you up after one pulls out. 

Wet sounds of their cocks in your sobbing pussy begin to fill the air, mingling with your moans, bedsprings, and the sound of skin slapping against skin. The sound of sex. It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm of the night to peak like the moon high in the sky. “I-I’m gonna cum!” You pathetically sob, absolutely losing all self-control. “Please let me cum!” 

Gojo’s hand wraps around your neck, firmly squeezing your throat. His eyes glow, turning every strand of control and restraint you have into putty. “Tell us it’s ours then,” he demands. “Say this fuckin’ body, this ass, this pussy, is ours.” Geto slows down a bit to give you a chance to answer, his eyes all on you. 

You know what you’ll be doing if you say it. You know you’d be giving yourself over to these two demons from the depths of Hell who could damn well be tricking you…but you’re so desperate to cum that you don’t even care. If you truly become theirs then you just hope and pray that the same hot, mind-blowing sex you’re getting now will be in the plans. “I-It’s yours,” hou whimper, the words barely escaping you. “My pussy is yours. My ass is yours. I’m yours, Daddies! I wanna be yours!” 

You can practically feel the two demons teem with joy and power as the words leave your lips. Gojo breaks out into a big grin as his cock drives up into you harder and faster, making you bounce up and down on him, your tits jiggling in his face. 

“Now you definitely can’t get rid of us now, baby,” he chuckles. “You’re ours now. And don’t let this go to that pretty little head, but you’re the best I’ve ever had.” 

Suguru presses his lips to your ear, his big hands gripping your body as his cock drives into you. “Cum for us,” he growls. “Give it to us, gorgeous. Cum.” 

His voice is like a button that triggers something inside of you. Immediately, your body clenches and so do your holes around the big cocks inside of you. Your orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave, sweeping you up in an ocean of intense pleasure. 

With a loud moan, you cum around Satoru’s cock, triggering his own orgasm. “Gonna cum!” He warns, gripping you tight. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna give you all of these fuckin’ babies, baby, I promise.” 

He holds your eyes with his, showing you desperation and the loss of control in them. It’s so, so sexy. “You’re gonna take all of that cum for ya Daddies, aren’t you?” he coos. “Yes, you are.” 

He answers for you and so does his cock. With a loud moan and a swear, he sinks his claws into your ass and fills your pussy to the brim with your cum. Suguru leans down to kiss him, sloppily swirling his tongue with Satoru’s as he, too, cums. You gasp and shudder as you feel Geto’s cum fill your ass and then wetly drip down your inner thighs. 

The two don’t stop there. They continue to fuck into you without abandon, pushing their cum deeper into your holes. “Shit!” Satoru hisses, his face flushed pink. “C-Can’t…stop…cumming!” 

Suguru moans in response, nuzzling his face into your neck, his hair tickling your skin. He and Satoru rut into you like it’s the last time they’ll do so, hugging you between them. “Take it,” Satoru demands. “Take all of it.” 

You do. You have no choice. You weakly moan as your orgasm draws on, growing more and more intense as the seconds pass. You feel that you may faint if this goes on. You begin to feel dizzy and light, like you’re not grounded. You’re somewhere in the sky floating among the clouds. 

“Y/N?” Suguru’s hand is suddenly on your face, gently tapping your cheek. “Talk to me, mama. You okay?” Weakly, you nod. You can’t find the words to speak. Even as your orgasm fades, the tingles remain. 

“Lay her down,” Suguru demands. “I wanna mark that pretty face and those tits too.” You weakly moan as the two demons pull out of your wet, sensitive holes and lay you on your back. 

You stare up at the two sexy, horned men and their still-hard cocks as they pump them furiously in your face. “Hold still now, baby,” Satoru says, his tone saccharine sweet. “Just let your Daddies mark you up.” 

Muscles clench, faces screw, and cocks swell as their second orgasms build. You watch with lust-blown eyes as your demons toss their heads back, exposing their necks to you, as their orgasms wash over them. Delicious moans escape them as their cum escapes their cocks. You gasp as you feel warm liquid splash onto your tits, stomach, and face. 

Your eyes shut just in time to avoid getting any in your eye, but you can taste the salty substance on your lips and tongue. It drops down your breasts and chest; out of your cunt and ass, coating your thighs. You are now completely theirs. 

The two demons sigh in exhaustion and satisfaction, their cocks soft and their toned bodies slick with sweat. Satoru wipes seat from his forehead, a smile on his face. “That…was needed. I feel better already!” 

Suguru’s nods, agreeing, before his attention falls on you. “How do you feel, baby?” he whispers, gently stroking your thigh. “You okay?” 

All you can muster is a soft mewl in response. You sit there, winded, achy, and coated in cum. Satoru snorts, gently wiping a droplet of cum from your lips. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs. “Now, baby, how do your friends feel about demons? You should probably introduce us soon.” 

Suguru tsks and elbows his partner as he gently scoops you off of the bed. “Shut up and help me run a bath, asshole.” 

The demon holds you to his chest and carries you to the bathroom. He gently kisses your forehead, soft and loving. “You did so well for us tonight, sweetness,” he coos. “So, so good. We hope we made you feel just as good as you made us feel.” 

You want to tell him yes, that you’ve never felt so rejuvenated and alive, but the post-orgasm sleepiness won’t allow you. The shea butter and lavender-scented bubble bath Satoru runs for you only makes it worse. 

The two demons don’t talk as they sit in the bath with you, wiping their cum off of you and letting you soak. There are only soft sighs and light touches that relax you even further as you sink back into Satoru’s chest while Suguru washes you. 

Two incubi in your bathroom. Who would ever believe this? 

The rest of the night is slow, sweet, and involves a hot bubble bath, oil massages, and getting snuggled between two sex demons in your bed. 

Suddenly, with your body aching deliciously and your bed warm from the two men slumbering in it, you start to think that maybe having two incubi haunt you for the rest of your days won’t be such a bad thing after all… 

Just as long as this night is like every other night after. 

THE END. 

[itsabouttimex2]

Sooooo... How do you feel about the season 5?

In short? Mid. 6-6.5/10.

In long…?

A severely rushed season that bit off way more than it could chew. A season that had the characters pull powers from their asses more frequently than ever before. A season that had shitty “dramatic” moments for the sake of having dramatic moments. A season that lampshades issues instead of fixing them. A season with so, so much wasted potential.

It basically boils down: everything they wanted to do COULD have been good, but they just didn’t have the time.

I’ll go into some varied details below. I’d also like to make clear- I’ll be tagging all of my Season Five Posts with “Lego Monkie Kid Season 5” and “LMK Spoilers” until August 1st. Then the gloves are coming off and I’ll stop tagging them.

(I still liked the season, for what it’s worth- and you can watch it in full here! I’ve got some drafts and bots cooking as we speak!)

This was a cute send-off to Flying Bark! It was nice of them to acknowledge, in some way, everything that those dears did for the show- because Lego Monkie Kid would NOT be where it is without them.

Significantly less cute-

The absolute kick in the fucking face that constantly superimposing old footage over newer, worse footage is.

You don’t want us to be constantly reminded of the animation downgrade- that’s the literal last thing that anyone wants. Why would you constantly remind us that it used to be better?

What the fuck does this accomplish? Okay, let’s make comparisons, cause that’s the only thing that can result from pulling this shit-

This is what happens when you constantly reference the older, superior content.

PEOPLE CONSTANTLY NOTICE THAT YOUR CONTENT IS WORSE.

Also, why is it so saturated? How do you make a Lego Minifigure look like he has jaundice?

It’s just a bad look to constantly reference content you can’t live up to. I’m hoping they’ll just recreate old content instead of sloppily pasting it into the background of the show- it’ll be less jarring.

Alright, what else…

———

Yay, I called it! Nuwa is not MK’s “loving though bereft mommy”! Which I had been guessing ever since the Celestial Pagoda leaked, actually-

I mean, come on. He’s literally stealing the stones away from her as she reaches to take them back.

And the Season confirmed it! Nuwa might’ve be been MK’s creator, but she certainly wasn’t his momma.

And you know how the series subtlety clues you in to how little she cares about her “son”?

Nuwa didn’t give him a name. She had hundreds, maybe thousands of years to think on it- but no. No name.

We mortals name our pets, our vehicles, our art. We love them enough to bestow monikers.

Nuwa didn’t even bother to name her own sapient mortal creation.

But when he makes a move against her, does something she doesn’t want, takes destiny into his own hands?

She calls out to him with one word- not “son”. Not “MK”.

Nuwa angrily calls him “mortal”.

Becuase that’s all he ever was to her, really. A mortal pawn. A handmade puppet.

Someone designed to fulfill a sacrifice. Even though her intentions were good, MK’s sole purpose by her hand was to shoulder the weight of the world like a good little hero.

So… a potential “villain” in the making?

———

Lampshading the fact that you’re doing the “macguffin hunt” again does not excuse doing the “macguffin hunt” again.

Lampshading the “apocalypse after apocalypse” plots doesn’t make them any less exhausting.

Lampshading Macaque’s lack of narrative consequences does not undo the awkward and weak redemption arc.

———

They changed Mei “no longer wielding” the Samadhi fire, I guess.

Ignore that she never displayed a hint of concern or sorrow over “losing it” because now she’s sad and worried (after backlash from the fans over her losing it) about losing it.

Like, Subodhi knows so much about the world and the universe that he’s aware of his existence in the ink scroll- but he gets Mei not having an interplanetary level threat inside her wrong?

I smell a retcon.

———

Macaque’s redemption arc is still shit. I’ve got a whole rant queued to release soon, actually- I imagine it might be the final time I comment on his arc until Season Six.

To put it short- Macaque still falls upwards into redemption. No pushback or difficulty or introspection. He’s just a magically better person without any onscreen development to make the change believable.

But they reference this at one point?

Sun Wukong points out that Macaque escapes the trial without any punishment, and is just allowed to mope in place of an actual consequence.

So maaaaaayybeeeee they’ll do something in Season Six? I’ve lost all faith that he’ll ever be an interesting character again, though.

He’s essentially just “brooding rival #80058”. Instead of being a character that calls back to Seasons 1-3, from 4 onwards he’s just a brand new dude who totally didn’t commit any atrocities with a smile on his face- and he’s a worse and more boring character for it.

———

If I haven’t misjudged the intent, I think Monkie Kid will be going back to being an episodic series for the extent of Season Six. Again, they lampshade the “apocalypse after apocalypse” thing, yeah?

And now they have a perfect formula- find someone who’s having trouble with their new power, and help them.

And we might see Bai He again???

Let’s hope for a good breather season!

———

Rest in piss Li Jing their asses did NOT cook with you sorry papa

You could’ve been interesting in the writers didn’t try to pull a “loving father” bait and switch after you got like four scenes of being a raw jackass

If they were going to deviate from the source material and make you a good dad couldn’t it have just been:

“Li Jing, you were not invited to the trial!”

“STF that monkey son of a bitch hurt my baby boy-“

“Father I’m 300-“

“Hush son, let daddy take care of this- that monkey son of a bitch hurt my baby boy when he stole the Samadhi fire map!”

Maybe next season you’ll get to be interesting, hun.

(I’m still writing for Lotusfam though)

———

Drama for the sake of drama. 0/10 scene. Could’ve just had the interruption come AFTER they held hands, but no. Gotta drag shit out for the shippers or whatever. There was no reason to prolong this reunion.

I’m really not a fan of the “just wait another season for it”, mentality. Stop stretching shit out. You had a chance to do something sweet and heartwarming, and chose not to for the sake of trying to drag a conclusion out.

Ugh.

———

Characters just pull powers out of their ass for the sake of forcing dramatic scenes.

THESE ARE DOGSHIT SCENES

THIS MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE. THIS IS DONE SOLELY FOR THE SALE OF “MUH DRAMATIC FINALE” AND IS BAD

ITS BAD WRITING TO HAVE CHARACTERS PULL NEW MAGICAL POWERS OUT OF THEIR ASSES FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMA

IF WUKONG HAD THIS POWER FROM THE START HE SHOULD’VE USED IT AGAINST HIS FUCKING LETHAL ENEMIES AND NOT SAVED IT FOR HIS PRECIOUS STUDENT

MK NEVER LEARNED TO USE THE FILLET SPELL. THE WRITERS PULLED IT OUT OF THEIR ASS TO FORCE DRAMA BY HAVING MK TORTURE HIS MENTOR LONGER THAN EVEN THEIR ACTING ENEMY LI JING DID WITH A CIRCLET THAT IS CANONICALLY TIGHTER THAN HIS FIRST

WE SEE HOW FAST HE IS WHEN HE FIGHTS THE AZURE LION

MK CAN MOVE FASTER THAN WUKONG

HE COULD’VE BEATEN HIM THERE IN AN EQUALLY CLIMATIC RACE

I FEEL NOTHING WHEN I WATCH THIS BECAUSE IT IS FORCED DRAMA FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMA

—————————————————

💚💚💚

[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 17 - Letters

Content includes: Idia x reader, pre-relationship, reader is referred to as Prefect, reader has anxiety, Idia and his strange way of speaking (affectionate)

The first time you sent a letter to Idia Shroud, you were quite nervous. 

You’ve been wanting to talk to him for a while, finding him interesting even if you only knew him through a screen. However, you are just as shy as he is, and the thought of even approaching his Ipad was enough to freak you out. 

Originally, you had planned on finding him online. That seemed much easier, plus he would be more likely to engage that way. Then you remembered that you don’t have a phone. For that matter, you have no access to the internet at all. 

That’s why you decided on the letters. 

You spent all night writing out your first letter, wracked with nerves as you tried to think of the perfect things to say. The thought of actually sending this out embarrassed you to your very core, but you knew it was at least worth a try. 

Since you knew you wouldn’t be able to get to Idia on your own, you enlisted the help of Ortho. The next day at school, you approached him, awkwardly handing off the letter with an equally as awkward explanation of your plan. 

Ortho, for his part, is absolutely delighted at your idea, happy someone wants to be friends with his brother. He happily agrees to be your delivery boy, which does help to ease some of your nerves. 

You spend the rest of the day feeling nervous, hoping Idia won’t think you’re weird for this. Some people would definitely find this strange, but maybe Idia will be more open minded. 

Surprisingly, you get your answer the next day in the form of a letter. Ortho floats up to you, as sunny as ever, excitedly handing you a letter. 

You thank him, taking it out of his hands. For now, you place it in your bag, deciding to read it once you return to your dorm. 

The day seems to just drag on, almost as if it doesn’t want you to read the letter. It grates on your nerves, and you’re so thankful when the final bell rings. Without saying anything to your friends, you dart off to your dorm. 

When you actually pull the letter out of your bag, however, you hesitate. Ortho certainly seemed happy, but did he know what Idia wrote? What if it was something bad, like that he thought you were weird? The anxiety ate at you, and you almost chickened out of reading it. 

But, before you could let those thoughts win, you push them away and open the letter, taking a deep breath before reading it. 

Hi Prefect, 

This is pretty unexpected ngl. I was gonna ignore this at first, but that was before Ortho told me it was from you. That sounds kinda cringy, I know. 

Anyway, thanks ig. I didn’t think anyone wanted to talk to me, especially like this. It feels so old time-y, but I guess that is sorta your vibe, huh? I’ll let you decide if that’s an insult or not. 

If you wanna keep this going, I guess I wouldn’t mind. Ortho says it’ll be good for me, and unfortunately, I can’t say no to him. He looked so excited, but I’m sure you already saw him too. 

And, don’t worry, he didn’t read this, or yours. He kinda wanted to, but I told him no. So, feel free to say whatever in these. Only I’ll see them. 

Idia Shroud

You smile, relieved that this went well. His writing is exactly how you imagined it would be, but that’s all part of the charm. 

After thinking for a moment, you decide it best to keep his letter in the drawer of the desk next to your bed. You place it in gently, smiling at it one last time before closing the drawer. 

Then you sit down at your desk, taking out a sheet of paper, thinking about how you want to respond. This time, your anxiety is almost nonexistent, instead replaced with a more giddy feeling as you put pen to paper.

[urhoneycombwitch]

in sickness, to cherish

foreword: so excited to release this lil’ babe into the world. PTSD and trauma healing is of special interest to me, I hope you enjoy ��� (p.s. from my limited research I don’t think they would have used a heart monitor for low-risk patients but it is literally integral to my plot so I’m breaking my anachronistic purity rule. soz)

wc: 3k

cw: descriptions of seizure, PTSD + hospital/medical trauma for the whole gang, brief mention of non-consensual drugging, R is referred to once as “Mrs” & “girlfriend”, angst w/ comfort

___

The mounted clock on the wall of the dingy Hawkins Memorial waiting room ticks over to nine PM, a brutal reminder that time (for everyone else, at least) has not, in fact, stopped.

Nine o’clock. As you pace from one end of the plastic chair-lined aisle to the other, you run the numbers in your head, fingers spastic at your sides- it’s nine right now, and Steve was admitted just after six, which means they’ve been running tests for three hours, even though the charge nurse said it should only take one…

”You wanna step outside for a smoke?”

Eddie speaks up from his seat at the end of the row, catching your bleary gaze before you’re turning on your heel again to complete your looping track.

His voice cuts smoothly over the buzzing fluorescents, the old television in the corner droning with last week’s news cycle; it’s enough to disrupt Robin from her half-sleep against Eddie’s shoulder, blinking into consciousness and stretching her stiff limbs as you respond.

“No, thanks.” Your hands slip to the inside of your elbows, squeezing through layers of soft cardigan in a near-bruise, feet continuing the rhythmic pacing. “You can go, though- I’ll make sure Robin comes to get you if anything happens.”

Eddie clears his throat, sinking back into the hard plastic, rings clicking at the armrests. “Nah, I’m good without one. Just thought you’d want a change of scenery, maybe some fresh air would calm-”

“I’m staying here.”

There’s a sharpness to your voice, a rarity- Robin winces, fingers in her lap twisting and fidgeting as she tries to change the subject. “God, Steve’s gonna be spitting mad when he wakes up. He’s the most doctor-adverse person I know.”

Eddie latches on to this with a humorless chuckle- “Stubborn bastard. Wouldn’t let those lab goons go near him, even after last year-”

“Fuck.” The swear comes from the bottom of your toes, even as you swivel on the balls of your feet to loop back in front of your friends; their faces snap to you, a blur of motion as you pass them again- “You’re right. Steve fucking hates doctors. I should’ve-”

Your next breath comes stilted, fingers a vice-grip on your own arms as you pace, pace, pace- “I should’ve treated this like taking a dog to a vet. Crushed up some pills in his food, or something- he never listens to me when I nag him about his hearing getting worse- do you know how many meals, how many glasses of water we share, every day?”

From the corner of your hazy vision, Robin’s gone still and pale, her voice tremulous- “I didn’t mean to imply- this isn’t your fault, you know-”

But you’re not ready to hear that, guilt surfacing like a sick wave, tears pooling, moments away from spilling over, voice trembling with anguish- “Could’ve been so easy, tell him we’re going for a ride, load him up into the passenger seat, he goes to sleep and I could’a passed him right off to a doctor, to someone who could have prevented this-”

Eddie rises from his seat to stand in the middle of your path, hands lifting to soothe and appease, but you’re still in flight mode, like a bird beating its wings against the confines of its cage.

You flinch away from his touch, standing with your back turned to them both, staring out the dark window, unseeing. “You know what Steve said to me? Right before he hit the ground? He said, ‘Don’t panic, I’m gonna pass out, try not to let my hair get too messed up.’”

An edge of misplaced humor draws a dry laugh from your throat. The dark window reflects your own face back- tear-streaked, red veins encroaching on the whites of your eyes- as you shake your head in disbelief. “He made a joke. To try and distract me from the fact that he was about to hit the ground and go all… all spastic-”

Unbidden flashes of memory surge to the forefront of your mind: victims of last spring. Twisted forms snapped at the bone, Max’s arms and legs bent at horrifying angles, plaster casts from head-to-toe, freckled face still and sallow against the starch-white hospital sheets-

A leather-jacketed form in the reflection behind you, Eddie’s hand solid on your back against the shuddering breaths wracking all the air from your lungs. You don’t flinch away this time.

Your beautiful boy. Steve. With his eye-crinkling smiles and sharp wit and gentle heart, stiff as a board in the middle of your living room, eyes rolled back in his skull like a downed deer, unreachable, just three hours ago.

“I thought it was Vecna. It’s been so long but I thought he’d come back, somehow, I was this close to running upstairs and grabbing our Walkman-”

”But you didn’t.” The hand at your back is joined by another at your arm as Eddie pulls you to face him, his gaze locking on your own, brown eyes full of grave compassion. “You heard the nurse. She said tipping him on his side was the best call you could’a made, sweetheart- you saved him.”

”But I didn’t know,” you insist, “I didn’t know that’s what would help, I just did it ‘cuz I was worried he was going to choke on his own tongue-”

“Semantics. You intuited it, then.” One of Eddie’s hands leaves your arm briefly to make a dismissive gesture through the air- “Which, in my book, is all the more impressive.”

Unconvinced, your voice small and tightening along with your chest- “What if this happens again, and he’s alone, this time? What if he’s working one of his three closing shifts a week, without Robin- what if he’s driving?”

You can’t help the spiraling of your thoughts, what-if scenarios jumping in line, each one more horrifying than the last.

Robin rises to stand beside Eddie, opens her mouth- to deny, to comfort, it’s unclear- but is interrupted by a new nurse who’s just appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Harrington?”

This snaps you back to earth, a bit, another watery laugh as Eddie takes a step back, allowing you to swipe at the mess of tears on your face before turning to the nurse- “Yeah. As good as, I guess. How’s he doing?”

With a last look at your friends, the nurse leads you down sickeningly-bright corridors while reading from a clipboard- most of it’s medical jargon, your foggy brain struggling to keep up as you stay on her heels.

What you gather, as you’re led to his room, is nothing new- Steve’s had a seizure, likely due to the trauma his brain incurred from the ‘earthquake’ of ‘86, and it’s unclear what triggered it, or if it’s likely to happen again.

“We’re going to keep him overnight, just to monitor his condition.” The nurse stops at a door labeled Room 202, hinges squeaking as she pushes it open. “He was really lucky, this time. Must’ve had a good guardian angel looking out for him.”

Heart thrumming thick in your throat, you almost ask the nurse to wait, to give you a second- maybe a quick bathroom break to splash some cold water against the tear-tracks, or even an extra few seconds to pretend at being stoic- but she’s already ushering you in with a kind smile.

The nurse pulls the door shut, and you’re left alone with the boy in the bed.

He looks exhausted, dark circles pulling at the soft skin below his eyes, which are full of relief, trained on you as you approach.

“Hey, there’s my girl.” There’s a scratchy quality to Steve’s voice, on its way to being lost.

You were doing really well, no crying or anything, before he spoke. But hearing him, paired with the awful sight of a medical cord wrapping around the width of his broad chest, has your face crumpling in an instant.

“Oh, shit. Aw, honey. C’mere-” Steve reaches for you, halfway to sitting up off his supporting pillows, and you quickly close the gap, sitting near his hip on the bed.

“No, hey- stay down,” you chide through the tears, pushing at the shoulder of his white hospital tee. “Don’t put any stress on your body.”

“Cut the stress, she says,” Steve grumbles, leaning back against the stack of pillows but compromising by pulling you in closer. “My baby’s crying, and she tells me no stress?”

His left palm slips over your cheek, thumb swiping away tears, while his right hand- IV taped flat over the back of it- slides to rest on your waist.

”Gonna tell me what’s wrong, hm?”

Under different circumstances, you’d laugh at his question- christ, where did he want you to start: but with that amber gaze so full of empathy, desperate to fix what’s making you sad, you’re stripped raw with sincerity.

”I was just- I was so scared, Steve-”

Steve pulls your face towards his, needily, a breath away from begging for a kiss before you lean in for one.

He tastes salty, like sweat and tears, lips plush and softly seeking against the seam of your own. Between the kisses, he’s mumbling apologies, “sorry, so sorry”, broken by the need to be as close to you as all the medical gear will allow.

There’s a soft noise from the back of his throat, and you pull away just enough to bump your nose into his, hands running up to push through the soft strands of his hair.

Steve practically purrs under your touch; you’re careful not to disturb the tubing wrapping around the length of his chest, leaning your weight into his shoulders instead.

A vein of hilarity spikes as you remember Steve’s last words before he went under: and here you were, fingers pulling at his dark roots, breaking his one request. When you start to giggle, Steve’s eyes pop open, baffled, hair sticking up at the ends when your fingers leave his hair. Both hands now squeezing at your hips, he feels left out of the joke- “What?”

“I just- nothing. Never mind. I’m really glad you’re okay.” It’s the truth. You frame his lovely face with your hands, kissing his forehead once before sitting up fully. “I don’t wanna fight about it here, okay? Let’s just focus on you feeling better, and then-”

“See, now, wait a minute-” Steve holds up a finger to interrupt. “You don’t get it. I’ve been hoping and praying for hours now that my pretty girlfriend would come in here just so we could have a good fight.”

He tweaks at the skin of your hips (with the IV-hand, so you can’t just smack it away, dammit), smiling up at you far too dreamily for someone reclining in a hospital bed.

Settling against the length of Steve’s torso, your arms cross over his stomach just under the tubing as you start, carefully- “You know, Max had one of these- when she was in the hospital?”

”Yeah, you’re right.” Steve’s hands worm their way under both your cardigan sleeves, seeking out the comfort of skin like a magnet- “Think it tracks heart rate. Or something.”

“Mm-hm. And… you know how she had to go to physical therapy three times a week? For, like, half the school year?”

Steve’s thumbs swipe absently at your wrists, a line pinched between his brows, trying to piece together your angle. “…yeah?”

“Takes a lot of time, to heal from something like that.” Your eyes drop to his chest, throat swelling with the effort of holding back a sob. “And I’m just- just thinking of all the times you might be alone, and how we could have prevented this, and-”

“Hey, hey, hey- shhh…” Steve soothes, shaking his head. “Honey, it was inevitable, okay? Nothing we could’a done. The doc told me this shit can happen, like, years after a big event. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Fighting against the wall of emotion that makes speaking harder, you return his head shake, desperate for understanding- “But you can’t promise that, baby. You had a seizure- an actual, medical emergency, and… we don’t know if it’ll happen again.”

With a purposeful straightening of your spine, you state, resolutely: “I want a different promise.”

Steve presses the crown of his head back into the pillows, melodramatic, resurfacing with a tsk. “So stubborn. What promise you want, then, huh?”

”I want you to promise that you’ll see a doctor- a real one. A head guy. Not some… family medicine quack.”

Steve grins, charming even while unusually pale- “I love it when you talk medical, really gets me going-”

He decides to bail on the rest of that sentence when he sees the flare of irritation on its way to real anger in your face, raising both hands in appeasement- “Okay. Hey- I promise to see a real head doc. I don’t intend on putting you through this again.”

WIth a sigh, you surge forward again, mumbling “Thank you” into Steve’s lips, a kiss of relief and gratitude. Best news you’ve heard all day.

His groans vibrate through you, hands running down the length of your side, near the bottom of your cardigan; you squeak at the intrusion of his cold palms on the bare skin of your waist but they warm quickly, and you’re willingly distracted as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips.

Perhaps not exactly hospital-appropriate, but as it’s been an evening full of adrenaline-filled panic and heartache, you figure some making out might be a good cure for the both of you.

“Won’t scare you like that again,” Steve says, lips already pink and spit-slick, intense and breathless as he clings to you between kisses- “Gonna be okay. You saved me, angel. Love you s’much…”

Your hand, previously resting on Steve’s knee, automatically slides up at his words, notching into the soft expanse of his inner thigh over the thin sheets- “Love you too, so much…”

A bright, electronic noise jolts into frantic beeping- the monitor that Steve’s hooked up to is loud enough to startle you into sitting up.

There’s no time to process or even rearrange yourselves before the nurse from earlier bustles into the room to glare at the machine’s screen; best you can do is a swipe across your mouth, hopefully hiding any evidence of moments-ago spit-swappage as you stammer out, “Um, yeah, sorry- h-he was trying to sit up and that set it off, I guess…?”

Steve lies placid and amenable against his pillows, giving the nurse a gold-medal grin, which unfortunately does nothing to allay her suspicions.

“Uh-huh.” The monitor alarm is stopped short with the press of a few buttons, and she gives Steve a sideways look, clipboard tucked under her arm- “You ready for your other visitors, Mr. Harrington, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

“Bring forth the party, Patricia.” Steve folds his hands behind his head, wincing when his IV gets bumped but covering it with a wink.

Nurse Patricia leaves. You cover your heated face, mortified- “Oh my god. She probably thought I was giving you a handjob or something, jesus, Steve-”

He’s outright laughing at you now, unable to help it- “Come on, no she didn’t. And even if she did…”

Steve is momentarily distracted, frowning down at his chest, following the monitor’s line to the machine; you watch through cracked fingers, his face lighting up, triumphant. “See, I bet if we unplug it from the wall same time as disconnecting it from here, we might be able to fit a handy under the radar, after all!”

Robin and Eddie enter the room just as you’re swatting Steve’s shoulder; over your subdued and mildly horrified laughter, he groans in faux-pain: “God, you two got here just in time. She’s beating me up for no reason.”

As Eddie settles into the plastic chair under the opposing wall’s window, you scooch down the mattress, patting the side closest to Steve with an encouraging smile at Robin.

She takes the seat, appreciative, her clammy hand slipping into yours for support as she addresses Steve: “Y’know, if you did this to get out of doing inventory this weekend, you could just say so.”

“You caught me, Robs,” Steve says, thumbing over her knuckles fondly. “Finally gonna join my conspiracy to make Keith’s life hell?”

You’re about to cut in, emphasizing that no one else should be making any hospital visits, when a metallic screech has the three of you on the bed whipping around.

Eddie’s managed to crack the barred window- judging by the sound, it hasn’t been opened since the 70s. He freezes with all the attention, then speaks around the cigarette clenched between his lips, suave again- “Pardon the interruption. Anyone else care for a smoke?”

Everyone in the room blinks at him, in various stages of disbelief; Steve starts laughing, first, which gets Robin going, and eventually you, too, until Eddie’s grinning around the cigarette, lighter halfway to his mouth as he chuckles- “Well, can’t say I didn’t offer…”

Robin makes a comment about nicotine fumes, which quickly devolves into her and Eddie fiercely bickering.

The elevated chatter of your friends fades into the background as Steve takes your hand atop the sheets, head tilted to get you in his line of sight again- love you, he mouths.

Love you, too.

[gaybananabread]

ARGHSH I was thinking maybe ler!Sero and Lee!gnReader for day 15 of tickletober????? TYSM if you decide to do this (it’s also ok of you don’t ToT)

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR WORK AND HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT NIGHT/ DAY <33333333

TickleTober Day 15 - “Are you ticklish?”

~THANK YOU ANON!✨✨✨✨ Sero is best boy, no doubt about it. Fair warning, I haven’t watched the newest season yet, so this is gonna be written with the knowledge I have! As for the movie reference in here, let’s be honest: that scene with the spiders got a good few of us. I may or may not have let my old crush on Sero show here… Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy! Happy spooky season!~

Lee: Gender Neutral Reader (nickname “hon”)

Ler: Hanta Sero

Summary: What starts as an innocent movie hang-out becomes tickly chaos as Sero makes a rather interesting discovery. Unfortunately for you, he’s quite happy with the new source of entertainment.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

Movie night – an innocent enough idea, or so you’d thought. You and him hadn’t had much quality time as-of-late, so you penciled in some quick, low-effort fun.

And, of course, Sero had to be the one to choose the film. You weren’t complaining (much); he had pretty good taste in films. You just hadn’t expected him to pick a movie with…that in it.

Since it was October, Sero had chosen a spooky movie: Corpse Bride. You’d never seen it before, and it seemed interesting. He promised you’d like it, even betting his favorite hoodie that you’d wanna watch it again. You happily took those odds.

About three-fourths of the way through the movie, you were definitely into it. The stop-motion animation was really cool to watch, and the plot had you wondering which way it’d go.

Of course, you also had the world’s comfiest space heater next to you, his arm draped over your shoulder as you leaned against his side. That definitely helped you enjoy yourself.

You were completely relaxed and focused, zeroed in on the television screen. So, when the scene with the spiders came on, you were completely unprepared.

As the folk of the underworld were preparing Victor for the wedding, Victor’s suit was tailored by the spiders. At least six of the hand-sized arachnids crawled across his torso, each repairing some part of his suit.

Apparently, the legs tickled; he jerked about and laughed, squirming as they accidentally tickled him. It wasn’t a long scene, by any means, but it still caught you completely off guard.

Sero felt you squirm, glancing over to see what was going on. You were blushing…? The only thing happening on screen was a quick tickle scene. He saw your foot clench through your socks, and it all clicked. Oooo, I’m gonna have fun with this…

“You’re awfully red over there, hon. What’sa matter?” Sero gave your side a little squeeze, presumably to get your attention. He couldn’t hide his smirk as you jumped, loving the little sound that caught in your throat.

“I-I’m fine. Just…need a drink.” You reached over to grab your drink, only to have him tase your underarm. Squeaking, you back, falling right into his side. He barely had to try to capture you, just wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Hey…” He leaned in, dropping his voice to whisper teasingly in your ear. “Are you ticklish?”

The question somehow both made your blood run cold and your face burn at the same time. When he testingly dragged a few fingers across your stomach, you couldn’t help but giggle in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes~”

Ugh, even his tone was enough to send butterflies swarming in your chest! That wasn’t the only sensation there; Sero began attacking your stomach with his right hand, the left holding you against him. He gave your hip a few teasing squeezes, watching as you bucked and laughed.

“S-SEHEHEHERO!” Wriggling and kicking, you tried to shove his arms away. Unfortunately, the smug hero-in-training was stronger than you, keeping you trapped in his arms.

“Damn, you really are ticklish, aren't cha?” Sero mused, glancing over at the screen. He skillfully hit the remote with his toe, pausing the movie so only your laughter could be heard. He loved the sound of it: raucous, flustered, and utterly adorable.

Actually, your laugh sounded…really different. It was less reserved; you didn’t exactly have the choice to hold back, after all. The sound was free, helpless, and oh-so-happy. It brought a slight blush to his cheeks, making him huff.

“You’ve been holdin’ out on me, you brat!” The tape-quirked boy playfully growled, resting his head on your shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was flustering or not, but it was comfy. “Where’s this pretty laugh been, huh?”

“I-IHIHIT’S NOHOT PREHEHETTY!” You denied the claim, kicking your feet against the worn cushions of his couch. It wasn’t helping you escape in the slightest, but it helped you not to lose your mind.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Suddenly, he stopped, giving you a moment to catch your breath. Fuck, that tone…he didn’t sound happy. You just huffed, shrugging.

“You don’t get to lie to my face. That has consequences.”

Before you could ask what he was talking about, he activated his quirk. Your wrists were taped together and hoisted above your head, the tail of the tape sticking to the ceiling. You were stuck to wiggle helplessly, back facing your attacker.

“I didn’t lie!” The annoyed huff told you that reasoning wasn’t gonna work. Begging it was, then. “W-wait, wait, Sero! I’m sorry!”

“Too little, too late. Sing for me~”

With that, the real attack began. Sero let his right hand attack your armpit, the other clawing at your stomach from behind. All the while, he whispered little teases in your ear, flustering the shit out of you. It was hardly fair, but you couldn’t really complain properly through your cackles.

"You have the prettiest laugh on Earth, hon. I'm not gonna let you forget it~"

As you squirmed and thrashed, your top began to ride up. It exposed your belly fully, and Sero was more than happy to take advantage of that.

“Don’t mind if I do…” He dragged his short nails across your bare midriff, loving the feeling of your quivering belly beneath his fingers. “I could do this aaaaall day, hon~”

You were losing it, thrashing and twisting to try and get the tape off. It held diabolically strong, leaving you trapped under Sero’s evil fingers. Eventually, you hit your limit, letting your head hang forwards.

“S-SEHEHEHEROHOHO! NOHO MOHOHOHORE!”

He begrudgingly stopped, sensing you had reached your limit. The tape was removed, and he pulled you back against his chest to cuddle. Utterly exhausted, you complied without a second thought.

“Geez, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as ticklish as you.” Sero chuckled, gently rubbing the stomach he had just finished tormenting. You just groaned in flustered annoyance, burying your face in his warm chest.

“Shut up, Hanta.” You used his first name to let him know he was pushing it. The head pats you received were close to compensation, but he had a long way to go.

Glancing over, you finally remember the movie the two of you were watching. You were about to fall asleep, so finishing it would have to wait until tomorrow. Actually…

“Hey, since we didn’t actually finish the movie, I can’t watch it again. I won the bet.” Watching his expression go from confusion to despair felt extra gratifying in that moment. He sputtered, trying and failing to come up with a reason to deny you. You’d found a loophole.

“Damn it…fine. You can have my Kuromi hoodie…brat.” You stuck your tongue out at him before cheering; you’d been after soft purple article for months.

Yeah, he was never gonna see that hoodie again…

Worth it.

[fishfooddude]

The Social Media Manager: The Series (Part 2)

Another installment of the social media manager series

Another shout out to @thebearsoc for the inspiration!

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Part 1

Meetings, Meetings, Meetings

“Wait, wait, wait-” Richie started rubbing a hand against the back of his head, “You’re tellin’ me, Marcus’s party girl 20-somethin’ year old friend is getting access to our social media? That’s bull, and you know it, Natalie.”  

Natalie rolled her eyes and glanced in Marcus’s direction, “Marcus, Rusty has done this before, right?”  he nodded before explaining, “Nat, Richie, I’m tellin’ ya’, Rusty is really good at this shit. Just give her a shot.” 

Carmy entered the sitting area of The Bear and sat next to Natalie without saying anything, “I don’t think we can afford this, Marcus. I’m sure Rusty is a wonderful social media manager, but the budgets tight.” Natalie sighed, staring at her computer screen.

 “That's the thing- you guys have a hookup.” Marcus grinned, hoping that this would be enough of a selling point. “Rusty owes me one. She’d probably do the setup for free, and I can do all the posting. She helped me redo my account when I came back from Cophegan- I went from like 100 followers to like 1,000 in a month.” 

Carmy looked around the group before nodding in Marcus’s direction, “Call her.”

Carmy stood up and walked out of the dining area through the kitchen and into the office, where his phone had been plugged in to charge. He quickly opened his phone, went to the seldomly used Instagram app, typed in your handle, and smiled as your account came up. He’d been Instagram stalking you since he’d heard Marcus giving Syd your handle. She’d laughed about it being a reference to a K-pop group he’d never heard of; granted, he’d never really listened to any of those groups. So far, he’d learned that you have an eclectic taste in music, an affinity for putting googly eyes on potted plants, a love for fancy coffees with overpriced pastries, and had, in fact, known Marcus since high school. He liked your style. There was something free about it; he admired your creativity. Carmy took notes about you through the account. Your highlight reels being indicative of your personality, the ‘Rusty cooking??’ highlight reel was particularly traumatizing. He wondered how you’d gotten into your 20s without knowing how to actually chop an onion, but he could show you how to do it properly; just the idea of that made his heart flutter. Carmy was incredibly attracted to you, but when you’d posted a boomerang of you kissing a guy’s cheek and tagged the guy’s account with a heart emoji, he was worried this would be another unrequited crush. 

When you walked into The Bear the next day in a pair of trousers with your hair up and a pair of glasses perched on your nose, Carmy felt like his heart was going to explode. He beelined for the bathroom to make sure he didn’t have anything in his teeth and washed his hands in an attempt to get the smell of cigarettes off his hands before going to talk to you. 

“So that’s what I would recommend doing for TikTok. The algorithm is tricky, but once you get on its good side, it can be really great publicity.” Carmy swallowed as he listened to you explain your strategy to Natalie and Richie. Natalie seemed impressed, while Richie seemed wary. “This is all really great Rusty. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.” Natalie smiled as she shuffled a pile of documents into a yellow folder. You shrugged and responded with a playful laugh before explaining that work had been slow at the moment, so you had some extra free time to take a peak at the analytics you could see without access to the account details. 

After Richie and Natalie said their goodbyes, Richie was still seemingly cold toward hiring a social media manager and you in general. The two of them discussed it as they walked toward the kitchen. Carmy waited until they had walked through the kitchen door before approaching you. If he struck out with you he’d prefer not to do it within earshot of his sister and Richie; he’d never live it down. “Hey.” Carmy greeted awkwardly, rocking on his heels.

You smiled back, “Hey you. Long time no see.” Carmy blushed at your flirtatious tone. “How you doin’ Carmy? Spendin’ a lot of time on Instagram, huh?” 

Carmy needed some clarification on the comment. You noticed and giggled before explaining, “You liked a picture on my account from like two years ago.” Carmy tightly grinned out of embarrassment. He hesitantly nodded, “Uh yeah—Marcus recommended you do our social media stuff… I just wanted to check out what you post.” 

He hoped he saved himself, but self-doubt was taking over. He watched as you began twirling a strand of hair on your index finger. “It’s okay, Carmy. I think you’re cute, and I’m going out on Friday with a couple of friends… if you happen to show up at this bar across town called The White Rabbit, I might let you buy me a drink.” 

Carmy was speechless. He was by no means an experienced dater, and within that limited experience, he’d never had a girl come onto him like this. You noticed his awkwardness and found it endearing. “No pressure. You can also just call me sometime.”

 You pulled a Sharpie out of your bag and grabbed Carmy’s wrist to write your number across his forearm, “Bye, Carmy.” you winked before walking past him, making sure he’d get a whiff of your perfume. 

“B-bye Rus-sty.” Carmy managed to stutter out as he watched you walk out of the front entrance. He pushed the heel of his hand against his jaw. You were different, and it scared him, but also found it enchanting.

Part 3