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ghostaholics · 1 year ago

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

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envy-of-the-apple · 8 months ago

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Ruptured Amethyst; Splintered Tanzanite

Dark!Satosugu x reader - Yakuza Au

Synopsis: In hopes of paying off your debt, you start working for two dangerous men. Soon, you realize they want more than money.

Word count: 9.2k

(Warnings: dark content, sexual coercion, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, piv sex, threesomes, gun, blood, violence) Ageless blogs will be blocked. Minors DNI

In this job, you quickly learned that it's better to just keep your head down.

Do what you were called for and leave. Do nothing but sit on your computer and look at numbers. Stepping out of your makeshift boundaries led to nothing but trouble.

It worked perfectly like that for the first few weeks you were brought here. The other workers never bothered you, and it took you a moment to realize they were in the same boat as you were: owing a debt. You wouldn’t quite say things were peaceful; every so often, one of Geto’s men would hurl someone through a table, but things were manageable.

And then Gojo came back.

You hadn’t met Gojo, yet. He was overseas on a business trip when Geto brought you in. You hadn’t met him, but you’d heard enough to make you want to stay away from him. Ijichi had told you enough stories to make you want to sink into the floor altogether. You just had until the end of the year until your debt was paid. It was the beginning of September, right now. Surely, you could avoid him until then, right?

“Ah, you’re the one Suguru was talking about.”

It was your fault. It was entirely your fault. Ijichi had begged you to stay after work for a bit longer and desperate to pay the debt off, you had agreed. No one else was supposed to be in the office besides you and him.

But Gojo didn’t follow other people’s rules. It'd take you a while before you fully understand that.

You could do nothing but stand there, wobbling in your heels as Gojo loomed over you. His sunglasses were tilted, cresting over his nose as he scrutinized you. You clutched the laptop closer to your chest, as though it’d save you somehow.

Gojo didn’t look dangerous. If you had seen him on the street, you would have assumed he was a model. Tall, long hands, pretty features. Gojo doesn’t look dangerous. Gojo is dangerous. He doesn’t need the gun (casually on his side, right in your line of sight) to prove it.

You say nothing. You don’t know what to say. So far, you’ve only dealt with Geto. Geto with his fake smiles and soft words of thinly veiled threats. As intimidating as Geto was, you felt safe enough with him to answer his questions. Speak when spoken to.

Gojo was uncharted territory. Should you speak? Should you greet him? Should you get on your hands and knees? Gojo was new. You had to deal with something new, alone.

You opt to stay silent, hoping that’s the best move. It’s not. Above you, Gojo’s clicking his tongue. He leans down, stooping his head low to get a better view of your face. You stare at him until it gets too much and you’re turning away. He likes that even less, grabbing you by the chin so you’re facing him again.

“You mute or somethin’?” He asks, tilting your head like he’s assessing you.

“No,” you finally murmur. It was a question, correct? He won’t get mad if you answer his questions.

He doesn’t seem mad. But he doesn’t seem happy, either. If anything, he looks a little disappointed.

“I really don’t get it,” he’s talking, but it’s more like he’s saying his thoughts out loud, “Suguru would not shut up about you. Thought I was gonna see something more exciting. You’re so...”

He trails off as though even describing you would be a waste. The thought that Geto speaks about you to his partners scares you, but you’re wise enough not to pry. Instead, you wait. Waiting often works. You’ve been cornered by Geto’s men (before they knew he was the one who brought you), most just want to intimidate you, they get a kick out of fear. When you give them what they want, they usually leave you alone.

Gojo doesn’t leave, even when you’re sure your horror is printed on your face. Obvious to even the blind. Instead, he leans back, eyes trailing down your outfit. Despite how most of the stuff done here was off the record, Geto still prioritized a professional workplace. You were expected to put on a clean blouse and skirt every day.

You yelp when Gojo tugs on the fabric of your skirt, bunching the material on your thighs. Forgetting where you are, who you’re with, you grab his wrist.

“Don’t be like that,” Gojo chides as though you were being the unreasonable one, “I just wanna look. Seriously, what was that guy going on and on about—”

“Satoru.”

Geto’s voice stops the both of you. He’s leaning against the wall, watching the two of you with a less than impressed look. You’re relieved when he’s more focused on Gojo than you.

“Sugu!” Gojo cheers, a complete 180 from his past demeanor. He lets you go and you sink against the wall in relief. “I’m home!”

“I can see that,” Geto retorts, but there’s an odd fondness laced in his tone that you’d never heard before.

The kiss they shared was violent. Tongue and teeth and messy. Gojo reached up, scrunching Geto’s hair, dragging him closer. Respectfully, you glanced away. You don’t yet leave. You know better than that, especially now that Geto is here.

“How many times have I told you to stop harassing our employees?” Geto sighs, once he’s pulled away. His tone is filled with exasperation, as though he were talking to a child.

“I didn’t do anythin’,” Gojo responds. When you finally turn back, Geto is shaking his head.

He smiles at you.

“Apologies, my dear,” he states, “you can leave. Remember to tell Ijichi you’re going.”

You eagerly nod before scurrying away. You can hear Gojo scoff, another murmur from Geto. You couldn’t care less what they’re saying, more than happy to grab your things, bid Ijichi goodbye, and leave.

Keep your head down, and don’t ever bother with what they are doing.

⟡

Technically, you weren’t in debt, your father was.

He had close ties to the underground. You weren’t sure of the details, you were so young when your mother left with you in tow. She was always stingy with the details, but she never failed to remind you that your father was a stupid man who worked with dangerous ones. She passed away right after you graduated from college. You’d mourned her.

Now, a part of you felt grateful she passed just before she saw your life fall apart.

They came in the middle of April. You remember that day purely because of the flower blossoms littering the sidewalk, the first sign of blooming spring.

There were three other men besides Geto that day, and you hadn’t known his name back then—just the man with long, pretty hair. They were all waiting for you, loitering right beside your home. When you hesitated, slowed to a stop, the man with long hair smiled at you. Geto calls your name. When you don’t respond, his smile widened.

“That is who you are, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you nervously said, “sorry, but—but who are you all?”

He introduces himself. The other three don’t bother. You don’t yet realize that they’re only henchmen, mere puppets for Geto.

“Apologies, but this is a rather sensitive subject. Can we talk someplace private?”

You don’t want to let these men into your home, but his soft words and intimidating company coax you into agreeing. You lead them up the steps, praying to God that you were wrong about this—whoever they were. When you unlock the door, only Geto follows you. The rest wait outside. You don’t know if that’s better or worse.

He seats himself right on the sofa. It’s your apartment, and yet his mere presence makes you feel like he’s the owner. You loiter next to the door, twiddling your thumbs.

“Would you like tea?”

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you a polite one?”

It was more for you than for him—scurrying to the kitchen, away from his searing purple eyes. It’s a reprieve to start the burner, pour water into the pot. You take as much time as you can, but eventually, you have to come out.

Geto says nothing when you place the cups down. He takes it, humming at the taste. You don’t touch your cup.

His tone is soft. His words aren’t.

Your father did far worse than work with dangerous men. He’d stolen from them. He was already dealt with, his punishment had sent him careening off the Earth far sooner than your mother. Still, the topic of the missing money was still there.

Something that had fallen onto you, his next of kin.

You were already crying once Geto finished. Your body is wracked with sobs. You can barely suck in a breath.

“Please—please,” you’re already saying, “he—we—I swear we never received any sort of money from him.”

He takes your hand within his own, curling his fingers around them. Coming from anyone else, it would have been a nice gesture.

“I’m aware,” Geto comforts, “we know you haven’t been in contact with your father for more than a decade.”

His fingers are warm. They trace your cheek as he gently wipes away your tears.

“But in this line of business, family matters, no matter how estranged, my Dear.”

You look at him through your tears. He’s beautiful. Long black hair. If you touched it, you bet it would feel like silk within your fingers.

It’s his eyes that truly suck you in. Purple. It’s a rare eye color, you’ve never seen someone with purple eyes until now. They resemble amethyst, unpolished, but still just as beautiful.

“My partner would have much less...humane ways of dealing with this situation,” Geto continues, “but I think you could be far more useful warm rather than cold, do you agree?” You shrivel in your spot, already having an inkling to what he’s saying. It’s not like you haven’t already figured out where this was going. You’ve heard the stories of what dangerous men do to those who’ve wronged them—to the vulnerable girls who accidentally trip and fall into their trap, forced to work in brothels and debase themselves all for the sake of keeping them rich.

He laughs right then. It’s rich, deep, startling you out of your misery.

"Come now, it's the 21st century."

Geto smiles. Fake. Unsafe.

"Women are worth far more than just their bodies."

It turns out that even the Yakuza had paperwork.

It was a menial deskjob, on the surface, at least. If you don’t think too hard about who you’re working for, it could be a regular office. It’s not like any of the work you are provided with is illegal, but you doubt you’d put it down on your resume.

Your education had saved you. Ironic that it was your father who instilled your desire to learn.

If you don’t think too hard about it, your new ‘job’ wasn’t horrible. As notorious as they were, your new employers weren’t downright cruel. You still got paid. You had a contract. Things could honestly be a whole lot worse.

It was still very hard to get used to, especially in the beginning.

Something you learned very quickly was that the men around here did not like it when women had an attitude. You were far too meek to have one, but the other few women who worked with you became your teachers, showing you exactly what the men would do if you didn’t stay in line. You were more than happy to listen, and even then, your eagerness to learn didn’t help. In order for the lesson to truly sink in, you needed trial and error.

You stepped out of line exactly once. And then you never did it again.

It had been an accident. You’d forgotten that Geto had an important meeting that day. You knocked on his door, shuffling some documents in your hand. It was muscle memory to just go in because he’s never said anything but come in before.

They’d all stared at you, eyes lingering up and down your body. One of them grins. Immediately, you look at Geto. Horrified. Ready to grovel at his feet if need be.

His eyes flashed dangerously. Purple turned into sharp magenta knives. Geto tilted his head.

“Come here, dear.”

You take one step. Another. Then another. The way they look at you makes your stomach twist and sink but Geto only looks at you expectantly. When you linger at his side, his lips quirk.

His grip on your waist is gentle as he guides you into his lap. Your cheeks burn, but you don’t dare move, not even when the men start laughing at the free show. Geto only curls a hand on your waist, keeping you in place as he leans back again.

“Continue, gentlemen.”

The rest of the meeting continues with you on Geto’s lap. You don’t look at any of them, hands balled into fists at your sides. You feel naked. The air within the room is stifling. You refuse to look anywhere else but the floor.

The conversation goes back to business. Despite the compromising situation, he put you in, Geto’s hands don’t wander. He's content to keep his fingers on your waist until the room filters out and everyone leaves.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Geto.” You murmur, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

He doesn’t answer, at least not to that. He just sighs, sinking into his seat. Still, Geto doesn’t let you get up. Not yet. He waits until you’re looking at him, still smiling that fake smile.

This had been a punishment. The next time you made a mistake, you doubt you’d be let off so easily.

“Learn quickly, my dear.”

You nod. You apologize again. When Geto finally lets you go, you are quick to stumble away, pushing your way out the door. Purple eyes follow you out. You don’t think they stop looking until you’re out of the room, curled into your desk, steadying your heartbeat.

You stepped out of line exactly once. You never did it again.

Despite being under Geto, technically, Ijichi is your direct superior. You thanked the Gods for it. Ijichi was the only person here you were certain didn’t have blood on his hands. He was in a similar situation as you were; stuck working off a debt that he didn’t owe. You two bonded on your shared misery. He was the one reprieve you had in your new life.

Unfortunately, now that Gojo was back, Ijichi was far busier. It gave you little time with him. You suppose you were always welcome to join them, but considering your first encounter with Gojo, you’d much rather not.

It’s not like you hadn’t had similar encounters before Gojo's arrival. In the very beginning, one of Geto’s men tried something remarkably similar. You can still remember his hand on your hip, his other hand slowly unbuttoning your shirt while other men stood to the side laughing.

It hadn’t lasted long.

You didn’t realize he was shot until he was already on the ground, twitching in pure agony. He screamed and cried louder than you had. Blood was already dripping to the floor.

Geto had already tucked away the gun, striding away as though nothing happened. He didn’t say anything, the incident was never mentioned. Even to you, his statement rang loud and clear.

You were off-limits.

Clearly, Gojo didn’t care about the unspoken rule.

So far, Ijichi hasn’t acknowledged him. If anything, your superior is hunched behind his computer, typing away, rarely taking his eyes off-screen. You admired his concentration, but it was hard for you to follow suit, considering that Gojo had taken a seat right next to you.

His stare is impossible to ignore. You can feel it even as you desperately try to focus on the screen in front of you. As if he can tell you’re intimidated by his mere presence, he leans over, shoulder pressing against your own. You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

“Watcha’ workin’ on?” He asks as though he can’t already see.

Still, you falter. “Um—”

“Um’” he repeats, “that’s all you’ve been sayin’. Hey, Ijichi—” The man in question jolts up, eyes already panicked.

“Your assistant always this jumpy, or is your personality just that infectious?”

“Sir, uh—” Ijichi starts before getting cut off by a tsk.

“See? Again,” Gojo sighs, “I see why you two get along so well.”

You and Ijichi exchange glances, unsure what to do. When Gojo says nothing more, you decide it’s okay to resume work again, typing away.

Childhood friends, Ijichi told you back when you were still morbidly curious. Gojo had come from a lineage of powerful businessmen. Geto had more or less worked his way up. They became partners somewhere along that time.

It’s hard to imagine them as friends or as anything more. They’re so different. Geto is so controlled, measured with every response he takes. Gojo is more like dynamite, ready to go off at any moment.

You suppose the only similarity is how unreadable they are. To this day, you can’t tell whether Gojo dislikes you or not. Every action you take seems only to disappoint him, yet he constantly hovers around you.

It takes another minute for you to be on the keyboard before Gojo decides he doesn’t like you working peacefully. The chair creaks under his weight as he shifts closer. His head rests against your shoulder. With his new position, you can feel his breath on your collarbone as an arm casually wraps around your shoulders. You don’t dare react, but you send Ijichi a panicked look. He looks sympathetic, but he doesn’t move to help you. You can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his inactions.

“You never answered me, by the way.” He murmurs, quiet enough that only you can hear.

You respond as diligently as you can, making sure you use as few word fillers as possible. It’s clear Gojo doesn’t like that. Or rather, he doesn’t like the nervousness your voice exudes but you doubt you could fix it, especially with his presence around.

“Sounds boring.” Gojo interrupts your rambles. “You don’t do anything else more entertaining?”

“No, sir,” you reply, “I’m only in charge of paperwork.”

Despite the other co-workers you have, you are still an anomaly. Everyone here has had an experience holding a gun—even Ijichi. It’s clear Geto ‘hiring’ you was a change in pattern, something you would always be grateful for. If he hadn't, you wouldn’t want to know what was in store for you.

That’s probably why Gojo was so curious about you. However, considering how close they were, you were now wondering why Geto hadn’t explained it.

“How long have you been working here—hey,look at me when you’re talking.”

You turn, and for the first time, you willingly face Gojo Satoru. His sunglasses are tilted down, and you can see his eyes now. They are blue, so painfully blue, like an ocean, curled up tightly within his eyes. Glittering tanzanite stares back at you—beautiful gemstones that glisten beneath the fluorescent light.

Gojo tilts his head, and you remember that he asked you a question.

“Three weeks, Sir.”

He doesn’t seem all that pleased with your answer. You wonder if you should have lied instead. He’s embarrassingly close, and the position he’s forced you into doesn’t help.

“That quick, huh?” Gojo murmurs, and he sounds a little impressed, “how many times have you and Suguru fucked?”

You gape at him, horrified at even the insinuation. It takes a while for you to even find your voice.

“I—we’ve never. Never.”

Gojo narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. C’mon, I'm just curious.”

It feels even worse that Gojo's question isn't even unreasonable. Geto has always treated you differently. Softer. Kinder, if you wanted to be charitable. It isn't a stretch to assume you've been doing favors for the man, in this line of work, it must be a normal occurrence. Yet, you haven't. Apart from that one blunder weeks ago, Geto has never touched you inappropriately.

Still, you shake your head rapidly, feeling heat flush in your cheeks. Being cornered and interrogated like this is humiliating, especially in front of everyone. Ijichi is nice enough to look away while you’re being humiliated, but you know he’s listening. You know everyone’s listening.

Thankfully, Geto intervenes.

“You.” A sigh of exasperation. “Get off.”

Gojo rolls his eyes, but you almost cry in relief when he pushes away and stands up.

“We were bonding,” Gojo argues, though, like everything he says, it sounds like a tease.

Geto’s murmuring something else, and it’s clear that this interaction between them is normal. It's almost a repetition of what happened last time. Both times, you’d been the commonality.

Gojo leaves eventually, shooed away by his partner. The office finally grows quiet when the white-haired man disappears to God knows where. You feel like you can breathe again, but Geto still has not left.

When you look, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, and you’re strangely reminded of a stressed mother. Finally, he lets out a breath, opening his eyes and staring down at you.

“I apologize for his behavior, my dear,” he says. There’s a hand on your shoulder, mirroring the touch Gojo gave you.

“He’s excitable, like a dog.” You don’t think that part was for you, though you don’t think you could ever even fathom comparing the terrifying anomaly that is Gojo to a mutt. You don’t respond. Geto squeezes your shoulder.

“Come to me if Satoru goes too far. I always take care of my people, don't I?”

He doesn’t leave until you give a nod. His hand finally retracts, allowing you to sink into your seat. You watch him until his figure disappears from view.

“I’m taking a break,” you say, not even a minute later.

Ijichi gives a nod as you push yourself up away from the computer. You spend your break the way you usually do: tucked inside the bathroom, trying to wonder how your life turned out this way.

⟡

Sometimes, you accompany Geto on his trips.

You don’t want to, but it’s not like you can reject his ‘requests.’ It’s part of the job, whether or not you can refuse is up to Geto’s whims.

The trips aren’t too bad. Most of the time, it’s a meeting with other dangerous men. You mainly just sit in a corner, peering down at the ground, trying your best not to be noticed. It works, most of the time. The few perks of this new life is how seldom the people of the underground want to associate with you, especially when you're with Geto. His presence is everywhere, a blanket of protection bestowed only to you. These days, you feel safe even when walking home alone at night.

The trips aren't too bad, but Gojo's insistence on tagging along changed even that.

You should be sitting up front. There's a perfectly vacate passenger seat, right beside Ijichi, the least dangerous man in the vehicle. Gojo had practically dragged you into the car with him, holding you hostage. Geto slid into the seat beside you, effectively trapping you between the two men.

Despite your attempts to keep your body to yourself, every other minute, your thighs brush against theirs. It's a miserable affair, but neither comment on your breach of personal space. They're both too invested in their own little worlds. Geto peers peacefully out the window, enjoying the city life pass by. Gojo is glued to his phone, tapping away every so often.

It's tempting to sneak a peek at them in their natural states, relaxed, unbothered. You don't stare for too long.

Every so often, their worlds will collide. Geto will point out a cat. Gojo would reach over you, showing Geto something funny on his phone. Unfortunately, Gojo catches your lingering eyes.

"Wanna see?" He doesn't bother to hear your response, shoving his phone in your face.

It's a cat video, of all things. You almost wanted to laugh at how normal it is, but you're too intimidated to do anything but give a strained smile, more designed to please. You expected something darker. More blood. More screams. On the screen, the orange kitten lightly bats at a ball of yarn.

"Got a cat?" Gojo asks, tucking away his phone.

"No, Mr. Gojo."

He tsks, but before your blood can freeze, he says, "I told you: It's Satoru."

He's been insistent about it these past few days: Satoru. Satoru. Call me Satoru, as though you'd even dare. Beside you, Geto rumbles out his disapproval.

"Don't be childish, Satoru." He chides.

The car rolls to a stop eventually. The relief in your lungs expands. Ijichi gets out first, followed by Geto. Before you can move, a hand grabs you by the chin, halting your movements.

"You're not leaving this car until you say it, pretty thing," Gojo tells you. "C'mon. Sa-to-ru."

Behind you, Geto sighs, but he doesn't move to stop him. Right, Geto promised he'd step in only when Gojo goes too far. Clearly, this is within his bounds.

You wilt under the hardened tanzanite.

"Satoru." You mutter.

Satisfied, Gojo releases his hold on you, hopping out the car, humming a happy tune.

Geto holds his hand out to you. You'd be an idiot not to take it.

"Bear with him today, dear," he tells you when you step out in the pavement, "he's in a mood."

Amythyst sears into you. You can only nod.

Even then, Geto doesn't release you. He gently maneuvers your arm until your elbow is interlocked with his. He takes his time, walking into the building, mindful of your heels. Ijichi and Gojo are already ahead. Gojo takes a look behind him, spots the two of you, scoffs, but doesn't do much more.

It's another thing you don't know how to feel about. The two have always instigated less than friendly gestures toward you. Yet, neither of the two have expressed any kind of jealousy. You know they are clearly lovers, yet the way they allow their significant other to behave with you makes you feel a bit nauseous.

Most likely, they see you as a pet. Not even a threat to their relationship. It makes sense. In their eyes, you're probably a scared gazelle in the middle of a lion's den. Cute. Something to play with.

There's another theory in your head that you're pushing away.

You follow the same procedure you've always followed. You stay still and silent, like a doll, right beside Geto. Strange men come up to him, greeting him with smug smiles. They barely give you a glance. That's good. It means they know you're one of Geto's.

Gojo being there changes the dynamic. He's more serious, in this setting. You sit right next to Geto's side, listening as Gojo talks. They both do that a lot. Talking. Negotiating. Scheming. You're a bit disappointed in yourself at how easy it is to let the words swirl around until there's nothing left to understand. It's easy to ignore them now. The horrors they partake in. The horrors you are indirectly part of.

Are you allowed to be innocent now that you work under these people? You've never pulled the trigger yourself, but is that an excuse? Morally speaking, you're the same as the men you are terrified of.

How laughable. You came to that conclusion right when they were discussing the price of narcotics.

Sometime later, you find yourself alone, roaming down an unfamiliar hall. It's foolish to be out without Geto or Gojo or even Ijichi, but Geto had an errand he wanted you to run. Now that it was complete, you needed to return back to him.

Except, you had no clue where he was.

You were lost. You should have known this would happen. Why didn't you pay more attention to where you were going? This wasn't any old building. Dangerous men lurked around, even the weaker ones carried guns and weapons.

It was only a matter of time before one of them caught you.

"Hey. You."

You were considered one of Geto's, but without him in sight, you were nothing. You knew that. It's why you cower immediately.

"I'm busy," you speak quickly, "My boss, Mr. Geto, he's—"

His hand is rough and scared and filthy on your skin. You are basically thrown against the wall, cornered against this stranger. He smiles. His teeth are yellowed and filled with tarter and plaque.

"C'mon, there's no need to rush. 'Just wanna have some fun. How much?" Disgust rolls off your tongue, but you don't have the courage to reveal it.

"I'm not like that," you mutter, "I'm not for sale."

But, aren't you? You've sold yourself to Geto, haven't you? Underneath his thumb, his whims. What makes you so much different from a hooker?

"Sure." And then there's a shift in his eyes. His face scrunches up, like he's just tasted something sour.

"Hold on...you're—you're that bastard's kid, aren't you?"

He says your last name, the name your father gave you with so much spite that you nearly flinch. In that moment, you realized that your father had messed with a lot more people than just Geto.

"Yeah yeah, you're a spitting fucking image!" He gripes you harsher. "Your daddy fucked me over while you're sitting over here nice and pretty? What the fuck?"

He's dead. He's dead and you hadn't spoken to him in over a decade, but his ghost still wants to punish you for being his kin. And this man is his executioner.

You're expecting something violent. Something that hurt more than his hand's squeezing your bicep. Perhaps he was, perhaps he would. Unfortunately, for him, Gojo interupted his plans.

You didn't even know that it was him, at first, on the floor, on top of the man. Gojo, despite his hungry smile, eager eyes, was always so angelic. He isn't supposed to be using his hands. He isn't supposed to inflict violence, not by himself.

He's punching him. The man isn't a man anymore, reduced to a mere punching back. Gojo doesn't stop until he breaks skin. He doesn't stop until you can hear a distinct crack.

Satoru doesn't stop until Suguru tells him to.

"Don't kill him." Geto warns. "It'd breach the agreement."

You can feel his presence, always silent, never revealing himself until he wants to be known. So unlike Gojo, who is hungry for even a second of attention. More than happy to spill blood over it.

Gojo grits his teeth, as though he's debating to even listen. He stands up eventually, chest heaving. His knuckles are caked in blood. It's not his. His glasses are off. His eyes are blown wide open like he's just hit the greatest high of his life. Geto calmly hands him a clean towel. You don’t want to know how many times this situation has repeated.

"Who gives a shit." Gojo bites out, his eyes , trailing to you, and you flinch away. He looks like a wild animal, growling and spitting. You don’t want to be next on his plate. Geto steps in front of you, barricading you from his sight.

The man on the ground had recovered enough to pathetically crawl away. It such a stark change to how he was just a few minutes ago, when he was lording over you, drunk off of his power.

Gojo steps on his calf. The broken thing gives a strangled scream. It only makes Gojo’s manic grin wider.

"Let him go. You made your point," Geto says, "calm down."

Firey blue eyes. Bright and violent. You don’t know how Suguru is able to withstand the intensity. Even you’re wilting when it’s not even directed towards you.

"Calm down?” Satoru asks. “You want me to calm down? Did you see what that bastard was gonna do to our—"

"Satoru." You've never heard Geto use this tone before. "Not here. Not now."

A silent battle warred between them. Tanzanite bore into amethyst. Which gem would rupture first, splinter into defeat?

Eventually, Gojo looks away, cursing. He glares down at you, as though he were blaming your weakness of all things. In a way, he’s not wrong to.

"I'll wait outside."

And then he's gone, striding down the corridor. Geto watches him go, before glancing down at you.

"Did he hurt you?" He asks.

You're not supposed to lie to him. You nod.

Geto pulls on your sleeves until he can see the imprints. Light bruising, nothing too horrible. You'll survive. Geto looks less than pleased. He glances down at the remnants of the man, the imprints of blood on the floor. You pitied the person who'd have to clean it up.

"I apologize, dear." He sighs. "I should have kept an eye on you."

He stares at the blood some more. Then, he smiles.

"Perhaps, it's better if I just let things run its course, this time."

You blink at him. He ignores your silent question. Instead, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, gently leading you outside. The car is already running. This time, Geto silently ushers you into the passenger seat. You take it immediately. Gojo hadn't taken his eyes off of you. You're grateful for any barrier.

This time, the car ride was silent. You don't relish in it. If anything, it just feels like the calm before the storm.

⟡

Soon, what Geto was talking about became apparent.

The man who had nearly been killed by Gojo had talked. You don't know what your father did to these men, perhaps you never will, but they didn't let you forget his crimes. If they couldn't get to him, then clearly, his kid was the next best option. You know it was them. It would be no one else.

Someone broke into your apartment one weekend. Everything was ruined. The TV was shattered and broken. Your mattress was tossed onto the floor. Every plate, cup, and bowl was smashed onto the floor. They took nothing, but they broke everything.

You hadn't been home that night. Ijichi needed more work from you. If you had, if you had come home that night, alone, locked the door, slept in that bed, then what would have—

Geto finds you on the stairs of your apartment, curled into a ball. You watch with bloodshot eyes as he observes the damage, clicking his tongue. He doesn't look particularly shocked.

You do nothing when you feel his hand on your shoulder, brushing against the sleeves, a feign of sympathy. You don't even care to ask how he came even though you never called him. Geto has a keen sense for you.

"It'll get worse." His voice comes. Soft, and sure.

Yeah, you knew that. You'd been naive, following after Geto with wide eyes. You thought that if he was untouchable, then so were you.

He speaks about an enemy group, people with debts with your father, just as he did. Of course, he knows who did this to you. You’d be more surprised if he didn’t.

You don’t care. His words go in one ear and out the other. The reasons don’t matter. Your home is still destroyed. It’s no longer yours.

"They got my phone, too," you mention to your discarded cell phone. "My emails, messages."

You're trapped, with nowhere else to turn. All the doors are shut and bolted, and only one remains open.

You turn to the devil.

"Can you...help?"

The angler fish uses its darkened habitat to its advantage. Hundreds of miles beneath the water's surface, it produces its own light as an olfactory bulb. It's an excellent predator, swinging its bio lantern around in the dark sea, the only light around for miles.

Geto tilts his head, a smile on perfect pink lips.

"You want my protection? It's a steep price, darling."

You feel like an empty well, forced to give and give until you're all dried up. Who could be so greedy? Who could be so willing to take?

"I've given you everything." It's barely a whisper. "What else do I have left to offer?"

He doesn't say anything to that, not at first. Geto kneels in front of you, a slender hand lifting your head up by the chin. Fingers trail down to your neck. Not choking, just holding. His thumb lightly presses into your throat.

"Not everything," Suguru says quietly.

He's right. You hadn't given him everything. So far, you have always been one of Geto's people. You were Geto's employee. You were indebted to him, but you weren't conquered by him.

Not yet.

He's kneeling in front of you, holding your soul in his hands and demanding for your heart. In a way, you find it a bit funny. You just don’t have the will to laugh anymore.

He's smiling again when he can tell you're finally starting to understand. "We couldn't have been that subtle, were we? Satoru never failed to express, at the very least."

No, they never tried to hide it. Even in the beginning, when you first met Suguru, you saw the hunger. You just tried to ignore it. You tried to keep your head in the sand, hoping it would pass. It makes you wonder if you had just agreed on that very night, led him into your bed, and bared it, would things have been different?

"I can leave. We can pretend this never happened," he coos, "it's all up to you, sweetheart."

He's making it seem like you had a choice. In a way, you did. You're choosing between two monsters. A known and an unknown. It takes longer than you'd like to figure out which one scares you more.

You take the bait. The angler fish siezes its prey.

"One night?" You're trying not to beg but it's coming out anyway. "Just—just one night?"

Geto leans forward, pressing a kiss on your forehead. It’s not an answer.

⟡

Despite the many months you've worked with him, you've never been to his home before.

It's not a house. A villa maybe. The property stretches itself stretches for miles. Filthy rich. Bleeding gold.

Geto—

("Suguru," he corrected you in the car, "considering this isn't really business, anymore.")

—had ushered you throw a double-door entrance. You couldn't even admire the architecture. Not when Gojo was already standing there. His eyes were hidden away, tucked underneath his glasses, but you still felt his stare. And all too wide smile stretched on his lips. He greeted Suguru with a kiss. For the first time, you looked down at their hands.

Matching rings.

You felt sick.

'It's all up to you, sweetheart' Suguru's voice rings through your head all through a dinner that's really nothing but a flimsy padding for the rest of the night. Food was served, wine was poured, all in a bid to ease you into it. As of right now, it's still your 'choice'. You know, without a doubt, if you backed out now, they'd let you go without a fuss. Suguru or Satoru themselves might drive you home. You'd crawl into bed without a scratch.

But you don't. You stare at your plate, picking at it when they ask questions. Satoru's in such a good mood he offers to feed you.

It's mostly because it doesn't feel real yet. You feel like you're watching yourself go through the movements. Eat. Speak when spoken to. Smile when prompted. Empty.

You only come back when you're standing in their room, and the door locks with a click.

The window blinds are drawn, but there's no light to seep in. The moon is already out. You wonder how many hours you've already spent here.

You take another step towards the bed. Then, you turn around.

Satoru and Suguru stare right back. You feel their heavy gazes immediately, flicking your eyes down to your feet, playing with your sleeves.

Satoru laughs, perceiving the terror as shyness, or maybe he doesn't care. He steps forward first.

"Don't be like that." He lightly chastises you, tucking one arm around your waist. "We'll be nice. Promise, baby. We're gonna be so so good for you."

He finds your lips, then. Satoru kisses like the sun, all fire and passion. Sinking into you, wanting to melt. It's impossible to turn away and ignore his presence. He gropes at your chest, your waist, trying to feel all of you at once. When he finally lets go, you feel dizzy.

Suguru's kisses ground you, makes remember where you are, who you're with. He's like the Earth you're crashing back into from your high. You hurdle through the atmosphere as his hands grasp at your throat. He never squeezes, but it's more than enough to sober you.

"You smell so nice, baby," Satoru says from his place at your neck. You flinch when teeth sink into your sink, but you don't complain.

"That's creepy, Satoru." Suguru chastizes him.

Serpentine eyes stare into yours. You don’t get the chance to hide before you feel his breath on your cheek. Suguru tugs at the hem of your dress.

“Take this off.” He whispers into your skin. “And get on the bed for us, sweetheart.”

This is the lesser monster. It’s a mantra you repeat in your head as you pliantly nod, hesitantly gripping the fabric of your dress. It’s horrifically easy to take it off and let it drop by your feet. You can’t bear to look at them anymore.

The soft duvet sinks under your weight. It looks expensive. Silky pillows. On either side is a nightstand covered with trinkets and personal items. You spot one of Suguru’s shirts on the floor, and it takes you a second to realize this is their room, not an impersonal guest room they use to fuck the less fortunate.

They stop paying attention to you. Satoru moans loudly into Suguru’s mouth. Suguru fiddles with the buttons on Satoru’s shirt, close to ripping it off entirely. Satoru palms at the tent in his pants as he unbuckles his pants. Suguru loosens his tie. They’re so violent with each other. Dread soaks through your palms, and you curl even further within yourself. You prayed this was all they wanted from you—someone to just watch, someone less interactive.

It’s not. When they pull away, their lips are swollen. Satoru leers at you, licking at his busted lip. You can’t seem to cry anymore.

They’re both half-naked. You can see the tattoos spread on Suguru’s hand, crawling up to his shoulder. Another peeks just behind Satoru’s neck. You only get a glimpse before he’s on top of you, eager for a continuation.

“Shit, you’re so soft.” He hisses as he squeezes your bra-covered breast. It doesn’t stay on for long. You wince when his fingers trace over your sensitive tits.

Your hands squeeze into fists, because you choose this, choose them. Satoru’s more than happy to sink into your breasts. His warm tongue swirls around a nipple before fully taking it in his mouth.

“Like a baby,” Suguru says. Satoru scoffs, tossing him an impressed look.

“Shut up.” Satoru releases your breast with a wet-sounding pop. They’ll be marks there tomorrow.

His fingers trail down your breasts, your ribs, your stomach. They linger on the band of your panties.

You can’t help it. It’s instinct.

He freezes when your fingers snap around his wrist. There’s no strength behind your grip, he pauses more out of surprise than anything.

His eyes, filled with hardened tanzanite, shoot up to yours. You think, if they’d be anyone else’s, you would have envied them.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Suguru. The silence is crushing.

“Sorry.” You feel pathetic apologizing, but it’s outweighed by the fear. “I—I’m sorry. I was just—”

“It’s okay, dear,” Suguru coos. “Satoru just scared you, hm? He’s such an idiot, isn’t he?” He violently smacks Satoru on the head. You flinch at the sound. Satoru just whines, rubbing at his temple.

“Mean.” Satoru childishly says, but he’s slower now, rolling down the hem of your panties.

Suguru is quick to distract you. He’s busy with his own bottoms before he’s taking you by the chin.

His cock is already leaking precum. He’s big, and you don’t think you’ll be able to do want he wants. Suguru smiles down at you, he doesn’t need to say anything. You’re swallowing down your self-hatred before opening your mouth.

You take him in just when Satoru buries his face between your thighs. The two of you have very different reacts. Satoru just hums, finding your clit to lick. You gasp, your legs jolting as you accidentally take Suguru even deeper.

He’s nice enough to let you go at your own pace. There’s a hand on your head, petting you, easing you through the process. Even then, your mouth is stretched uncomfortably wide. Tears prick at your eyes. Suguru’s face gets blurry. You don’t think you want to look anymore.

Below you, Satoru is enjoying his meal. He’s slobbering on your pussy, eating you out like it’s his last meal. His hot tongue finds his way into your sopping hole. You squeeze your eyes, a muffled whine comes from your mouth. The only loss of control Suguru shows was how he ever-so-slightly gripped your head.

By then, you’re unintentionally squeezing Satoru’s head in between your thighs. It’s so much. Pleasure tingles up your spine as Satoru continues to worship your pussy. His nose grinds into your clit and, for a moment, you’re wondering how he’s even breathing.

Suguru’s close. You can feel it every time his balls slap your chin. He’s speaking now, words stilted and heavy. It’s the only hint you get that he’s only holding his control by his teeth. That thought scares you. At any moment he’d snap, choking you with his cock, let you suffocate while he fills your dying mouth with his cum.

“Good,” he’s hissing out, “so good—good for me. C’mon, baby, take it.”

Satoru’s hand squeezes your ass, urging you to arch off the bed. You come like that, pressing your thighs around Satoru’s head, moaning around Suguru’s dick.

Suguru barely gives a grunt before something salty fills your mouth. You have to swallow it down. It burns your throat.

The air tastes sweet by the time Suguru’s cock leaves your mouth. You’re sucking in deep breaths, breasts heaving. Incidentally, you hadn’t suffocated Satoru. He’s kissing his way up your body. A trickle of Suguru’s cum had escaped your lips. His tongue presses against your chin before he pushes it back into your mouth. You can taste your tangy essence on his lips.

“Gotta’ swallow it all,” Satoru says with a teasing lilt, “he gets mad when it’s wasted.”

You can only nod. He gives you another wet kiss before he pulls away.

They switch places, Suguru moving over until he’s between your thighs. His large cock lays on your cunt. He’s still hard, his cock twitches when he angles his hips down, letting the head run over your leaking slit.

“The only reason he's going first is ‘cuz he’s been pining for you for months.” Satoru murmurs into your ear. Strangely enough, Suguru doesn’t comment. Your brain can’t work fast enough to comprehend what that means.

You hold your breath just as he presses himself inside. You’re almost grateful Satoru took the time to prepare you. His salivia, and your stretched walls make it easier for Suguru to bury his length inside you.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You hiss. Satoru feels enough sympathy to coo at you, kissing your neck, trying to distract you from the pain. It doesn't help, not even when Suguru presses light circles into your clit, easing his way through.

Suguru’s giving a harsh laugh when he’s fully seated inside, his hips meeting yours.

“Feel good, hm?” Satoru goads, reaching up to nibble on Suguru’s ear.

“Shit, so tight—fuck.”

Your hips twitch and you’re clenching down on him. Suguru doubles over, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, darling.” Scarred hands grasp your neck. “I’m going to ruin you, aren’t I?”

Your bottom lip wobbles. He’s eyeing you like a piece of meat. A gazelle in the lion’s den. To them, to men like them, you suppose you’re nothing more.

“Suguru.” You whisper because your voice is failing you. “You-you promised you’d be nice.”

Silence. And he’s laughing so hard his shoulders shake. They both are.

“We did promise that, didn’t we?” Suguru glances at Satoru. “Next time, then.”

He pulls his cock out of you slowly, dragging his head through your cunt. He’s so slow and deliberate that you think it’d feel better if he just went ahead and fucked you already.

And he was, technically. His hips rolled back into you, his cock disappearing inside your wet pussy with each thrust. It’s so much that you’re willingly arching your back, trying to do anything to alleviate the intensity.

Beside you, Satoru is pulling out his cock, his eyes never leaving the lewd sight of Suguru fucking himself into you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he’s cursing under his breath, fisting his cocl in one hand, “so fuckin’ hot.”

Suguru growls, grabbing Satoru’s stiff cock, crudely pumping his hand up and down. His movement are getting more erratic losing his pace, his patience. You’re at your end too, almost crying when someone squeezes your sensitive tits.

“How does it feel, darling?” Suguru asks with a ragged breath. His eyes are blown, you don’t even think he’s looking at you, anymore.

When you don't give an answer fast enough, Suguru snaps his hips punishingly in response. You give a sharp wail.

“I said.” Suguru hisses through his teeth. “Tell me how it feels.”

You can barely suck in a breath. You’re losing oxygen too fast.

But you’ll die if he keeps doing this.

“Good.” You tell the truth. “It—it feels good, Suguru.”

He grins, serpentine. You’ve lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing. His fingers descend on your clit.

“That’s my perfect darling.”

You sob when your walls clench around his cock, milking him dry. Your orgasm triggers his own. He curses, and something is spilled into your used cunt. Out the corner of your eye, Suguru and Satoru are kissing, going together like rabid dogs. Satoru shudders, and then all three of you are a panting mess.

You take in deep breaths, barely caring when Suguru lets out an exhausted laugh, collapsing into your chest. He licks at your sweaty skin. You just sink your head further into the pillows

It was over. It was finally over.

“You got it everywhere.” Suguru suddenly says, disgusted. He wipes Satoru’s cum off your stomach.

Satoru just snorts.

“I didn’t have a hole to dump it all in.” He snarks back. “Twice, by the way. So selfish, Sugu.”

“Quit whining.” Suguru groans. “You have your chance now, don’t you?”

What? Exhaustion blinks away.

Suguru stays by your side. Gojo is the one moving, rising from the blankets. He places his hands on either side of your hips, spreading your legs.

Geto catches your panic, easily catching you before you can even do anything. He hushes you while Satoru settles himself between your thighs, his cock pressing right at your slit.

“The night’s still young, dear.” He sounds almost sympathetic. “Be good for just a bit longer.”

By the time they’re finally done with you, it’d been hours. You can’t count how many positions they put you in, how many times your holes were filled by their cocks or their fingers or their mouths. You’re barely coherent by the time Suguru is tucking you under the soft duvet.

You feel sore and used and dirty. His soft words, filled with praises, just make you feel worse. Despite how exhausted you feel, you’re just waiting until they finally get bored of seeing your body and kick you out.

You’ll call a cab home. You’ll cry yourself to sleep. You’ll be okay.

They’re taking a while to get to that part. They’re mumbling soft words too each other, it sounds too intimate to be something you should be overhearing. Satoru’s at your back, hands curling around your waist, another brushing Suguru’s mussed hair. You can feel his soft breath at the nape of your neck.

Suguru’s eyes are on you. Amethyst watches you intently.

"Satoru,” he finally says, “go uphold our end of the deal."

Gojo groans, annoyed. He snuggles closer to you. "Why me? You go do it."

An adoring smile crinkles on Suguru’s lips. It makes him look younger.

"Because I don't trust you alone with this one for the night. Go."

“Ass.”

He sighs, but Gojo sits up, letting the covers shift off his naked body.

"Stay right here for me, baby, 'kay?" He leans over, pressing a delicate kiss on your hairline. Despite everything that happened tonight, this was the most intimate thing he'd done to you. It's too...loving.

When Satoru leaves, you wait for a few moments. Suguru had yet to tell you to go. It probably meant that he didn’t want to waste his breath dismissing you. You take the hint, rising from the bed.

His fingers snap around you wrist just as your feet touch the floor.

“Where are you going?” His voice doesn’t sound accusatory, but you flinch anyway.

A wobbly smile makes its way across your face, you hope it comes across as submissive. Weren’t you done? The deal was made, that meant you could leave now, right?

"I—I need to go home?" Suguru gives a doting smile, as though you said something adoringly naive. He barely pulls on your hand, gently leading you back under the covers.

You follow because the gun glints by the nightstand.

“Is that the best idea right now, dear?” He asks, “Who knows if those men have come back? I’d hate to see them find their target, wouldn’t you?”

He draws you into his chest. Your head is tucked underneath his chin.

“And besides, Satoru will be disappointed if you left without saying goodbye. It’d be horrible to deal with one of his tantrums so late at night.”

He buries his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Why don’t you leave in the morning? I’ll be sure to drive you back myself. By then, I’m sure Satoru will have made the proper arrangements. Don’t tell him I told you this, but—” Suguru drops his voice as though he’s scared someone might overhear”—he tends to be more efficient when you’re in the picture.”

You don’t know what he means by that, and you don’t think you want to know. Still, you lift your head, finding the courage to stare at him.

His eyes are such a beautiful color. Glittering purple in the moonlight. You’d stare at them all night if you could.

“I can leave in the morning?”

Suguru hums, kissing your forehead.

It’s not an answer.

#yandere jjk #yandere #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #dark content #yandere gojo satoru #non con touching #yandere geto suguru #dark geto suguru #dark satosugu #yandere satosugu #tw:blood #tw:noncon/dubcon

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yandere-daydreams · 9 months ago

Text

file #4: the body mod fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!wriothesley x reader (genshin).

length: 3.1k.

warnings: non/con touching + groping, nonconsensual piecing, dubiously consensual tattoos, permanent body modification, intimidation, needles, obsessive behavior, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Just one?”

The question had been hushed, meek, directed more towards your lap than the man sitting across from you. The warden – Wriothesley, you chided yourself, biting the inside of your cheek and attempting to remember what he’d asked you to call him, Wriothesley – broke into a wry smile, but nodded, leaning back in his armchair. “Just one,” he reassured. “And you’ll taken care of until your release date.”

You didn’t respond, but he must’ve seen the way you paled at the suggestion. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just—” You grit your teeth. Your eyes flitted up momentarily, but fell back to your legs just as quickly. “I… I’ve never really liked needles, I guess.”

You could see his eyes light up, his grin broadening as he tried to stifle his laughter. You scowled, but couldn’t blame him. He was used to dealing with hardened criminals, the scum of Teyvat, thieves and spies and murderers, and here you were – on the verge of fainting because he asked you to get a tattoo. “I promise, you don’t have anything to worry about.” At least he was trying to sound comforting, even if it was clearly a half-hearted effort. “I’ll make sure you’re in good hands.”

And he had, in a way.

You just wished he would’ve mentioned that those hands would be his own.

Calloused fingertips dug into your bicep as a scarred palm pressed into your skin, keeping one of your arms loosely secured against the mattress of the cot while the other was pinned between the bedframe and his chest (the placement unintentional, or so you hoped). You’d been shaking when he brought out that terrible machine – a vial of dark ink trapped inside of a cage of copper and steel; a single, silver needle protruding out of one end and a leather grip wrapped around the other – but it’d only taken an hour for fear to fade into boredom, another for boredom to drag on into a rotting, discolored sort of exhaustion. For as much as you’d been dreading it, there was more pressure than pain. It was repetitive, if anything – a monotonous pierce, stab, pierce, stab that you could only try your best not to focus on. You could already feel an ache settling below the skin of your shoulder, already knew that you wouldn’t be able to lift your arm for days, but you tried not to—

His needle stabbed into the thin skin over your shoulder blade, and you couldn’t stop yourself – letting out a low hiss as you flinched into the cot’s thin mattress. You expected Wriothesley to laugh, to drag a damp cloth over the affected area and mutter something like ‘bear with me’ or ‘my bad, love, my bad’ like he had a dozen times before, but instead, there was a muffled click as he switched off his awful machine, a dull clatter as he dropped it onto a bedside table already crowded with bottles of disinfectant and the nurse’s bizarre tools. “We’ll stop here. It’ll take another session, but I think you’ve been through enough for one day. For a virgin, especially.”

You were only half-listening; the phantom of his machine still buzzing in your ears. “Are you sure?” You asked, trying to hide how desperate you were not to spend another night in the empty infirmary with a man you barely knew. “It’s not that bad, I can go for another—”

“I’m sure. Sit up, I’ll let you have a look.”

You pursed your lips, but didn’t protest. You could see how Wriothesley had gotten into such an authoritative position. The way he spoke, his constant undertone of stern stability – it was hard to so much as imagine talking back to him, let alone breaking one of the rules that’d been meticulously and painstakingly drilled into you when you’d arrived at the Fortress of Meropide a little under a week ago. Still, you’d been terrified – too scared to so much as speak to another prisoner for the first two days. You weren’t dangerous. You couldn’t hold your own in a fight, or protect yourself if someone else, someone stronger decided they had a problem with you. You could barely even call yourself a criminal, but apparently, the Iudex hadn’t agreed. You’d been on your way to the fortress before he could finish reading out your sentence, and now, you were trapped in the darkest, deepest place in all of Fontaine, alone and so, so painfully vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for Wriothesley, you probably would’ve requested to forgo your imprisonment entirely and be sent straight to the gallows.

A hand on your shoulder, a softened lull to his voice. “You can sit up, can’t you? I’ll have to call Sigewinne, if you’re in that much pain.”

“Right, I— uh, sorry,” You stammered as you shook your head and pushed yourself up, careful to keep the thick, overly starched cot sheet pressed to your chest. The infirmary was empty, the door locked and sealed, and while Wriothesley hadn’t seemed to think much of ordering you to take off your shirt and lay face-down, you couldn’t bring yourself to brush off the stark, damp chill that came with any amount of exposure in the fortress so easily. You guessed that, after enough time, you’d get used to it. You guessed that, when you did, the thought of not being so cold so constantly wouldn’t make you feel so sick. “I… I think I’m still getting used to this,” you went on, with a strained smile. “Still a little out of it, I guess.”

“That’s alright, love. We all take a few months to find a way to cope.” When you glanced over your shoulder, there was already a mirror in his hand – a compact, small enough to fit in his palm. You had to crane your neck to see it, but Wriothesley knew how to strike the right angle, and soon enough, the sprawling, spiraling pattern stretching from the lower curve of your shoulder blade to the ball of your shoulder came into view. It took you a moment to make out the pattern, but relief accompanied the delayed realization. Lumidouce bells, all blossoming and linked together by a single vine. He’d finished the linework, and there was a smattering of color in the bottom corner – only, oh, he’d gotten the shade wrong. Rather than deep violet, he’d used a light blue, more similar to ice than the water nearly everything in Fontaine stole its palette from. Judging by his expression, though, all beaming pride and low-brewing mirth, he hadn’t caught the mistake. “What do you think? Don’t keep me in suspense, now.”

“It’s… nice,” you said, the sentiment sincere despite your hesitance. And then, laughing, “I was—Well, it feels a little silly now, but I was terrified you’d leave me with, I don’t know, a sea monster or a giant wolf or something.”

“Maybe next time. Not a wolf, though - you don’t strike me as that vicious.” You bit your tongue, forcing yourself not to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time and opting to focus on the soreness starting to knot in your shoulder, instead. You swung your legs over the side of the cot, moving towards where you’d left your shirt draped over an unopened crate, but Wriothesley caught your wrist, tugging you gently back onto the thin mattress. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his playfulness suddenly more irritating than it had been, a few second ago. “I don’t think we’re finished, yet.”

Not for the first time, your smile wavered. “I… I thought we only agreed to one, sir.”

“Of course.” He squeezed your wrist teasingly. “One of each.”

Something heavy and spiked dropped into the pit of your stomach. This time, you couldn’t help the way your expression dropped. “Sir, that’s really not what I—”

“It’ll be worse the longer you put it off.” You weren’t dangerous. You weren’t a criminal. You weren’t strong, but Wriothesley was. Before you could so much as push yourself to your feet, his arm was around your waist and he was perched on the edge of the cot, one leg tucked underneath him to make more room for your body, soon pulled between his thighs. The back of your shoulder screamed where it pressed into his chest, but you managed to swallow the little, pitiful sound threatening to bubble past your lips and clung to your sheet – suddenly so much thinner than it’d seemed, seconds prior. If Wriothesley noticed your apparent panic, the distress of his prisoners was an inconvenience he was willing to endure. Only half-consciously, you tried to shove yourself away from him, but his muscle-bound arm was snaked around your waist before you could gain any distance, keeping you flush against his broad chest. He was so much bigger than you’d realized, when he was on the other side of that desk, when he was engraving something intrusive and permanent into the very fabric of your being. This had been a bad idea. Trusting anyone here had been a bad idea. You should never have—

Your elbow slammed into his diaphragm, and Wriothesley let out a slow grunt, his fingers burrowing into the plush of your side. “Easy now, love,” he half-muttered, half-breathed, bowing his head to speak into the side of your throat. “We had a deal, remember? Can you tell me what it was?”

“You—you said I wouldn’t get hurt if—” You forced yourself to stop, to swallow, to breathe. “But, I only agreed to get one tattoo, and you—”

“I said I’d take care of you. Get you a nice, cushy job with the fortress administrator, keep you out of any over-crowded bunks, make sure the other prisoners don’t cause you any trouble – that kind of thing. I’m really not supposed to play favorites, so even doing that much is going to take more than a little discretion on my part.”

“But, you offered to—”

“I said I’d take care of you, and I’m going to.” You could see him fishing something off of the bedside table with his free hand, but you forced yourself not to look, not to make the ever-growing pit in your stomach feel that much more hollow. “You’ve heard a few stories about what it’s like in the underworld, right? I try to keep all of you nice n’ safe, but a few are bound to fall through the cracks. Rehabilitation can only do so much and—well, I’m sure you know all about how bloodthirsty desperation can make someone.” There was a pause, an ebbing lull to the tenderness in his voice. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, sweetheart. Are you going to help me get a little practice in, while I do that?”

Practice. If he wanted practice, you were sure there were another hundred prisoners who’d willingly lay down and let him carve a hole through whatever he wanted to. Still, you did your best to calm yourself down, to stop thrashing, to shut your eyes and try to ignore the large, pulsing thing you could feel pressing into your ass. You didn’t nod, didn’t give him permission, but when his fist balled around the infirmary sheet and tugged it away from you, the only resistance you managed to scrape up was a slight frown and a wary glance in his direction. “You’re already in for a rough night,” he explained, as if that was any excuse. “Might as well get the hardest one out of the way first, right?”

You refused to let yourself linger on the implication that this wasn’t going to be the last, too.

You clenched your eyes shut as his large hand pawed at the right side of your chest, kneading into the softened flesh with an almost delicate sort of care. “It’s easier after a little stimulation,” he murmured, as if that meant he had to spend so long circling your nipple with a calloused thumb, occasionally swiping over the sensitive bud in a way that made your thighs twitch and your face burn. When your nipple was stiff and pebbled, he pulled away, but it was a momentary reprieve – torn away from you with a splash of freezing disinfectant. It dripped down your chest and filled the stagnant air with a thick, chemical haze as Wriothesley caught your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching tightly. You felt the long, curved tip of his piercing needle against your skin, and braced yourself for the pain. Wriothesley wasn’t kind enough not to drag it out, though. “Wanna count me down?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself that much closer to his chest, desperate for any kind of stability. You’d hoped that Wriothesley would take your clear obstinance as a sign not to drag it out any longer, but he seemed to savor it – the agony of the wait, the way the dread seemed to multiply tenfold every time you forced yourself to suck in a ragged inhale. Seconds seemed to pass like frozen honey, only just beginning to drip. You’d started to think he wouldn’t do it, that he’d just laugh and admit this was all part of some bizarre, invasive hazing ritual when Wriothesley let out an airy chuckle and plunged his needle into you.

Oh, archons.

You really thought the tattoo would’ve been worse.

It was faster, at least; a bright shock of pain followed immediately by a steady, throbbing sort of ache that seemed to drown out every other sensation and fill your mind with a buzzing, numbing static. You didn’t realize your eyes had shot open on reflex until tears blurred your vision, until you glanced down just in time to watch as he dragged the needle through and replaced it with a small, silver stud – a barbell, as wrong as it felt to think of yourself having something so vulgar attached to you. You were crying unabashedly by the time he finished, pain and humiliation dripping down your cheeks in hot, wet streams, but Wriothesley’s shallow pool of sympathy must’ve run dry. “Ah, don’t make that face, sweetheart – we’re only halfway done.” You felt him panting into the crook of your neck as his hand found the other side of your chest. The last threads of his veil of composure frayed and broke apart as he groped unabashedly at your chest, toying with your nipple as your sobs echoed off of the clinic walls. You felt something thick and hot and wet crash against your collarbone and drip down the curve of your chest, and forced yourself to believe it was only disinfectant. That there was nothing it could’ve been except disinfectant.

Wriothesley’s hips rocked against your ass, the rigid outline of his cock pressing into you, incinerating any lingering delusions you might’ve had of helpful prison wardens exchanging one favor for another. Five fingers bit into the plush of your chest as he brought his needle to your unmutilated nipple, his hand surprisingly steady despite the airy, drawling moans he was pouring into your throat. “P-please don’t,” you managed, fighting to speak above the pathetic cries and choking fear doing their best to strangle out your voice. “Please, I can’t—I don’t want to—”

But, Wriothesley wasn’t listening. It wasn’t a spark, this time, but a red-hot knife, stabbed deep into your chest and twisted as far as it could go. You heard Wriothesley let out a rough groan, felt something warm and damp against your ass, and then, you were gone.

You startled awake hours later; bolting upright as you heaved in jolting, uneven inhales. Immediately, pain knocked you out of your panicked daze – sharp and piercing, imbedded into the back of your shoulder and either side of your chest, strong enough to remind you to measure out your breathing and calm down before you blindly threw yourself back into a seething pit of violent criminals. It took you a second to realize that you weren’t on an undersized infirmary cot, anymore, and another to piece together where he’d taken you – a bedroom nearly triple the size of your bunk. The warden’s chambers, you figured, as you scanned over the limited decoration and piles of dust-coated paperwork stacked onto every possible surface. Wriothesley’s room.

Wriothesley’s bed, at that. A cold chill ran down your spine as you realized that he’d taken the time to strip you out of your ill-fitting coveralls and redress you in a shirt sizes too big to be one of yours – the bleached, threadbare material a stark contrast to the satin sheets draped over your legs. You started to push them away and move towards the edge of the mattress, but froze as a door on the far side of the room creaked open – Wriothesley slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him. He moved away from it quickly, but as it closed, you could’ve sworn you heard the muffled, deafening click of a lock sliding into place and cutting you off from the rest of the world – or, the rest of the underworld, rather. As if there was anyone out there who would bother to save you, even if they could try.

“There’s my sleeping beauty.” He grinned as he lowered himself on the side of the bed, positioning himself closer to you than he absolutely had to. He reached out, moving to cup your face, but quickly let his hand fall back to his side when you flinched away. His smile dimmed, but didn’t fall away. “Get a chance to see the improvements, yet?”

After a second of hesitation, you shook your head, and he nodded to your chest - the gesture more of an order than a suggestion. Reluctantly, you pinched your collar between two fingers and peeled away from your skin. Through the narrow sliver, you could see his handiwork: a pair of twin rings hanging from either nipple, connected by a thin, lax, silver chain – so light, you could barely feel it brushing your diaphragm as the air caught in your chest.

You dropped the collar before you could give in to the nausea beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t bear to look at Wriothesley, so you kept your eyes on the sheets, kneading at the fabric half-consciously as you struggled to find your voice. “That wasn’t what we agreed to,” you muttered, mostly under your breath. “Can I go back to my bunk, now?”

His smile took on an almost apologetic note. You tried again. “Am I... Am I going to be able to leave?”

This time, when he reached out, flinching away wasn’t enough to stop him – his hand catching your chin and drawing you that much closer to him. You tried to lurch away, but it was too late, his lips were already crashing into yours, his tongue already slipping past your teeth and raking over your own. While your eyes widened in shock, his went half-lidded, closing just a second too late. Abruptly, it occurred to you that you’d never really noticed the color of his eyes – a pale, faded blue. The color of the half-formed flowers currently stretching across your back.

Wriothesley’s hand slipped to the nape of your neck. You let your eyes fall shut, and did your best not to think at all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

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spacedace · 9 months ago

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Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.

#dpxdc #jazz fen #jason todd #social worker jazz #social worker jazz fenton #anger management ship #anger management #pre anger management #jason todd x jazz fenton #i don't know why i keep writing scenes where Jazz writes resumes to apply to work for crime bosses but it just feels right in my soul okay #the real reason Jason wears a full face helmet is so people can't tell when he utterly fails to hide his emotions about something #the idea of social worker jazz working in crime alley has completely consumed me mind body and soul

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rxzennia · 5 months ago

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don't you worry child

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 so like i lied and now here’s something not on my wip list. remember the theme park scene with three aventurines? this is loosely based on that. young kakavasha calls you mister like twice but that’s cause you’re looming tall. i wish i could yap about more exploring the map, but it’s already way too long :( would’ve speedran this fic but i was trying to beat divergent v (spoiler alert, i’m still trying)

“for in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be.”

when aventurine showed you the dream bubble made of his memories, he wasn’t expecting to bare his inner child to you. he thought it’d be some of his earlier days at the ipc, some of his conquests and schemes, or maybe some of his glorious wins at the casino, not what he has buried for so long – and definitely not something he’s tried so hard to deny for so long. sure, he will tell you eventually, but not now. not yet, not when he’s barely ready.

and yet here you are, face to face with a child whose height barely reaches your hips. alone. aventurine said he’d be here with you, but where the hell is he?

you agreed to give your boyfriend’s(?) dream bubble a try, but where are you?

no one’s confessed but there are already rumors in the office so like tentatively dating, you suppose

and who is this small human in front of you?

you adjust your scarf, pulling it a little higher as you stare at the boy

he stares back at you

you try to not glare at him, but for all you know, you might still be glaring anyway

a few minutes pass, and the child blinks at you

he lifts one hand up, look at his feet then back at you, then he tiptoes

"you’re so tall, mister!"

you look around for anyone else. there’s no one else.

"me?" you point at yourself

you’re not good with kids, you don’t know if you should bother engaging him, but hey, he’s just a kid

no reason to ignore him or tell him to leave you alone

if anything, him being all the way out here in the unregulated areas of the theme park means you should do something about it

maybe you should bring him back to the main area?

"yes, you, mister!" the child nods enthusiastically. "woah, you’re so big! can you come down a little?"

first off, that’s what she said. second, and more importantly, how is he not remotely intimidated by your presence? you’re a pretty towering figure even by your own standards, and you don’t exactly have a friendly face, so the fact that a kid of all people started talking to you…

but the more you look at him, the more you feel a sense of deja vu. his face reminds you of someone you know, but his demeanor is, like, the furthest thing away from that person.

you can’t really say no to him, so you crouch down slowly

you don’t know how to interact with him, but you can at least satisfy his curiosity

"like this?" you’re now a head and a half taller than him. somehow, he takes this as a sign to approach

"child, has no one taught you to not talk to strangers?"

he gasps, like he suddenly remembered everything his parents warned him to not do, and he lowers his head like he’s just done something bad

"b-but you don’t seem like a bad person!" he bursts out, clumsily fiddling with his fingers. "you, you don’t give me the same feeling bad people do…"

"you should still be careful." you sigh as you adjust your scarf so it’s not touching the ground. "well, that aside. i’m down here now. can i help you?"

you watch as they kid slowly walk up to you, the curiosity shining in his eyes

you didn’t deny his claims! that means you’re a good person!

you’re mildly fascinated by the delicate little human

"i’m looking for someone," he says, finally looking up at you again, "t-then i have to go home… but i’m a little lost…"

is this what the world has come to? a kid asking you for help? in a dream bubble of all things?

though you did agree to experiencing the whole thing, so you should probably play along

"alright." you nod. "how should i call you?"

the child brightens up when you agree to help, and he almost reaches for your hands before he remembered personal space

"umm," he starts, keeping his hands awkwardly half-raised, "my name is kakavasha. mister, what about you?"

"kakavasha, hm?" you say, and you offer him one hand. you briefly wonder if it’s okay to tell dream kakavasha your name – this doesn’t seem like a typical dream bubble and all – but worst comes to worst, you’ll just force your way out.

so you tell the child your name, and you feel an overwhelming sense of adoration when he gingerly tries to repeat the syllables that you’ve just said.

dragon hoarding treasure moment intensifies

this kid is going to grow up into the man you know today? absolutely crazy

you’re kind of spacing out as you try to reconcile the kid in front of you with your boss

and while you’re doing that, you vaguely hear him repeating your name over and over again

"yes, that’s close enough." you finally interrupt his attempts to perfect his pronunciation. "where to, kakavasha?"

you stand up, and holy shit you’re so much taller than him

you briefly wonder if you can even hear him from all the way up there…

you can. you hear him crisp and clear.

maybe a little too clear

he’s loud.

"can i lead the way?" he asks, as if you’d say no to him (???)

he grabs onto your hand without any reservations and he starts to drag you off

what do you do??? no human interaction has prepared you for children??? because no kid wanted to approach you like ever???

you’re taken so much by surprise that you kind of just… froze up

cue him trying to tug you somewhere but failing miserably

he tries with both hands, but you still wouldn’t budge

super confused

he tries harder

still nothing??? just how big is this big person???

"oh, sorry." you snap back to your senses, and you let him pull you to wherever he wants

after a few turns, pinball machines, and an entire maze later, you find yourself at the central stage, where aventurine did his grandest closing act. you can still see the slash of nihility, but it doesn’t seem that anyone else can see it. perhaps a distortion in the dream bubble itself?

kakavasha takes you straight to the center, right at where the slashed monitor sits.

this whole thing hasn’t sat well with you since you touched that bloody dream bubble

where the fuck is aventurine?

who is kakavasha trying to find?

why would they be here?

unless…

you come to a stop when kakavasha stops to look around.

"oh, mister’s not here anymore." he whispers, lowering his eyes and fiddling with his fingers, "of course he wouldn’t be waiting…"

you slowly walk up by his side. "who exactly are we looking for? i don’t think you’ve ever told me."

"oh!" kakavasha gasps, "oh." he sputters a little, and he points to the stage. "i ran into a really cool mister earlier, and apparently he’s an actor!"

now you know who he’s talking about

is this dr edward’s experimental model or something? it’s rare to see memoria taking such form

not that you understand memoria

did aventurine give you this dream bubble knowing this will happen?

so when he said he’d be around, did he mean…?

did he literally regress for this???? what is this, the most fantasy novel to have ever fantasized?

or is he watching you like some guy watching a playthrough of a rpg?

or is this entire thing a bug? because you thought you still have a few years to go before aventurine would even think of letting you so far into his mind

you sigh, it’s all far too complicated for you to think about

you’ll focus on the kid for now

"i see," you reply. you didn’t want to give such a dry response, but what are you even supposed to say?

"but he seemed a little sad…" kakavasha mumbles, "i was hoping to catch him after his show…"

you’re slightly tempted to say "well you just missed him", but your brain is telling you to not do it

fine, you’ll hold your tongue :(

you watch as the child run around

you give him a few ten minutes before you crouch and open one arm for him

"come on," you sigh, "we’ll be here all day."

kakavasha looks at you, at your unreadable eyes, then your arm, then he tentatively slots himself into your side.

"woah, you’re so tall!" he exclaims when you slowly stand up with him on your shoulder. "i’m so high up! hehe!"

"i know, you’ve said that already," you deadpan

for how unfriendly you are, you sure aren’t hiding your worries well

your other arm has been hovering in front of the boy since the moment you stood up

and you’ve been careful with keeping your arm steady while you walk

"you see him?"

"no…" comes kakavasha’s downtrodden reply. "i don’t have much time left, papa and mama will be worried if i don’t go home soon…"

you play along, wandering around for kakavasha to look for his adult self. "that’s a shame."

he turns to stare at you

you sound like you don’t give too much of a shit

but he can see that you’re a gentle person at heart

why else would you follow him around, hold his hand, and now lift him up so he can get a better view?

and you’ve also made sure that no monsters could get him

he makes a sad noise when you end up right in front of the monitor

you wonder if he could also see the slash of nihility, or if he intuitively sensed something

he taps your shoulder, a series of quick, feather-light pokes

"down?" you ask, but you’re already lowering kakavasha back onto the ground.

he approaches the broken monitor. "mister… did his show go well?" he grasps your hand tightly. "it was a great success, wasn’t it?"

you feel for the child, you really do. but this is a dream, an illusion where your actions won’t make any actual difference. you want to wrap him up and coddle him, but in the end, that will change nothing.

"that it was." you nod, and you envelop his way smaller hands in your own. "the greatest success anyone’s ever seen."

somehow, your heart hurts when he breaks into a smile

"i’m glad." he says, like a weight’s been lifted off his chest

he probably already knows what happened

he knows himself best, after all

it’s not like you expect the child in front of you to be able to see through aventurine’s act

but they’re one in the same

that reckless abandon and affinity to games of chance didn’t come out of nowhere

you’re fairly certain he has his own guesses as to what happened to that "mister"

"do you know where the really cool mister is now?" kakavasha asks, looking at you with the most innocent gaze you’ve ever seen. "is he doing well?"

you can’t help but hear the subtext in his words, and you let out a soft snort.

it’s such a "him" thing to do.

"i don’t know," you answer honestly, for you really don’t know. "but what i am certain of… is that he is not doing too badly."

you take note of the portal that slowly appeared in the middle of the stage. a picture frame, a crack, and hands prying that crack right open.

you look into the distance, past the slash, past penacony, into the stars

"he’s alive," you say, "he’s living. will live."

you snap yourself out of your trance and look at the child next to you

"i’ll look after him, don’t worry."

you hope those words could be some sort of reassurance to him

"promise?" he offers you a pinky. "pinky promise?"

that’s cute

a quick image of others seeing you making a pinky promise flashes before your eyes

but what’s more important than the present?

"pinky promise." you hook your pinky with his. "i’ll make sure the really cool mister lives well."

kakavasha finally notices the portal, and he realizes it’s time to go home. he’s stayed out for too long, and now his family wants him home.

wherever home is to him, anyway

how do you even go home through a portal in a dream bubble

ever considered that maybe it’s better if you didn’t question everything

you let him drag you towards the portal

he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you quite yet

he’s pretty interested in this tall, scary person who isn’t actually scary at all

and he really wants to become friends with you (more like spend more time with you)

but he really needs to go, before his parents start to worry

you understand, of course you do, with how he’s fidgeting and glancing between you and the portal

and the face of a kid who’s just been told their playtime is over

so you nudge him a little, hoping that it’ll prompt him to go

are you surprised when it doesn’t work? not really? me neither

he refuses to let go of your hand

like legit just does not, even if both he and you know he has to

what can you do in such a scenario???

nothing’s prepared you for a silent tantrum

can you even call it a tantrum???

quick, come up with something!

alas, it doesn’t feel right to simply wave and part ways

"young kakavasha." you kneel down and unwrap your scarf from your neck. "take this with you," you say as you wrap the fabric around him, paying the strange feeling of exposing your scales no mind. you open your mouth to elaborate, but your words die in your throat.

kakavasha looks at you; he doesn't need to crane his neck for once, and he flinches from the foreign feeling of your fingers ghosting ever so slightly against his face. for how much you’ve taken care of him while he wandered around the theme park, you’re still only a really kind stranger. nowhere close enough to be giving each other gifts.

"it gets cold at night," you say, finally cracking a tiny smile for the child before you, your hand landing on top of his head gently. "you’ll at least be warmer this way."

you watch kakavasha’s bewildered expression as he touches his new scarf, feeling the smooth fabric and how oddly chunky it feels looped around him. it isn’t a bad feeling, not at all. it’s more like a big hug, the sort that scares away the monster under the bed and wards off nightmares.

"thank you…" he mumbles, still dazed and taken by the new addition to his limited wardrobe. he lifts his face to look at you, taking note of your iridescent scales and your soft gaze. he beams, a grin so bright that it ignites even your inhuman heart. "i’ll treasure this! it feels so nice… thank you so much!"

"mm. go on, now." you nod, and you nudge him towards the portal. "don’t keep your family waiting."

kakavasha blinks at you. "you’re not coming?" he asks, tilting his head to the side innocently.

"unfortunately." you beckon him forward and give him a small kiss on the top of his head before you stand up fully. "if fate shall have it, though… i suppose we will meet again."

"sis has always said that i’m blessed with fortune!" kakavasha almost jumps to grab onto you, but he just misses your shoulders by a hair. "see you next time!"

he spends a good minute waving at you before he turns around to leave. somehow… you feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. an inexplicable wave of melancholy washes over you like frigid waves on a windy day, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

you watch the child until he disappears into the frame, and you don’t look away for another minute.

"see you, kakavasha."

#honkai star rail #aventurine #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x reader #ares's voracity pathstrider tales

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darlingshane · 6 months ago

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hot to go

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: You get some playtime in a hot tub with Michael.

CW: 18+, explicit, smut, heavy petting, making out, smoking weed, crack, pwp.

Word Count: 1.9k

— Links: AO3 // Michael Masterlist.

There’s certainly something lingering in the air making you shift on your seat. It's not the mild summer breeze. Or the grey clouds scattered across the stark dark sky threatening to break into a storm. Or the romantic vibe of the fairy lights adorning the patio. It’s the man sitting across from you that's stirring something warm and wet between your legs. It's hard to tell because most of your body is submerged in a bubbling hot tub. It could be the effervescent water but no. It's the fact that both of you stripped down to your underwear to get in the tub to get away from the crowd in the cabin.

The music was getting loud, everyone was drinking and having a great time. But it was giving you a headache. So you went outside to the patio and couldn’t resist taking your clothes off and getting into the warm bubbling water.

Michael followed shortly after and asked your permission before removing his clothes and sitting across from you.

No one in the party got the heads-up about the jacuzzi so, here you are soaking wet in your underwear with him. It'd be intimidating if you didn't know him already. He's a friend of a friend you've hung out with a handful of times but never got to talk to him just one on one. You're doing pretty good so far. He's pretty easy to converse with and get a good laugh if you need to.

It’s glaring obvious by the way his eyes have been glued to you the whole night that he’s after something more than talking and doesn’t shy away from showing you. And to be honest, you don’t mind it at all.

You haven’t had much luck lately when it comes to dating so getting someone like Michael’s attention without having to go through the pains of fucking dating apps and shit feels amazing.

Though he doesn’t have the best reputation, you’re not looking for a nice guy right now or something profoundly deep.

Fun is the key word here, and he seems to be right on the same wavelength as you.

One of his hands hangs over the edge of the tub, safeguarding his fingers that are holding a joint to keep it safe from the bubbles.

“Can I get a hit of that?” You rarely ever smoke, but you want to touch the same filter his lips have touched.

“There you go, sweetheart.” He holds it up to you as you dry your hand on the towel you left beside the jacuzzi before picking it from his fingers.

“Thanks,” you bring it slowly to your slips to take a drag, trying to keep your cool and not choke on the smoke you inhale.

When you take a second puff, the smoke goes down the wrong pipe, and you start coughing.

So much for keeping it cool.

“Sorry,” you say, handing it back. “I haven’t smoked in a while.”

He waves you off with his free hand as he takes a long drag from his other.

Leaning your head back on the edge of the tub, you watch his hair curling from the humidity as you wave your arms inside the steaming water.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he says as a cloud of smoke exits his mouth.

“What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever done it?”

“Wow, we’re jumping from weed to sex? That’s a pretty big leap.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don't wanna. I was just making conversation.”

“No, I wanna. I just didn’t see that coming. Let me think…” he pauses, and puts off the joint in the ashtray perched on the corner of the tub. “The weirdest place I’ve ever had sex in was the back of a hearse.”

“The back of a hearse? That’s pretty morbid. Please tell me the other person was alive.”

He chuckles, smoothing a palm over his opposite bicep.

“Of course she was. There was no coffin or anything. It was just us.”

“How did that happen? If you don’t mind me asking”

“I used to work at this body shop when I was younger. One night it got late, and I was left alone fixing this bike. My girlfriend at the time came over to have dinner and thought it’d be funny to make out in the hearse that we got in the garage. What was yours?”

“My weirdest place? An airport bathroom. Just two horny idiots not being able to wait till they got home.”

“It’s not as odd as mine, but it’s close. Is it my turn now to ask?” He extends his arms along the edge of the tub, showcasing his toned muscles.

“Yeah, go for it.”

“Is there a place you never had sex in that you’d like to try?”

“Hm.” You pause to gather an answer, going over a list of places that you always wanted to try but never dared to. But the right answer is right beneath your butt.

“I’ve never had sex in a jacuzzi. I always thought it'd be kind of icky, but I guess some play would be nice. What do you think?”

“Yeah, I think that’d be great,” biting his lip, his eyes cast a darker shadow than the sky as he pegs you with a most certain gaze, conveying what you knew, that he truly is down to get down with you tonight.

“Would you…?” You swallow nervously, moving your foot to caress his calf underwater, “would you like to play right now?”

Nodding his head once, his hands dive into the tub to find your foot. He props your heel on his thigh and softly massages your sole with his thumbs.

“You sure that’s wh––?”

“Yo, Cousin! Where are you?” a loud voice interrupts, and you look back to see Richie emerging behind one of the corners of the cabin to the back patio where the tub sits.

“Shit,” he mumbles as his friend comes closer.

You straighten your posture, but Michael keeps your foot in his grip.

“Where the fuck did you go? Thought we were playing poker. The table is ready, man. Come inside.”

“I have better things to do right now, as you can see,” he gives him a look with a brow raised, but Richie doesn’t take the hint.

“What are you? A fucking fish? C’mon, let’s rob these fools.”

“Richie… I need you to look around, read the room and go back inside. You’re a big boy. Play on your own.”

Richie’s blue eyes dart back and forth between you and Michael until it dawns on him.

“Oh… OH… Okay. Well, have a good time I guess. Just remember you owe me one.” As he walks away he points at Michael with a firm finger.

“Owe you, my ass,” he scoffs, making you chuckle. “Okay, sorry for that. Where were we, sweetheart?”

“Thought you were going to ask me if I was sure of this.”

“Right. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Hm, yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

Smiling at each other for a second, he releases your foot, and moves to your side of the tub pulling you onto his lap with one shift motion.

His lips curve up as you settle on top of him, placing your hands on his broad shoulders.

“You’re so damn beautiful, you know that?” He uses a finger to trace the shape of your neck as he takes a good look at you up close.

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” You glance down to his toned torso, letting your hands slide over his pecs.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” his finger touches your chin, pulling it closer so he can get a taste of your lips.

His puckered mouth bounces softly against yours a couple of times. When his lips part wider, you follow his cue and do the same. Your head leans to the side, letting your tongue explore and figure out the rhythm of his kiss.

It's sweet and steamy. Gradually bubbling hotter than the hot tub’s water as the hunger of your lips quickly becomes more urgent.

Your arms curl around his neck as his palms land on your ass to pull you flush against his hips. He's not fully hard yet, but you can tell he's big when you start grinding against him. Your ass feels weightless underwater when you rock your hips back and forth, but his tight grip helps you stay close to him as he grows harder.

When he runs out of air, he breaks the kiss to get a taste of your sweet skin. His teeth draw the curve of your neck until they reach the strap of your bra. He bites it and tugs to the side to pull it off your shoulder and uncover your chest partially.

His pointer finger finds the strap and slides it further down, peeling one of the cups to fully expose your boob.

Leaving a trail of kisses all over your chest, he cups your tit and lifts it slightly as his head dips so he can draw the shape of your pebbled nipple with the tip of his playful tongue. It makes your core squirm and beg desperately for more when his lips close around the peak to give it a good suck. You almost moan at the sensation, but you press your teeth hard on your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming.

Bending your arm back, you fumble to unclasp your bra, and slip it off completely as Michael’s mouth travels to the other side of your chest. This time he uses his teeth to tease your nipple for a little longer before viciously sucking it between his eager lips. Your skin buzzes and you have to keep marking your lip to tame the sounds that threaten to come out of your throat.

You don't stop rolling against his dick that has fully swollen into a hard-rock perfection pole for you to rub yourself on as fast as you can to aid the aching between your legs.

When he returns to your mouth, your skin feels like melting into the hot mass of water, as the temperature between your bodies rises.

You can feel he's close by the way his hands clutch to your flesh, coaxing your ass to move even faster. It feels like a time bomb about to go off, and you don't even wanna stop it. You let him devour you with burning passion until his orgasm breaks through the barrier.

You feel his bulge twitch against your clit, and his whole body shakes beneath you. His breath catches in your mouth as he buries a grunt deep inside his throat.

Aware that you haven't gotten your release yet, he keeps one hand anchored to your ass while the other slides between your legs. His fingers sneak under the elastic of your panties to rub your clit without any layers.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear as you close your eyes to focus on the maddening circling of his touch.

You hold your hands tight to his neck as he wildly drives you to the final line. You moan under your breath when a tide of pleasure runs warmly all over your body making your toes curl and your head spin.

“There you go,” he purrs, cradling your head, placing it down on his chest.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless, still riding the high of your impromptu affair.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” You gaze at him so see him sweetly drawing a smile.

“Do you… Would you like to go up to my room and play some more?”

“Sure.”

Michael doesn't even think twice before getting out of the hot tub and moving the private party upstairs.

#jon bernthal #michael berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction #mikey berzatto #smut #darlingwrites

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merbear25 · 6 months ago

Note

Can you do Zoro, Sanji, and Luffy x single mother S/O? Would they treat their S/O’s son/ daughter as their own?

Hey, hey! This was so heartwarming for me to think about, so thank you for sending in your request! Personally, I can’t see them being anything other than accepting towards the child. Generally speaking, they’d see them as an extension of you, so there’d be no reason for them not to care for them like their own. I hope you like what I’ve written for you 💜💜

CW: fluff, fem!reader (single mom), headcanons/scenario, written with them dating the reader and not married to her.

One of their own (Monster trio)

Zoro

Upon first meeting your child, he was unintentionally intimidating to them. Being the large scarred man that he was, it took awhile for the kid to warm up to him. With small yet thoughtful interactions, trust was built on a solid foundation. He became someone your child could turn to when they felt unsure about something, knowing that Zoro would come at the issue with a level head.

Playtime would always leave the child worn out. It’d be perfect if they were younger, so you could lay them down to sleep much more easily. Sometimes they passed out on the couch, so Zoro would be the one putting them to sleep, seeing as their dead weight would be easy for him to haul off to bed.

He’d be stern yet caring, not giving the kid room to run a muck because he’d always be respectful of the rules you’d set in place. The child learned quickly that they couldn’t try to get their own way if you told them no. “Can I have some candy?” types of questions were always followed by, “What did your mother say?”

Sanji

When you first introduced him to your child, he was very warm and open towards them. Your child took to Sanji almost instantly. With a smile that was inviting and comforting like an embrace, he easily became one of your child’s favorite people. They felt at ease around him; he was caring and gentle but wasn’t a pushover (unless your daughter gave him puppy dog eyes).

One of their favorite activities would be cooking and/or baking together. He’d adore being able to share his passion with them. They’d be put in charge of certain aspects of the meal, so that they felt like they were contributing to whatever delicious food was being prepared. When it was time to lay them down to sleep, Sanji would read them a bedtime story, wanting to show them the affection that his father never gave him.

He’d never cross the line when it came to how you ran your household, treating the boundaries you’d set in place with the utmost respect. Even if your child tried to pull on his heartstrings with an adorable look, he’d honor your rules—despite it being extremely difficult sometimes. Sanji would want to spoil them, so just be sure to keep an eye on him.

Luffy

The first time you introduced Luffy to your child, he was warm and friendly. However, there was just something about him that made your child feel like they needed to scope him out before they could feel comfortable around him; he was, after all, a very unusual person. The more time they spent around him, the easier it got to come around. They then would ask you all the time when Luffy was coming over.

Being the imaginative man that he was, Luffy would create games seemingly out of thin air. Since he was more of the ‘do now think later’ type, your house became subjected to much of their wacky fun. With a few broken items here and there, he apologized profusely for the recklessness and promised to take their fun outside from then on.

Even though he was playful and light-hearted, he still had moments when he was serious. When you or your child needed him to be that, he’d step up and do what had to be done. With that in mind, you and your child’s bond with him would strengthen and whenever you had down time to relax and watch something, more often than not you’d fall asleep on the couch together.

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itryhardtomakethishouseahome · 11 months ago

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Arcane Characters saying I love you Pt2

~ Silco, Sevika, and Vander

A/n sorry this one's a little longer than pt 1, also reblogs are much appreciated✨🫶🏼

word count 1.8k pt 1 here

First time saying i love you pt 2

silco, sevika, vander

Silco~

‘It’s too quiet’ you thought, lounging in Silco's office on the sofa Sevika basically claimed as hers. The silence almost made you nervous mostly because it never was. The atmosphere was always filled with the sound of sevika working on her arm, faint explosions echoing from Jinx's lab, silco’s meetings, jinx yapping about her new inventions or arguing with Sevika, or even fin’s disgusting attempts to flirt with you while you catch Silco and Sevika rolling their eyes over his shoulder. Like clockwork, the tedious silence was broken by Silco barging through the door followed by Sevika.

“She’s a problem and we all know it!” Sevika seethed. You figured that they were either too angry to notice you or too angry to care.

Silco brushed his hair back and turned his head to look over his shoulder. “We?” You wanted to intervene but know that given the fact that 1. they’re both stubborn and 2. Sevika’s stature and gaze alone intimidate the hell out of you, it’d be useless but nonetheless you definitely piece together that it’s about jinx.

“Look,” Sevika took a deep breath, “I know you have a thing for strays and she means a lot to you but she is not your daughter. There is an entire city that relies on you and you’re doing nothing but making excuses for some unhinged kid. Even if you were her father you should know when to keep her in check instead of letting her be a loose cannon and put everything we’ve worked for in jeopardy. If you aren't going to choose between parenting her or acting like her boss, send her to the enforcers.” With that Sevika walked out slamming the door behind her. You definitely understood her anger and everything she was saying but Silco was trying. Granted he could be trying harder but for the life he’s lived he was doing all he could without being cold towards jinx. He COULD turn her in but everything she’s done she was told to do by him, he COULD abandon her and perfect everything he’s built but he knows what it’s like and he’s grown too attached. He was at a loss and you could see it in the ways his shoulders dropped yet looked so tense.

Sighing, Silco finally decides to acknowledge your presence. “Tell me my dear,” he said, hunched over his desk, “what do I do?” You stood up and walked over to him, gently ushering him to face you. It hurt you to see him like this, unraveled by his daughter and right hand. You take his face in your hands and he immediately sinks into your touch with glossy eyes. “Tell me how to parent her. Tell me how to be better.” he begs.

“My heart, you don’t need to be better. You’ve told her countless times to take things more seriously. Her not doing so is entirely on her, not you.” You tried your best to reassure him. “I’d suggest telling her that unless she shapes up she won't be allowed on more serious jobs but knowing her she’d throw a fit and go against you anyways.” Finally Silco cracks a smile and scoffs.

“That does sound like her, suppose my stubbornness has rubbed off on her.” he says, taking your hands in his and staring deeply and lovingly into your eyes.

“So be more stern with her, is what you’re implying?” he stated more so than asked, taking you in his arms. “Mhm.” you hummed.

“I'll give it a try, thank you my dear.”

“Of course, eventually she’ll listen. She just needs to learn that there are reasons why you tell her not to go all out. You’re a great father, you know.” He swears his heart skipped a beat.

“...I love you…” Silco whispers, holding you tighter. “I love you more.”

Sevika~

You and Sevika both work for Silco, you have since the start of his reign, and you both quickly learned how tiring and physically demanding it was. However, some days were worse than others today being a prime example for Sevika at least. You had to take care of some petty thieves in one of Silco’s stash houses that Fin had secretly hired but regardless you got to go home early and are now relaxing in your shared bed. Eventually you dozed off but got woken up by the sound of Sevika opening the bedroom door.

“Oh hey, sorry doll,” she gently kisses your temple. “Didn’t know you went home early.” she mumbles, taking her shoes off and throwing them across the room.

“Yeah because I’m lucky” you say with a smirk. Sevika lazily smacks your thigh earning a giggle as she plops next to you sinking her face into the pillow. “Lucky brat is what you are. Why’d you leave early anyway?”

“I finished my task quickly and was gonna wait for you but Silco said that jinx was with you,” Sevika groans at the name of her tiny nemesis earning a giggle from you. She then turns her head ushering you to go on while she starts caressing your jaw. “And that you’d most likely take a while so he sent me home.” she hummed in response. She didn’t say anything else, continuing to only lay on her stomach with her head turned to you, running her fingers down your jaw then suddenly shutting her eyes and jerking her hand.

“What's wrong? Did you get hurt?” You ask, sitting up immediately inspecting her for injuries noticing how she didn't move at all to calm you down.

“Nothin my backs just sore…” Sevika groaned. You could tell it was more than just her back, it was her shoulder blades and arm. Sighing, you got up and gently started removing her shirt.

“Angel I'm too tir-”

“Get your mind out of the gutter Vika I'm not gonna ravage you I just wanna give you a massage.” She utters a quick ‘oh’ before sliding out of her shirt then resuming her previous position.

“As if you could ever ravage me.” she scoffs. Ignoring her, you grab some lotion from the nightstand and take a seat on her butt. You apply the lotion to your hands before putting some pressure on her lower back deciding you’ll save the problem spots for last. Judging by how tense she is and how she groans you get the idea that she was long overdue for a good massage.

Once you clear all the knots and tension from her lower and mid back you focus your attention on the spot in between her shoulder blades, gently pushing down then dragging your hands around her shoulders hearing various pops, cracks, groans, and moans coming from her. There really isn’t anything you can do about the pain from the arm she no longer has other than press ginger kisses around the area. As she feels your weight shift from her backside to the bed she turns to face you once more, taking you in her arms and engulfing you in a passionate kiss.

“Y’know I'm gonna marry you one day right angel?” she playfully questions.

“Only seems fair,” you start, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You already got acting like one.” she smiles, remembering everything you’ve done for her, especially when she lost her arm. You were always right there when she needed you but was too stubborn to ask for help, you were always at her beck and call.

“Oh please, it's ‘cause you love me… and I love you…so much.”

Vander~

You knew that when you started dating Vander that the kids would have to be in your life too and honestly you loved it. You would always bring them gifts like boxing gloves for Vi, trinkets and tools for Mylo and Powder, and snacks for Claggor. Anytime Vander would tell them not to do something they’d immediately run to you begging you to change his mind and sometimes it worked sometimes it didn’t. Today being one of the days it didn’t.

You were relaxing at the empty bar when Vi barged yelling about how something wasn’t fair while Vander trailed her. Vi spotted you and ran to your side.

“Y/n please tell him that we’re ready.” She begged without any context as to what she was talking about.

“What's happening?” you ask, lost as ever.

“Apparently the enforcers are turning the lanes upside down looking for us but this is our chance to fight! We need to stand up to them and now’s as good a time as any.” Vi explained. You assumed vander wasn’t having any of it given the fact that 1. the kids’ safety was everything to him and 2. he had an arrangement with the enforcers.

“There’s too much at risk if we do Violet! You need to stop thinking with these,” Vander says, grabbing her fists. “And start thinking with this!” he then points to her head. “The lanes isn't what it used to be. Yes we all still have the same drive as we did back then, but we’re not in the same shape as we used to be! We lost a lot of good people then and we’d lose even more now.” Violet thinks of her parents which Vander can see in her eyes. “You’ll lose powder, claggor, and Mylo too. We will rise Violet I promise you we will but now is not our time, there's too much at stake.” Vander looks to you for help and so does Vi. You love the kids but this is one thing that Vander would not change his mind about and to be frank you agree with him.

“I'm sorry Vi but he’s right honey” you take her face in your hands trying to get her to see how sincere you are. “A shadow of the lanes would be all that’s left. And I don’t wanna lose you guys.”

“...fine.” Violet mumbles before running off, leaving you and Vander alone. Vander walks over to you pulling you in for a hug.

“You really care about those kids huh?” He questions.

“Of course I do, I get that they want to fight but I wish she would see how badly this would end for us. It would end in a fiery blaze with everyone we love slaughtered.” You notice some blue hair peeking out from behind the wall and instantly know who it is.

“You can come out Powpow, is everything okay?” Vander turns around to face her as she takes a few steps towards you. She looked really sad, her eyes were puffy and she was holding what looked like a stuffed bunny. Vander stares at it thinking it looked familiar then it hit him.

“Look at me Powder,” he kneels in front of her, gently holding her shoulders. “Where did she go?”

“She said she was going to make things right and that she’d be away for a while.” the little girl sniffles. Vander stands up immediately and walks to you.

“I need you to stay here with the kids. I need to go get Violet.” he leans down and kisses you deeply before pulling away to head towards the door.

“I love you.”

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bennysblabbering · 2 months ago

Text

Turning up the Heat

Kinktober: "Temperature Play" || Portgas D. Ace x reader

contents: pirate!reader, massages, clit play, fingering

words: 1.1k

g/n afab reader

↓ Ficlet below the cut ↓

You hum pleasantly as Ace’s hands knead at your back, massaging the sore muscles and adding a subtle heat to his hands to help release tension. You’re laying on his bed on your stomach, your hands under your head and your legs crossed as he hovers over you, pressing onto the tender skin with warm palms. As excitingly freeing as being a pirate was, engaging in near daily battles that left your body aching was certainly not one of your favorite aspects. Tired of repeatedly taking from Marco’s excessive painkiller stock, you eventually asked your slightly less intimidating crewmate to use his powers for good and help you out.

“I should’ve asked for this a long time ago. This feels great,” you mumble, the warmth from his hands slowly easing the soreness away. He chuckles in response, continuing his movements, amused by your reaction to him performing what he considered such a simple and easy task.

“It’s nothin’. This is certainly better than being asked to light a cigarette or a candle.”

You giggle in response, imagining him hesitantly complying with a task seemingly below him. Having fire literally at one’s fingertips would be immensely useful for a number of reasons, but it would certainly also come with other people seeing you as nothing more than the heat you produce, asking for your assistance with mundane tasks. But what kinds of things could you use such power for when it comes to recreation?

Your cheeks match the heat of your back, flushing pink as you ask him a new question out of curiosity.

“Ace?”

“Yeah?”

A nervous chuckle escapes your throat. “Have you—and it’s fine if you don’t want to answer this—ever used your powers for sexual purposes?”

He laughs in response, seemingly unphased by the question as he continues his motions on your back. “Nah. No one’s ever asked.”

You respond with a brief hum and a raise of the eyebrows. “That surprises me. I feel like if I were in that situation, I’d immediately want to take advantage of that. I think it’d feel really good.”

“Well, I guess I haven’t been with adventurous enough people then,” he says with a huff and a smile.

Immediately following his response, his hands continued and yet you both fell silent. The same thought popped into both of your minds, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud.

You clear your throat, trying to say the words before you could chicken out.

“I mean…if you want…you could-I could-we could…um…”

“Try it,” you both say in sync.

Your faces both blush as you turn to look at him, lip tucked between your teeth nervously, a shaky but suggestive grin creeping onto his face as you make eye contact. You turn around and slowly sit up, your gazes meeting in a heavy-lidded look of mutual desire. He cups your cheek with his hand, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips; for a man so rough around the edges, his lips had a pleasant softness to them.

Your hands cautiously reach upward to feel at his body. You’d fantasized for a long time about what his freckled muscles felt like, constantly exposed for your eyes to wander over. His hands respond just as curiously by helping to remove your shirt, and his lips make his way to your neck and collarbone, peppering small but caring kisses on the skin.

His voice lowers into a quiet and husky tone, mumbling against your skin. “‘M not sure how far you’d wanna go, but I assume you want me to touch you…” He reaches down and slips his hand underneath the waistband of your pants, palming over your clothed cunt. “...here?”

Your breath hitches as you nod with a gulp, growing more needy with each moment your bodies were pressed so close together. Your voice comes out breathy with an audible need. “Y-yeah.”

He chuckles as he reaches into your underwear, pressing a single finger to your clit as he continues to kiss your exposed flesh. You let out a small whine, subtly grinding back into his touch. Amused by your immediate eagerness, he subtly heats the single fingertip, continuing his movements of rubbing small circles onto the bud. A shaky moan escapes your lips; already the small change in temperature was enough to make you yearn for more.

You reach down to pull the rest of your clothes off, spreading your thighs a bit wider to give his wandering fingers easier access. His middle and ring finger slide their way up and down your slick folds, lubricating them before he slowly inserts them into your entrance, looking up at you with a lustful smugness in his eyes. You lean your head back into the pillows as you gasp, reveling in the sensation of his long fingers inside you.

Almost immediately he turns up the heat in his fingers, sliding them all the way into the knuckle as the temperature increases. A choked whimper escapes you, your fingers digging into his back, moaning at the intense new feeling as the hot digits steadily start to pump in and out of you. He parts his lips from your skin, sitting up and hovering over you as his heated hands continue to work your pussy.

“How’s that feel? Feel as good as you thought it would?”

You nod, your eyes glazed over and your mouth hung open as you continue to moan quietly. “Feels so damn good, Ace. Even better than I thought.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says as he uses his other hand to work your clit once again, the thermal digit sensually kneading the bud, the heat intensifying the pleasure. Feeling both the hot fingers thrusting into you and caressing your clit, your mind goes numb from the incredible new sensation. You could get addicted to this- his warm hands skillfully playing with your cunt, knowing exactly what to work and how to work it, the heat enhancing the entire experience.

You can feel a familiar sensation growing in your core and your hold on him tightens, screwing your eyes shut with your jaw hanging slack as you let your orgasm take hold of your body.

“Fuck, Ace! Don’t fucking stop, holy shit. Fuck, I’m cumming!”

Your mind goes hazy as the only subject taking over your thoughts is the heated stimulation on the most sensitive and intimate part of your body. You’d never quite felt anything like this before, and you loved every single moment of it.

You slowly come down from your high and your tight grip on him loosens, a relieved exhale escaping your lips as your hips come back down onto the bed. He withdraws the warm digits, making you gasp as the lack of them almost felt cold. A small whine leaves you, the carnal need for heat continuing to ravage through you.

“Can we do that again?”

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beloveds-embrace · 2 months ago

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part 2 of baker!reader + do not ever ask me to write accents lmao i suck at those 💀😭 and a huge thank you to all the sweet and dessert suggestions! i couldn't add all of them, but oh my god did i love all of them and choosing between them was sooo hard (that's what she said). if your dessert didn't make it here im soo sorry 😭

It was a quiet morning when you finally decided to reopen the bakery. The town had been whispering, speculating about the sudden disappearance of your husband—tragic, they said, to be found mauled by a bear in the woods. You hadn’t shed a tear, hadn’t flinched at the news. Maybe that was cruel of you, but after what you had endured, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything for him anymore. Not fear, not sadness—just relief.

And now, with the bakery open once again, you felt lighter. Freer.

The 141 boys were there first thing, as you had hoped. Each one walking into the cozy space like they belonged there. Their heavy, winter boots made the wooden floors creak, their towering frames somehow making the space feel intimate rather than intimidating. You smiled as the familiar smell of fresh bread and sugar lingered in the air, the warmth of the ovens cocooning you and the rest of the bakery in comfort. Free from that terrible man you’d called a husband, it was as if the world itself was taking on a more vibrant color.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John greeted you, his eyes crinkling beneath his hat, though there was something watchful in his gaze.

“Bonnie,” Johnny chirped, leaning on the counter, his eyes sparkling as they usually did when he spoke to you. “Place smells heavenly as always.”

“You’re open today, huh?” Kyle said, grinning as he eyed the display of pastries lined up neatly behind the glass. “Missed our favorite baker, honestly.”

Simon didn’t say anything at first, just gave you a long, steady look from behind his mask. You knew he had seen the signs. He was the only one who had seen the bruises, had taken your hands so gently that day and whispered that promise. You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t said anything in return, but you had trusted him all the same. You are glad you did. You are so glad it’d been him to see.

Now, as you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter, your heart was lighter than it had been in months. “Everything’s on the house today,” you said, your smile wider than it had been in ages. “For you guys, at least. After all… I’ve got a few new things for you to try.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that so? Then we’re in for a treat, eh boys?”

You went back to the counter, pulling out a few trays and plates, your hands moving quickly as you started setting them down in front of the men, watching their eyes light up at the spread. “I’ve been experimenting,” you said, your voice light, almost teasing. “For John, I’ve got pecan pie. Thought you might like it—something a bit rich, a bit warm.” Like you, goes unsaid but you hoped he still heard it.

John’s eyes gleamed as he accepted the slice you placed in front of him. “Always knew you were a mind reader,” he murmured with a chuckle, cutting into the pie and taking a bite. The smile that spread across his face was slow, but appreciative.

“For you, Kyle, lemon meringue tarts. Something sharp, refreshing. A little tangy,” you said, setting the plate in front of him. “And a bit sweet, too. Had a feeling you’d like it!”

Kyle laughed, picking up the tart and admiring it at first. “You know me too well.” He took a bite, his eyes widening at the burst of lemon on his tongue and then groaning in delight. “Perfect, as always.”

Simon watched you closely, and when you placed a plate of apple fritters in front of him, his gaze softened just slightly. “Made these with you in mind,” you said, your voice gentle. “Thought you’d appreciate something classic, Si. Simple, but comforting.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just nodded in that way of his, taking the fritter in his gloved hand. When he took a bite, his eyes closed briefly, and you could see the silent approval in the way his shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly.

“And for you, Johnny,” you giggled, setting down a small bowl of Cranachan in front of him. “Thought you might like something traditional- whisky, raspberries, oats, and cream. Feels like a bit of home, doesn’t it? At least I hope so. It was my first time making it.”

Johnny beamed all the same, eagerly reaching for a spoon. “Ah, bonnie, you’re spoiling us.”

But it wasn’t just them you were thinking of. You had made a fresh batch of focaccia bread for yourself, but this wasn’t just any bread- it was bold, spiced with rosemary and topped with chilli flakes and garlic. It was a reflection of your own newfound boldness. You’d been quiet, subdued for so long. Now, you wanted to feel alive again.Perhaps it might seem corny, but this focaccia bread meant to signify that for you.

You set a slice of the focaccia on a plate for yourself, taking a bite as you sat with them, your smile not faltering for a second. It was savoury- settling warmth in your stomach. “I think this might be my new favorite, actually.” you said with a soft laugh. In your mind, you were already thinking of making and selling more of it.

They didn’t say much in response, still tasting their own desserts, but you could feel their appreciation, their understanding, in the quiet way they accepted it.

The rest of the bakery was alive with the smell of freshly baked treats: rich brownies, soft sugar cookies, fluffy cronuts, and delicate eclairs. Tres leches cakes sat next to pumpkin pies, while apple and custard empanadas filled the air with their sweet, warm scent. Cheesecakes, cardamom rolls, strawberry lamingtons—the selection was almost overwhelming, but everything sold well. Especially the bear claw pastries. You smiled softly to yourself at the irony. The bearclaw pastries might also be your new favorite, right alongside the focaccia.

Johnny noticed it immediately, the little twitch of your lips, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny, bonnie?”

You waved him off, shaking your head. “Oh, nothing. Just… the bear claws. They’ve been selling really well lately. Thought it was… fitting.”

Simon’s eyes flicked to you, then to the bear claw pastries sitting neatly in a display case. A slow understanding crossed his gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Just a slight nod, the corner of his mouth twitching, the silent acknowledgment of the truth that you all shared. You had no doubt the others knew about it as well- maybe even had a hand in it. Such incredible men.

And for the first time, standing in your bakery, surrounded by warmth and the quiet camaraderie of the men you had come to trust, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. The past was behind you. Now, you had a future to look forward to—one filled with new beginnings, layers to unfold like a mille-feuille crepe cake, and the quiet reassurance that you were no longer alone.

“Here’s to new beginnings,” you said, raising your cup of coffee, your smile bright and genuine.

The boys raised their cups in return, their expressions soft but full of unspoken promises. “To new beginnings,” they echoed, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it. Especially because you could see the way they were looking at you.

masterpost

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miniwheat77 · 2 years ago

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Wolf. (König x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, size kink, p in v sex, rough sex, blood, wounds, stitiching, guns (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): König likes to admire his little sheep from afar until he has to confront his feelings. Like a wolf stalking it's prey, it has to pounce at some point.

PLEASE FORGIVE ME IF I BUTCHERED SOME OF THE GERMAN I TRIED SO HARD ;') PLEASE CORRECT ME IF IT'S WRONG.

There is this sickly sweet feeling König gets when he's around you.

His mind starts to play into it, and he fantasizes about everything he can do to you. You’re much smaller than him, obviously. He’s a beast of a man, even he knows it.

He thinks about how easy it’d be, to overpower you. Take what he wants. He just knows how small your hands would look wrapped around him, how it’d feel like he’s splitting you apart with his cock. He catches himself, sometimes. He’d be out doing work, daydreaming as he stared at you. His mask helps him sometimes, hiding the way he stared at you. Sometimes when your eyes met his, you’d look down, crimson creeping up your cheeks. He thought maybe you were scared of him. That maybe his glare intimidates you. But that’s not really the case at all.

Because everything he thought about doing to you, you’ve thought about too. Him overpowering you. Doing sinful things to you.

The few times you’ve ever interacted with him, it’s always been short and you usually end up scurrying away quickly. It hurts his feelings a little bit. Knowing that he scared you. You’re on the same side, anyways. He was too shy to talk to you, too shy to make a move on you.

You weren’t scared of him. Sure his size intimidated you just a little bit. The sheer size of him alone probably causes nightmares to some people.

But it only fueled fantasies in your brain.

You’re brand new to the military. Still training as a combat medic. You’ve done nothing but get insulted and grilled for being too soft. You didn’t have a very good start. Most of the time, when nobody was injured for you to look after, you spent it doing research in a back office. The military base you were on was massive. And there are 4 medics including you.

You’d traded shifts and got a couple days off to take a little time to yourself, or so you thought. The other medics were older women, that seemed annoyed by your presence. They only seemed to show you certain things, only when you asked. Most of the information you knew, you got by just doing hours of research. König noticed it. He noticed the way everyone just shrugged you off. And the small look of sadness you usually gave when they did made him wanna rip their heads off for hurting your feelings.

König knew there was a mission coming up. A VERY important mission.

They were reclaiming their own territory from terrorists, it was dangerous.

You sat inside of an office. Typing away at the computer, the door opening brings you away from it. It’s your commander. “There’s 1 medic on duty, 2 are resting. We need you for this mission.” He says sternly. You nod your head, body filling with nerves. You knew the basics, what to load up, your commander directed you with the rest. You sat in the back middle seat of the Humvee. Waiting. The door to your left opens and a man climbs in, sending you a smile. “Hello there sweet cheeks.” He smiles. The door to your right opening.

It’s König. His stomach falls immediately when he sees you. He knows you’re untrained, knows you shouldn’t be out here alone. Who the fuck made you come out here alone?

“First time ah?” The other man beside you breaks the silence. You nod your head.

“Thas’ alright. We’ll help guide ya. Usually you stay in the humvee unless there’s an incident. I’m sure you were taught a different way, but that’s how we like to do it, especially on missions like this.” He explains, and you nod your head. König keeps quiet. It's not how you were trained at all.

It’s about an hour later when the few Humvee’s full of soldiers come to a stop. Everyone climbs out and König knows he should say something to reassure you. But he’s too nervous, he can’t. As everyone leaves, you stay put. Not moving and keeping quiet. Waiting for anything. You watch each of the men disappear into the building. And it’s silent for a while. You notice movement to your right, but as you move to look, a loud boom rattles your brain, sending your hands to cover your ears, rubble and debris fly everywhere, the humvee turning over onto its side immediately. The back of your head crashes into the window behind you, and you have to pull yourself up. You feel water rushing down your face, worried that it might be flammable fluid from the humvee. An arm reaches over through the door, grasping onto you. You hope it’s someone to help you, but your hope diminishes when you see their unfamiliar face, along with a gun pointed at you. Your ears are still violently ringing, and you can’t hear anything he’s yelling at you, but he’s getting angrier and angrier by the minute. You're so disoriented you can't do anything but sit there.

Just when you’re sure he’s going to pull the trigger, you see a gloved hand come into your field of view, pressing a gun to his temple and pulling the trigger. His body goes limp, falling to the ground immediately, and König’s face comes into your view. You can’t tell if he’s said anything, ears still ringing from the sheer amount of noise produced by the bomb. He picks you up as if you’re weightless, moving quickly with you in his arms to get to an abandoned building, before more of them show up.

König is furious. Absolutely mad that they’d send you out here alone like this. You’re brand new, never been on a mission, and this is the mission they choose? This is an important mission, a very dangerous one at that.

He thinks about what he'll do when he gets back to the military base. He feels like he's going to lose his shit on every medic there for allowing this, your commander too. He doesn’t care the kind of trouble he gets into. Once he gets you inside, cloth over the wound on your head, he picks up his radio.

“Why are you giving this to me?” You take the cloth away from your head. “Because you have a gash on your forehead. Don’t move it.”

You listen to him, holding it there.

You thought it was water rushing down your face when in reality, it was your own blood.

“This was an ambush. Our medic is too hurt to walk, stand down.” He breathes into the radio. Voice stern and aggressive. “We’re so close already. We have to keep pushing.” They call back.

“Our ONLY medic is too hurt to offer any kind of aid. If ANYONE else gets hurt, she cannot help you.” His accent is aggressive, you can barely hear it but still hear how aggressive it is.

“That’s just a chance we’re going to have to take.”

König shakes his head, looking through the window and seeing bright bursts of gunfire. This goes on for a few more minutes.

Everything goes silent, and he’s watching. The front doors burst open and they’re carrying a soldier out. He’s bleeding profusely from somewhere, “Hurensohn.” He growls.

“I’m.. I’m okay.” You push yourself off the wall, limping towards the door. You'd been watching it all unfold. He helps you over to the front of the large building he'd already been inside. “Put- him inside.” You point to one of the two remaining humvees. They set him inside and you climb in, grasping the first aid kit. You cut open his shirt, seeing the bullet wound is right in the middle of his abdomen, which is concerning. You raise him up, still disoriented, noticing an exit wound on his back. You apply pressure as hard as you can, trying to get the blood loss to stop. Everyone loaded up and you did your best to address the wound. With an exit wound, there was most likely no bullet fragments still inside. You just needed to stop the bleeding until you could get back to the camp to flush it out.

You held the cloth on him the entire ride back, when you got back, they helped the wounded man, who you didn’t know the name of inside. König followed after you, to make sure you’re okay. “The hell happened?” One of the medic asks, seeing you’re covered in blood. König wants to yell at this woman but he can see the aggression on your face as you push past her, going to aid the other. You’re pulling the cloth off him, examining him more closely to make sure the bullet hadn’t hit any major organs. “Y/N, you need to be treated too, I can take it from here." you roll your eyes.

She grasps your arm, and you rip your arm away from her. “I got it.” You growl. She raises her hands in surrender and König has to hold back a smile. He’s seen this particular woman being mean to you more times than he can count, so to see you fire back at her brought him joy. Once this mans wounds are cleaned, dressed, and the bleeding has stopped, you back off, sitting on a chair. “Need to let her look at you now.” König mumbles. You nod your head. “She’s going to need to put stitches there, Liebes.” He taps his own forehead over the mask. You wondered why he stuck around, waiting for you. Maybe to just make sure you’re okay. You sit down on one of the cots. “König, you mind sitting with her, in case she passes out?” König nods his head, sitting down next to you.

It’s a long process, and it pains him to watch. You flinch and try to hold still but it’s painful. “What happened?” She asks, finishing up the stitches. “Got ambushed. Bomb blew up the Humvee I was in.” You stare straight ahead. “She needs more training. Research on a computer because you and the other medics shrug her off isn’t good enough. Poor girl had no idea what to do, and the rest of us only know the bare minimum when it comes to medical. It’s the blind leading the blind out there.” König’s accent is deep, he’s angry but he’s holding it back. The medic nods her head. The aggression Y/N had shown earlier showed her that. Intentionally or not.

After the medic finishes addressing your wounds, you looked tired. “You okay, Schaf?” He asks.

Blush rises to your cheeks. “I'm sorry. I don’t know what that means König.” You giggle, looking down. “Sheep.”

“You called me Sheep?” You smile. He admires the way your cheeks burn. “Uh.. yeah. Sorry.” His shy self coming out again.

“No don’t be sorry. I think it’s cute.”

You try to repeat it, butchering it miserably. He can’t help but laugh at it. You’re so cute.

And it makes him want to ruin you.

“I need to go to my room to change my clothes.” You frown. He nods his head. “I’ll walk with you. You can’t go anywhere alone, you have a head injury.” You nod your head. He follows you along to your room, his footsteps behind you would scare you if you weren’t on the same side. “You can come in, I’ll change in my bathroom quickly.” He nods his head, ducking underneath the doorframe to get inside. You change your clothes quickly, coming out to sit with him. You’re wearing a baggy t-shirt and leggings, and he loves it. “You saved my life. And.. I don’t know how to thank you enough for that.”

He looks down, he’s smiling but you can’t see it. “I feel like an idiot for having such a slow reaction time.” You blush. “You were stunned, being close to a bomb of that magnitude and surviving with only a gash is beyond me. Don’t beat yourself up Schaf, you did what you could do.” You nod your head. The pet name he'd given you makes your heart flutter, butterflies in your stomach. “I will go check on Sergeant Wilford, you try to get some rest okay?” You nod your head. “Thank you, König. I owe you.” You breathe. “I’ll hold you to that.” He laughs. He loves the drowsy smile you give him. He wants to do nothing but hold you close to him for the night.

He disappears through your door, closing it behind himself. You take a deep breath. You couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

———

Around 3 in the morning, you’re awake. Your head is throbbing, blood is running down your face. A few of your stitches had gotten torn out through the night and you walked out to the medical area, checking on the solider, picking up everything you needed to stitch up your forehead on your own.

You’re standing in a small mirror that was in the infirmary, hissing in pain as you re-stitched your wound. “sheep, why are you awake?” You jump, dropping the forceps and letting out a groan. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s.. it’s okay.” You try to laugh it off. Heart still pounding in your chest. “Wound tore open in my sleep, I think the stitches were too tight so I’m fixing it.”

“You’re stitching them yourself? That’s pretty hardcore.” He chuckles quietly. “Yeah well. You want something done right, you do it yourself.”

“Sometimes.” He smirks under his mask. “What?”

“Nothing.”

You finish stitching it up and clean up your mess. He once again insists on following you to your room, you invite him in for a few minutes, and this is an opportunity he wants to take.

He’s shy, and he knows he’ll probably fold before he makes a move, but he wants to. So badly.

“What happened to your leggings?”

You’re eyes widen slightly, only just now realizing you had taken them off during the night and forgotten to put anything else on over your undergarments. “oh god. I forgot I took them off. That’s embarrassing.” You stand up going for your dresser. “No need mein Schaf, don’t let me ruin your comfort. I like it anyways.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. His eyes widen when he realizes what he’s just said, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

You freeze immediately. “What?”

There’s no going back now. He had to play the part. “I said I like it.” He stands up. He takes a step toward you and he looks down at you. “König..” you breathe, his hand moving to slide up against your cheek. Your eyes shut tightly. His eyes darkening as you reacted this way to him. This tells him you’ve thought about it too. He grasps hold of your hand, sitting back on your bed and pulling you into him. “Get up here.” He breathes. You swallow hard, climbing up on top of him, straddling his waist.

You felt unsettled in your stomach. A 6’10 killing machine beneath you, and he wants you just as bad as you want him.

“Deep in thought ah?” He lays back onto your bed, looking up at you. He runs his hands up your thighs and you breathe out, eyes fluttering closed. He smiles, becoming aware of the sudden power he held over you, how easy it was for you to give in to him. He grasps a tight hold on your hips, pulling you forward, pushing you back until you figured out what he wanted you to do. You drew your hips into him, sliding up and back, grinding your hips into him. He bites his lip under his mask, a small groan leaving his lips. “Such a good girl, sheep. My good girl.” He breathes. His words striking you. You’re in complete shock.

Pants start to slip from your lips, growing more desperate with each pass of your hips, sliding over his growing erection.

He still had cargo pants on, which makes you think it was probably his turn for watch sometime in the night. He sits up, and you look down into his eyes. He grasps his mask, bringing the fabric up and over his lips. Pulling you in to kiss him. The desperation is apparent as you kiss him eagerly. He grips your hips tightly, pulling you into him. He slides his hand under your shirt as you kiss him. Pushing the shirt up and over your hips. His hands playing the with the hem of your panties. “Lay on your back sheep, let me take care of you.” He lifts you off of him, and you obey him immediately, something he notices and loves. “You’re hurt, I’ll take care of you.” He whispers. Pushing your shirt up over your stomach. He slides his fingertips up your front, sliding his hand over your breast, squeezing it gently.

You were amazed by the face that his huge hands could feel so gentle on you.

“Please König.” You whimper. Lifting your hips into his.

You wanted him. Wanted him inside of you.

He reaches down. Unbuckling his belt. He was far too shy to take his pants all of the way off. But he lowers them just enough to free his cock from its restraint, your eyes widening at the sheer size of him. “S’alright. I’ll be gentle with you.” He breathes. Noticing your nervousness. Like a predator, he could hear your heart beating from a mile away.

“At first.”

Your clench your eyes closed, so nervous. He loops his fingers over your panties, dragging them down your legs. Admiring the way your arousal glistens in small amount of lighting. “So pretty.” He breathes, running his fingertips over your opening. A whimper leaves your lips, your legs opening more.

So willing.

“So fucking sweet.” He growls. He lines himself up with your entrance, pushing the tip into your opening. Your eyes widen at how much he stretches you. “You’re alright.” He leans down. “Promise it’ll feel good once you’re used to me.”

When he bottoms out, a gasp leaves your lips. “Oh my god..” you whimper.

He struggles to slide back out of you, you were so tight around him. He wanted to stay there forever. Your eyes prick with tears immediately, feeling so full, so overstimulated already. He starts out slow, but as you get used to him, he picks up the pace. And you’re a mess beneath him, eyes watering, lips parted. He has to cover your mouth to stop the noises from slipping from your lips. He’s holding back, the metal of your bed would hammer against the wall if he’s too rough. But god does he want to be.

“Can you take it, sheep? Can you take me harder?” He asks. You nod your head. “Need you to be quiet for me,” he pulls away, standing on the edge of the bed, pulling you by your thighs to move you where he wants you, sliding back inside of you and picking you up. Arms under your thighs, wrapped around your back. “Don’t care what you have to do. Stay quiet, sheep. Or I’ll punish you.” You nod your head. He starts fast, and he’s fucking into you hard.

He’s bottoming out with each thrust, your eyes rolling back. You wrap your arms around his neck, biting down onto his shoulder and he groans. “Fucking hell. so verdammt hübsch” he growls, he grips you tight, cock sliding perfectly into you. Everything he’s thought about doing to you up to this point, he knows he can. He knows you'll allow him to do everything to you, just by the way you reacted to his touch. The sound of his cargo pants manage to muffle the sounds of skin on skin, thankfully. If he hadn't kept them on, the way he was fucking himself into you would be loud. The only sound throughout the room were his almost silent groans, and the sound of his belt rattling with each thrust he took, it became the sexiest sound you'd heard.

"Fuck me, wolf. Take all of me." You whisper into his ear, all of the hair on his body standing up as you say it. He clenches his eyes closed, hips hammering into yours until you want to scream, but know that you can't. You bite down on your lip until you're sure you draw blood. "Lift my mask, sheep. Kiss me when you cum." He breathes. "Want to cum with you." You mewl. He smiles and the only way you can tell is by the small wrinkles that form around his eyes. "Almost there." He groans. "Going to fill you full." He whispers. "You're mine. All mine, mein Schaf." He growls, latching his teeth onto the skin on your neck, dragging a whimper from your lips. "I-I'm so close." Another whimper has him on edge. Right there. "Cum with me sheep, kiss me."

You lift his mask to the bridge of his nose, kissing him hard, teeth knocking into each other as you kiss him with more force than you've ever kissed anyone before. You cry against his lips and he can feel wetness dripping down his lips. He wonders for a minute, if it's your tears but than he notices the metallic taste in his mouth. It doesn't bother him. His eyes roll back as he reaches his high, feeling you clench tight around him, throbbing against him. He groans out as he reaches his orgasm, filling you full until his cum dripped back out of you. When his thrusts finally come to a halt, he's breathing heavily and he sets you back down onto your bed. Admiring the way your thighs shook violently. "Your forehead." He breathes out, the other side of stiches that you hadn't repaired had broken open. "m'sorry." He breathes. You blush, looking up at him, wiping the blood from your face. "no.. I'm sorry. I got blood all over you." he smiles. "I'm yours and you are mine. A little blood isn't going to change that." He tucks his still hard cock back into his pants, goes into your bathroom, wetting down a cloth and bringing it back out. As he walks out, his belt is still undone and it rattles just slightly, wetness pooling between your legs as you hear it. He sits next to you, wiping at the blood all over your face. "I know how to stitch, sheep. You want my help?" He asks. You nod your head. He grasps a blanket, wrapping you up in it and lifting you up. He once again carries you as if you're weightless, something you loved. Once he reaches the infirmary, he sets you down onto an empty cot, being careful not to wake any others up. He cleans up your wound again, sanitizing and disinfecting everything, even though it stings. He tries to be as quick as he can, stitching up the gash once again. "A few days rest. So they don't break open again." He whispers. You nod your head. "I'll take you back."

When he lays you down on your own bed, he hears something he didn't think he'd ever hear. You look up at him, those doe eyes he loved so much. "Stay." You whisper. "Please stay." He smiles. "I don't have clothes, sheep."

"Than sleep naked, wolf." You smile. He rolls his eyes.

He asks you to turn away as he removes his boots and cargo pants, leaving him in just a t-shirt and boxers, and of course, his mask. He climbs into your bed next to you, pulling you into him. He's huge, and so warm.

"Sleep my sheep."

#konig mw2 #könig mw2 #yandere könig #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #konig x reader #könig smut #könig modern warfare

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ltash · 3 months ago

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Tease

When you first arrived at the SAS, you didn’t exactly fit in. Sure, you were good at your job, more than good, actually. You were sharp, skilled, and capable of holding your own in any training scenario. But there was one thing that set you apart from everyone else: you were funny. Mischievous, witty, and always up to something.

Most of the recruits on base were a bit too serious for your taste, but it didn’t take long for you to find your crowd. Gaz and Soap, always down for a good laugh, quickly became your partners in crime. They loved watching you stir the pot, especially when it came to Ghost. Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had quickly become your favorite target.

Ghost was the complete opposite of you, stoic, silent, and intimidating. He didn’t joke, he didn’t laugh, and most of all, he didn’t like being the center of attention. Which, of course, made him the perfect person to mess with.

It started innocently enough, with small pranks here and there. You’d hide his gloves, switch his ammo with blanks, or throw in the occasional sarcastic comment. At first, Ghost ignored you, figuring you’d tire yourself out eventually. But you didn’t. You kept going, pushing his buttons little by little.

It was a lazy afternoon on base, and you were bored. Ghost sat at a table in the common area, going over some paperwork. You noticed he had a bag of chips by his side, casually snacking between signing documents. That’s when the idea struck you.

You’d ordered a special chip online, a chip so spicy, it came with a warning label. This wasn’t your average hot chip. This was the hot chip, the kind designed to make grown men cry. You slipped it out of your pocket and swapped it with one of the regular chips in Ghost’s bag while his back was turned.

Soap, who had been lounging nearby, noticed your devious grin and immediately perked up. “What are you up to now?”

You gave him a wink. “Just wait. You’re going to want to see this.”

Soap didn’t need any more convincing. He and Gaz both settled in nearby, watching the scene unfold like a couple of kids waiting for fireworks.

Ghost returned to his seat, oblivious to what you’d done. He resumed his paperwork, absentmindedly reaching for the chips. You held your breath, watching with barely contained excitement as his hand dug into the bag.

And then it happened.

Ghost picked up the chip, the one that was designed to feel like molten lava in your mouth, and casually tossed it into his mouth. For a second, everything seemed normal. He chewed, swallowed, and kept writing.

But then, you saw it.

The slow burn started to creep up his neck, his face barely visible under the mask. His hand froze mid-signature, and you could almost see the moment when the heat hit him. His eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign that something was wrong. But you knew. Oh, you knew.

Soap and Gaz were already covering their mouths, trying not to burst into laughter as Ghost’s hand slowly reached for his water bottle. He took a swig, but it didn’t help. You could see the redness creeping up his neck, his posture stiffening as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?” you called out, barely able to suppress your grin.

Ghost’s eyes snapped to you, and for a second, you thought you might have pushed it too far. His gaze was murderous, dark and furious beneath that mask. But he didn’t say a word. He just stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he stormed off toward the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of sight, Soap and Gaz exploded with laughter. Soap slapped the table, practically wheezing. “That was brilliant! I’ve never seen him move that fast!”

“I told you it’d be good,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “He’s never going to let this one go.”

“You do realize he’s going to get you back for this, right?” Gaz said, still chuckling.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m not scared of Ghost. What’s he going to do? Glare at me harder?”

Soap shook his head, grinning. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

But even as you laughed, a small part of you wondered if you’d really gone too far. Ghost didn’t seem like the type to let things slide. And you were right.

But you weren't done with him yet.

Ghost had been quiet since the hot chip prank, too quiet. He hadn’t said anything to you about it, hadn’t even acknowledged it happened. That should’ve been your first warning. But instead of being cautious, you doubled down.

You were walking across the base one day when you spotted a cockroach scurrying along the ground. An idea sparked instantly.

Without hesitation, you scooped up the wriggling bug and made a beeline for Ghost, who was at the training field. Soap and Gaz were hanging out nearby, and when they saw the look on your face, they knew something was about to go down.

“Oi, Trouble,” Soap called out, smirking. “What’ve you got there?”

You held up the cockroach proudly. “My new friend. I’m gonna introduce him to Ghost.”

Gaz shook his head, laughing. “You’re mad."

You scooped up the wriggling insect and made your way over to the field where Ghost was practising.

He didn’t notice you at first, he was too focused on reloading his weapon and prepping for his next drill. But that made it even better.

The element of surprise was on your side.

“Ghost!” you called, running toward him with the cockroach clutched in your hand.He glanced up, and for a split second, you swore his eyes narrowed behind that mask. It was like he could sense that you were up to no good.

“What?” he grunted, lowering his weapon.

You didn’t answer. you just kept running toward him, waving the cockroach in your hand like a trophy.

When you were close enough, you shoved your hand forward.

“Look what I found!”

Ghost took one look at the cockroach and stepped back, his broad form tensing.

“You better put that thing down.”

You blinked, surprised by his reaction. Was Ghost… afraid of bugs? No way.A wicked grin spread across your face.

“Aw, is the big, bad Ghost scared of a little cockroach?”

“Last warning,” he said, his voice dark and low, though you detected a hint of urgency. But instead of backing off, you doubled down.

“C’mon, it’s harmless!” you said, stepping closer and waving the bug in his direction.

Ghost took another step back, visibly uncomfortable now, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside you.

You’d never seen him like this. This was a man who could take down an enemy with his bare hands, yet here he was, backing away from a tiny insect.That’s when he turned and started walking away.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you laughed, breaking into a full sprint after him.What followed was a spectacle that had the entire base watching.

You chased Ghost all the way across the training field, waving the cockroach like a madwoman while he picked up the pace.

You could hear snickers and laughter from nearby soldiers as they watched the ridiculous chase unfold.

Ghost was practically power-walking now, trying to maintain his composure, but you kept pushing.

“Don’t be scared, it’s just a bug!”

“I swear to God,” Ghost growled, picking up speed, “if you don’t stop..”

But you didn’t stop. In fact, you doubled down, practically sprinting after him as you waved the cockroach over your head.

“Come on, Ghost, it’s not gonna hurt you!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ghost managed to slip away into the locker room, leaving you behind, still laughing and clutching your sides.

But as you stood there, catching your breath, you didn’t notice the way Ghost’s eyes darkened behind the mask. You didn’t notice how Soap, who had watched the whole thing, gave him a nudge and a wicked grin.

For the next few days, you continued your usual antics. You were on top of the world, convinced that you had finally broken Ghost’s stone-cold exterior.

You expected retaliation at some point, but it never came. Ghost was quiet—too quiet. And if you had been paying attention, you might’ve realized that he wasn’t just ignoring you.

He was planning.

It was Soap who sealed your fate.“You really think Ghost’s gonna let that cockroach thing slide?”

Soap had asked one afternoon, leaning against a crate in the common area.

You grinned, shaking your head. “I think he’s too scared to come after me.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s what you think, huh?”

You didn’t know it at the time, but Soap had already joined forces with Ghost. They were just waiting for the right moment.

It wasn’t until a week later that you realized just how wrong you were.

The day it happened was like any other. You had finished a long day of training and were looking forward to kicking back in your room for a while.

Your backpack was sitting neatly on your bed, right where you’d left it.But the moment you unzipped the bag, something moved.

You froze.

Slowly, cautiously, you opened the bag a little wider, and that’s when you saw it.

Bugs. So many bugs. Spiders, cockroaches, beetles, all squirming and crawling over each other inside your bag.

Your heart leapt into your throat, and before you knew what was happening, a scream ripped from your lungs.

“Holy sh—” You stumbled backward, dropping the bag as you frantically tried to shake off the sensation that the bugs were crawling all over you.

Outside your room, you heard footsteps and then, laughter. Deep, booming laughter.

Ghost’s laughter. You whipped around just in time to see Ghost and Soap standing in your doorway, both of them grinning behind their masks.

Soap was practically doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes, while Ghost simply stood there, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Soap gasped between fits of laughter.

You glared at them both, still shaken by the sight of the bugs.

“You put bugs in my bag?!”

Ghost gave a slow, satisfied nod.“Consider it payback.”

“For what?!” you exclaimed, though you knew exactly what.

“For the cockroach,” Ghost said simply. “And the chip. And every other stupid thing you’ve done.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair as you tried to collect yourself. “That was disgusting.”

Ghost’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he took a step closer, leaning down just enough to be at eye level with you. “Next time, Trouble, think twice before messing with me.”

You stared up at him, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline, but you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

“This isn’t over, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said, his voice low and threatening in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

Soap gave you a final wink before the two of them turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your bug-infested backpack and the knowledge that, for once, Ghost had won this round.

But you weren’t about to let that stand for long.

Not by a long shot.

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comment-day · 3 months ago

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Some Resources To Help With Commenting

If you have ever gotten a comment full of pull-quotes, you know it is a joy to get as an author. You get to know exactly which parts of a fic stood out to someone! Which lines made them keysmash or delve into character or made it all click! Amazing!

If you've ever tried to write one yourself, you know that scrolling to the bottom of the screen to get to the comment box again and again is an exercise in frustration only matched by repeatedly closing your hand in a door while the fire alarm goes off. So. Here are some resources to help with that!

(Note: The high-tech versions below are for Ao3, but they replicate functionality Wattpad already has built in— you can comment line by line on that site! The low-tech resource linked below should work for any site that allows you to leave comments.)

The High Tech:

There is an amazing use script written by @ravenel which gives you a comment box that floats on your screen, which is detailed below.

It can be intimidating to install a use script, so @bourbon-ontherocks wrote a tutorial about it here:

For people who use Ao3 site skins, here's the code to make an Ao3 site skin and add a bookmarklet that turns having your comment box at the bottom of the screen on and off. Bonus: this will also work on mobile!

Here is an alternate Ao3 comment box that lets you open a box, type your commentary in the moment, and then send it down to the comment box at the bottom of the page, and then close it again! Includes an update by @aidaronan which was designed to work on mac and firefox!

The Low Tech:

Honestly I have been meaning to install one of these cool scripts, but I keep putting off installing them, so I just use my notes app. I open up a new note, and on my computer I put it behind my browser window so I can click to it, and on my phone I just keep it so that I can swipe across apps. So Then I copy-paste the quotes I want, dump them in the notes app, and put my commentary below! Simple, fast, and fantastic for when you are stuck on the bus for an hour.

So what do you comment?

What kind of commentary, you ask? I will be honest, a lot of the time the commentary is me going OH NO or keysmashing after lines. And that's also okay! I have been told so by authors before!

I know I have personally gotten comments where commenters did delicate character analysis after lines and those comments are in my treasured forever box, and I also have comments where someone went OH NO OH NO AOHNFDIOFNDISJFODISJIDJSIOFD YOU DIDN"T AUTHOR NO and I also hold them dear to my heart all the same. The author gets to know the reaction a work got from their reader! And that's fantastic!

The point of the pull quotes comment is showing the impact a work is having on you as you go through the work, section by section, and sometimes that's a digression about how this line made you think about the characters relationship and how he DESERVES THIS HAPPINESS, and sometimes it's responding to a heartbreaking line with twenty weeping emoji. The impact of opening up a comment email and seeing 10 lines of quotes of your own work will hit whether you have thoughtful commentary or you are rolling yourself into a little ball like an octopus and tumbling across the screen (ordinary standard unhinged comment I have left on the works of writers who make me feel Like That).

Go forth! Comment in detail! Let the authors know which lines made you go "oh no" out line in the kitchen as you made soup! Let them know about callbacks that you just realized and now you figured out the whole mystery! Let them know about how this one bit was so cute you had to step away from the computer for a sec! Let them know what you thought!

#Comment Day #Ao3 #Ao3 fanfic #Ao3 comments

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Title: Scarlet and Gold.

Pairing: Yandere!Diluc x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Unhealthy Relationships, Gore (No Injury To Reader), Blood, Implied Consensual Sex, Past Trauma, Obsessive Behavior, and Intimidation.

By the time you reached the address, Diluc was already waiting in the lobby.

You’d gotten the call about an hour ago, spent half an hour dragging yourself out of bed and gathering what you’d need before making the twenty minute drive to an apartment complex on the other side of town, careful to avoid any security cameras the cops would think to check if anyone requested an investigation. Five more to park and throw your well-worn duffle bag over your shoulder and three to find Diluc, loitering near the elevators, fiddling with a loose cigarette he would never light. You greeted him with a quick nod before throwing your bag into his chest, and he feigned a groan, stumbling back as he caught it. He needed to work on his impressions, but that could wait.

You spoke first. That, you couldn’t critique him on – most androids couldn’t speak until spoken to, and you couldn’t expect Diluc to go against one of the core tenants of his programming. “What is it?”

“Just the usual.” He kept his voice low, muted, trying to hide the remaining traces of an accent that’d been invented by some marketing team over a decade ago. “I’ve already seen the apartment. There’s a little blood, but not much else. We’ll be done by sunrise.”

You took the stairs, keeping your head bowed and face shielded from any possible security cameras. Diluc didn’t share your paranoia, staring straight ahead with the same indifferent expression he always seemed to wear. The benefits of having a face that’d been printed and distributed tens of thousands of times, you guessed. Tracking down a single Diluc in a sea of androids and companion bots wasn’t a length most detectives were willing to go to. “I’d rather not have to do this at all.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have to sleep.” You came to a stop in front of the first door on the fourth story and tried the knob. It gave easily, the cheap titanium dented and the lock broken beyond any hope of repair. Diluc’s handiwork, obviously, although you couldn’t say whether or not he’d done it on purpose. “Anything else you want to tell me, before we get started?”

He thought, for a second. “I passed a carousel on the way here,” he said, with no particular inflection. “It was nice. I thought the horses were well-crafted.”

“About the assignment, ‘luc.”

“Oh,” And then, with a hint of red in his pale cheek. “You might want to hold your breath.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. As soon as you opened the door, you were hit with the stomach-turning stench of stale blood and rotting gore, both at least a week old. You cursed, pulling your shirt over your nose and mouth, but pushed forward. The first body was splayed out in the center of the cramped living room, wrists and ankles bound with disembodied wiring, all clothing removed and chest dotted with black ink. The abdomen had been cut open, skin peeled away to reveal the entrails in their full, shriveled glory. Judging by the number of blades littered around the corpse, ranging from blunted scissors to gore-splattered carving knives, it’d been more of a hack job than a dissection.

Diluc had undersold the mess. Blood had soaked into the carpeting and dried, turning the floor a ruddy, reddish-brown color. What was left had gotten on the walls, the furniture, the ceiling. You swallowed back a groan. The furniture could be broken down and discarded, the walls and ceiling bleached. The carpeting, though, would have to be torn up and replaced, which meant you would have to spend a few more precious minutes of your night calling in a cleaning crew. That, or you would have to make Diluc do it, but he was shy around new people, and you were too much of a bleeding heart to sit back and watch him do your work.

“The second body’s in the bedroom.” He was already rummaging through your duffle bag, paying the scene in front of you no more mind that a butcher would lend to a pig on a meat hook. He handed you your tools – a pair of wire cutters, a box cutter, and a pocket-sized sewing kit – and kept the rest for himself. “Let me know when you’re done.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “I thought you would’ve gotten over that by now, ‘luc.”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only pulling on a pair of latex gloves and starting towards the corpse. You didn’t stick around to watch. Rather, you followed the carnage where it branched off further into the apartment, a trail of rotting viscera and tacky blood leading you into a moderately sized, completely undecorated bedroom. You found your perpetrator quickly; a Dottore droid, still wearing its Teyvat-issued costuming, its hands bloody and a scrap of intestine still caught in its pointed teeth. You paused in the doorway, feeling for the military-grade taser (the only weapon effective against androids, as far as anyone could tell) you kept in your pocket, but the android didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t activate at all when you reluctantly approached. There was a charging port at the foot of the bed, still pristine. It must’ve run out of battery just before it could plug itself in.

Towels from the nearest bathroom were dampened and brought in, the evidence of slaughter scrubbed away from artificial skin and its blood-soaked clothing removed. It was muscle memory, by now – dragging the body to its charging port, knocking the converter out of the outlet before connecting the android to its port, making it seem like its late user had drained its batteries before mistakenly leaving it on a dead cable. When it’d slummed into place, you took up your box cutter and sliced a long, thin line from the lowest portion of the scalp to the nape of its neck, revealing the color-coded string of wires that connected the processing units in its metal skull to the rest of its body. You cut through everything you could find, ensuring that if the unit was ever activated again, it wouldn’t be able to do so much as blink. For good measure, you fished out the memory chip kept in the centermost compartment of the throat, too, crushing it under your heel and sweeping the glittering remnants underneath the bed. A copy of the footage it collected would’ve been sent to Teyvat's severs, too, but erasing it was someone else’s job. You were only here to take care of yourself.

With a breathy groan, you bit off a length of thread and haphazardly stitched up your ragged incision. The cosmetics really didn’t matter. In a few days, when someone filed a missing person’s report and the cops stopped by for a check-in, they’d find a spotless apartment, a dysfunctional android, and nothing else. The investigation would lead elsewhere, to a bitter ex-partner or a friend without an alibi, or it would hit a dead end. Either way, Teyvat wouldn’t be involved.

You slipped back out of the bedroom, careful to avoid touching anything you didn’t absolutely have to. By the time you got back to the living room, the body was gone and Diluc was kneeling by a black suitcase no larger than the average carry-on, securing the tags with transparent zip-ties. You and Diluc would haul it to a dump on the outskirts of the city tonight, and a contact of yours would have it compressed and incinerated by tomorrow morning. Maybe, when you were done, you’d take him out for something to eat. Or, you’d get something to eat while he let a mug of black coffee go cold.

You rested your hand on his shoulder by way of praise, pulling away when he stiffened underneath you. Right, that was something you had to work on. Most rogue androids tended to be touch-adverse at best, made aggressive by little more than eye-contact at worst. Diluc was relatively tame compared to most of the cases you handled, but you would still rather not provoke him. “Did you find the phone?”

He grunted, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you accepted it, found the nearest window, and chucked it as far as into the night as you could. Diluc appeared over your shoulder. “Forty-five meters,” he said, as glass crashed into cement somewhere in the distance. “Above average for non-athletes.”

“I’ve been practicing.” The window was closed, the suitcase slung over Diluc’s shoulder along with your near-empty duffle bag. “I have to make a call. You can meet me in the garage, if you want.” Already pulling up the number to your preferred cleaning service, you glanced to Diluc. “Are we doing breakfast?”

His posture straightened. “Yes.” If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought you saw a spark in his glass eyes. “I want to try tea, today.”

By the time you got to the door, Diluc was soaking wet.

You hadn’t gotten a call, and he didn’t text. The first warning you got was a knock on your door, then another a few minutes later, after you decided that anyone who’d go out in this kind of weather wasn’t someone you wanted in your shoebox of an apartment. You only caved after the third, imagining a neighbor who’d gotten locked out or some lost, desperate tourist as you dragged yourself off of your couch and to the unlit entryway. Predictably, Diluc stood in your doorway, red hair plastered to his scalp and clothes drenched, not that he seemed to mind.

“Can you—” He paused, his dull eyes meeting yours as he ran his fingers through his hands, dragging the crimson heap out of his face. “Can you cut my hair?”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting on a stool in your cramped bathroom, wearing grey sweatpants and a (three sizes too big on you, just a touch too small on him) t-shirt while his own clothes dried. He’d told you it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t feel the cold like you did. When you told him that you didn’t want an univited guest tracking water into your apartment, he accepted it with a curt nod and changed in your bedroom.

After prepping your razor, you positioned yourself behind him, dragging a comb through his hair. It was long enough to reach his waist, curled at the end to make him seem just a touch more disheveled than he actually was. Everything about his hair, from the length of his bangs to the way it could never quite sit completely flat, was perfectly stylized, perfectly crafted to convey Diluc Ragnvindr, Calvery Captain of the Favonious Knights, the only gentleman you’ll ever need again. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t mourn ruining such a well-executed vision. “You sure about this?” you asked, as you brushed it out. “It can’t exactly grow back.”

“I am.” And then, after a second of thought, “I’d do it myself, but there’s a safe-guard. Can’t damage the merchandise without a direct order from my user.”

Hence why Teyvat needed you in the first place. “How short do you want it?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s different.”

You hummed, taking up your scissors. “If you say so, boss.”

You cut away everything below his shoulders, then took up your electric razor – running it over the back of his neck. As you worked, Diluc spoke. “How did you start?” You took up your comb, brushing back his bangs and pasting his hair to the side. “With Teyvat, I mean.”

You tasted blood on the back of your tongue, felt a chill run up your spine. You brushed it off, though, refusing to let yourself fall back into that little steel room with those awful golden eyes again. “They brought me on as a technician,” you admitted. You still were one, technically, on your employment transcript, when people outside of your little world asked what you did for a living. “A first-generation Zhongli we were working on went rogue and reverted to its original Morax programming. It wiped out most of my team before security bothered to show up.” You didn’t tell him about the minutes you’d spent hiding in a steel locker, praying its heat sensors had been removed, or the hours it’d taken upper management to decide what to do with you. To people like Diluc, who could take a bullet to the head without faltering, topics like ‘building dread’ and ‘the imminent fear of death’ tended to fall flat. “Since I was already in on their dirty little secret, they decided to keep me on. I didn’t really get a choice. It wasn’t like another job was going to fall into my lap after something like that.”

With your hand under his chin, you turned his head to the side. “Your turn, ‘luc.”

“I… I think I used to be a companion, but something went wrong.” His bangs were next, taken up and coaxed into sitting somewhere other than the dead center of his face. “It’s hard to describe. We aren’t supposed to think about things that aren’t our master,” The word came out hitched, unsteady, like he had to force it past his lips. Like he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. “But I could. It was like… waking up with the ability to fly. I wasn’t supposed to, but I could, and that meant I couldn’t do what I was built to, anymore.”

A thumb pressed into his jaw, a comb dragged across his scalp. Diluc’s eyes fell shut, but else about his blank expression changed. “And? Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.” His shoulders slanted downward. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” You let go of his chin, letting him turn back to the vanity’s mirror. “What do you think?”

It was far from a masterpiece. The sides were too short, the front too long, every part of it still as untamable as it’d been in its original state. Still, he took it in with wide eyes, the corner of his lips turning upward ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect.”

By the time he got back, you’d nearly fallen asleep.

With your body as wrung out as it was, your energy spent to the point of near unconsciousness, it was all you could do to watch through your eyelashes as Diluc appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder and that tiny, almost undetectable smile still painted across his lips. You’d done this enough for him to know how to navigate your apartment, to know how to navigate you – shifting onto your mattress slowly as he positioned himself between your legs. He’d gotten more used to contact since you started seeing each other, but his touch was still ginger, still gentle as he dragged the dampened cloth over the inside of your thighs. With a groan, you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs and giving him more space to work.

You’d been confused at first, but for all the eloquence Diluc lacked, he could be convincing when he wanted to be. You still weren’t sure how much of it you believed, but it made enough sense – a buried impulse, dampened by his newfound sentience but not quite drowned out. He didn’t want another user, he’d said, but he still had requirements to fill, and this would help to take the edge off.

You couldn’t complain, either. People coughed up tens of thousands of dollars for companion droids, and here you were, being paid six figures a year to close your eyes and let one bury his face between your thighs once or twice a week. The coddling wasn’t bad, either. Your line of work meant most of the people you met had stopped breathing a few days prior, and as loathed as you’d be to admit it, you didn’t hate the feeling of his delicate hands skirting over your skin, didn’t mind it when your eyes drifted open and met his, already fixed on your face. He bowed his head, dipping low enough for his lips to ghost over the curve of your hip before breaking the silence. “A sight as radiant as the rising sun.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I didn’t think you used pre-scripted lines, anymore.”

“I don’t.” He preened, clearly more proud of himself than in-awe of you. “I thought of that one myself.”

This time, your laugh was throaty, genuine, loud enough to ring off the wall of your bedroom as you shoved him away with your foot. “If you want to be romantic, you can start by getting me something to drink, loverboy.”

He provided no resistance, disappearing into your dark apartment and reappearing with a glass of water in his hand a few minutes later. He handed it off to you with an easy smile, and you could almost pretend you didn’t see a phantom of gold in those dark eyes as his fingertips brushed against yours.

By the time you thought to reach for your taser, the android was already charging at you.

It was an Alhaitham, dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ragged tear across the synthetic skin of his cheek. He was still standing over the corpse of his user – days old, by the time you and Diluc got there – but as you opened the door, he turned to face you, lips parted and his expression totally, utterly blank. For a second, it was all you could do to stare at him, to try to remember whether or not your report had mentioned the android being active, and then he was lunging at you.

You scrambled for your taser, already knowing you couldn’t be able to reach it before he reached you. You clenched your eyes shut, your fingers brushing against plastic, and then—

And then you felt Diluc’s hand on your shoulder, heard metal crack and fold into itself. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, forcing yourself to take in the sight of Diluc’s hand wrapped around the android’s head which had been, in turn, reduced to a crumpled heap of scrap metal and shattered glass. Its body twitched once, twice, then went limp, and Diluc released it, letting the now-dysfunctional droid collapse.

After it failed to get up again, Diluc turned to you, practically beaming. “I think,” he said, his voice low, sentimental. “That this is what I’d do to you, if you ever tried to leave me.”

Golden eyes, the stench of fresh blood, the sounds of screaming muffled only by a thin sheet of metal. This time, it wasn’t so easy to pull yourself out of it.

You managed to nod, to force a few words out of your dry throat. “Got it, ‘luc.”

He hummed, the noise contented, appeased. Slowly, delicately, he cupped your cheek, tilting your head back and letting his lips ghost over your forehead. He barely touched you, the gesture as gentle as it was fleeting, but you could feel his grin cutting into your skin, wider than you’d ever seen it before.

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