#If it's considered 'work appropriate' I can wear it

[prettyboykatsuki]

fang i need 119 with yuuta so bad i think my world will collapse if i dont get it

✮  119 + yuuta okkotsu | “do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

✮ tags ; fem!reader (no gendered language. reader is wearing a skirt + blouse and has boobs), femdom, dirty talk, boss yuuta x subordinate reader, some alcohol, premature ejaculation yippeee.

✮ a/n ; don't even rmb what prompt list this is from but here. do not know if this is what u mean anon but this is what i got for u.

Yuuta is not very subtle when leers at you.

You try not to make him anymore self-conscious than need be. He's your superior for one, and for the most part - he's mature, empathetic, and calm. You're fond of him both in general but also as your boss and appeciate his competency when the rest of your team is making your head spin. You'd hate for anyone else to take his place.

He's got a knack for keeping things in order when they're about ready to fall apart.

And he's nice - well loved by women in the office for being handsome and kind and hated by men for being popular with them.

You don't know when it is, exactly, that he starts looking at you in that way. You only know that you don't especially mind.

Yuuta has little tells when he's staring at you during work.

The soft jut of his lips, the mild nerves of his smile, the way his eyes don't stay in the same place when you talk or wear something with the slightest bit of skin. It's weird. Before you noticed this about Yuuta, you never saw him in any sort of way.

He's a nice guy and he's a good boss, but you're not one to crush easily. You like Yuuta as is, and have never considered complicating that on the whims of things like attraction or a passing thought. You don't particularly need to get laid nor are you starving for that sort of attention.

Before you notice, you never have anything but work appropriate thoughts. But after you notice, you think that you really, really want to bully him about it.

When the opportunity presents itself to do that, you do - even though it is a bad idea.

Your boss is pretty cute when he's tipsy. He's also, maybe predictably, easy. It didn't take any amount of pushing to get him to bring you home. One pouty word of concern about going home so late and a little pushing up against his arm and he practically collapses under the pressure. The fact he let you cling to his arm and rub up on him the entire car ride makes you think he's probably letting you do this for one reason or another.

So, it's easy to convince him to take you home. Just like it's easy to convince him to take you inside, to help you on the couch, to get you water, to stay a while or maybe stay the night since the last train is about to go anyway.

This is how you get Yuuta on your couch with his pants unzipped.

"Yuuta-san," Your voice is sing-songy. Normally, you're a touch more careful with this kind of thing but you're not sober enough to bother with it as you slide up next to him. He's flushed pink, wide-eyed. "You look nervous."

"W-we shouldn't," He swallows and looks over at you where you're pressed against his side. Your blouse is unbuttoned, nothing but your pencil "I shouldn't've—"

"Oh, don't be like that. You've been giving me looks for a while now, right? Did you think I didn't notice?"

He looks like a deer caught in headlights. How cute. "I'm very sorry."

"It's okay," You nuzzle up to him softly and he does not bother pushing you away even slightly. "I'm saying I don't mind it. But a little won't hurt right?"

He's stiff as you scoot in as close to him as you can, reaching you over to the front of his slacks. His hard-on, half-mast, betrays his sense of hesitance. You watch as he drops his head back, palm cupping the hard outline with amusement. You lean, lips close to his ear.

"Can't go home like this, Yuuta-san. I'll help you if you say please, okay?"

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes before shutting them. "Please..."

You grin a little. "Good boy."

He lets out a pathetic little whimper that makes the corners of your mouth twitch. Wordlessly, undo the zipper of his slacks - reaching your hand into his waist band and sliding it over his cock. It's hard now, twitching under your touch. Yuuta is sensitive. You're sticking so close to his side you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way he's holding it all in.

You pull his length out slowly, spitting into your palm before wrapping your hand around his shaft. His cock is long and pretty. The tip of it is already drooling like you've been touching him for hours, ruddy with need. You stroke him in your hands, feeling for all the veins under his shaft. Holding it and seeing the length and weight. You crass him like that slowly, cupping his balls lightly before jerking him off again.

All of the touch leaves Yuuta gasping. He tries his best not to make any noise, but his voice comes out in a whine anyway. Usually such a gentle, kind of voice - broken and throaty as his dick twitches and leaks helplessly in your hand.

"Yuuta-san, be honest." You hum curiously. "Do you think of me when you touch yourself?"

He makes shameful face, closing his eyes even tighter. "Yes. I'm sorry,"

"Oh, you said it so easily," You reply, amused. "Pervert."

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry - I won't do it again,"

"Instead of touching yourself, isn't this better? Don't you think my pussy will feel good around your cock, Yuuta-san? You can peep as much as you like but that means this is mine for the time being, okay?"

You're barely stroking him hard when you feel him twitch suddenly. Glancing down, you watch as balls tighten - expose stomach flexing it's muscles as Yuuta lets out a loud choked moan. You feel him in your palms - hard, hot cock trembling before it shoots out a thick load of cum into your fingers.

Your eyes widen in mild surprised as you watch him squirm, chasing the high with his hips - aimlessly fucking into the little hole made by your hand. He can't stop cumming. It's drenching your fingers, making them sticky as you stroke him through it.

He finishes with his chest heaving, still cumming in little spurts. You can't help but giggle at how whiny he is.

"Didn't think you were such a quick shot, Yuuta-san." Before he can respond, you bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick the cum off. "Not bad."

He stares at you jaw dropped, looking so embarrassed he could die. You think he looks a little cute like that.

"Oh, it's already up again," You smile, watching him go half hard so quickly. His blush deepens. "Since you were honest, guess I should let you fuck me forreal."

He looks at you with wide, wet eyes and pouty lips. Yes, you know the look well by now.

He takes a deep breath and stares at you longingly.

"...Please."

[littlemissskuld]

I’ve literally spent all week wearing character inspired outfits at work, and I think I’m just going to keep doing it past Halloween.

No one understood how they could be costumes because of how professional they looked.

[shoutyourporpoise]

I want a LOT more support for the body neutrality movement over body positivity at this point because in my eyes body pos gave us midsize people reassuring one another that they weren’t fat and barely-chubby models donning padding and shapewear to create the Perfectly Sexy Hourglass fatty so we could have unrealistic standards just the same as everyone else.

[fairuzfan]

I do want to say re:food appropriation, for Palestinians it is a very very very sensitive issue. I don't know a single Palestinian who doesn't react vehemently to calling food "Israeli." One, because you have to recognize that this is within a larger pattern of completely erasing Palestinian identity, and two, because food is an essential core part of culture, where historical, familial instruction should be acknowledged.

I find it incredibly.... insulting to say "well food can be exchanged between cultures and people, so what's the big idea?" and neglect the fact that even within the Levant, there is a diverse array of cooking styles. To call certain dishes "Israeli" especially within the context of how the state of Israel was established, plays into the erasure of Palestinians.

It's often necessary to attribute the food we eat to specific cultures. For example, I, a Palestinian, would never claim ownership over Macarona Bil-Bashamil, or Yalenji, because they're "Arab." That's just not how food culture works. Different cultures, different climates, different environments all contribute to the food we eat and the clothes we wear. Food in itself is political because of how heavily it is tied to a location in which things are grown and raised.

Food is what builds community. Women, young and old, pass this knowledge throughout generations. And ESPECIALLY between peasant families that grow and raise the very flora and fauna we rely on in our dishes. This is a professional sort of knowledge that we celebrate and consider incredibly important. To strip our very food of our identity is not only insulting, but negates the centuries worth of food culture we've established in favor of homogenization. So yes, it IS possible to appropriate food, especially when you do not acknowledge the centuries worth of knowledge shared.

[unhingedgirlythings]

FUCK IT

SUMMERY : Reader gets her date interrupted when Hotch calls up asking for her to get to the BAU. Reader rushes over still dressed up and a certain dr can’t keep her eyes off her teehee.

Tags:fem reader , a huge amount of awkwardness, reader is over her love life

A/N: I WANTED AWKWARD SPENCER REID, bare with me tho cuz I haven’t written a fanfic since I was 13 and it was horrible so please be kind and let me know your thoughts :))) enjoyyy.

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You were used to your phone ringing at the WORST possible times, I mean with your job that was something you just had to prepare yourself for. Serial killers don’t take a break just so you can have a girls night out or take a nice relaxing bath after a long day. Although never in your life did you imagine the wave of relief that would wash over you as the all too familiar ringtone blared from your phone. Normally you would groan and feel your body grow more exhausted whilst hesitantly picking up the phone, but not tonight. Nope. Fortunately for hotch, you couldn’t have answered the phone faster. “what’s up” low and behold hotch was on the other end requesting your presence ASAP!

You tried to hide your glee as you glanced over at the douche-ist blind date that the great quote on quote “matchmaker” of the century Garcia, had raved on about the week before. To be fair the date didn’t start off bad, it was actually the most decent one you’ve had yet. Honestly you were ready to finally praise Penelope for actually finding you a decent man to take your mind off the unrequited school girl crush that you had on a certain “kid” genius. somehow you escaped the dude who clearly was stuck in some frat boy mindset, well not without some snarky comment made towards you which you shut down a little harsher then needed but seriously you couldn’t hold back anymore, you had no idea what possessed Penelope into thinking you would EVER consider going home with the king of fucking douchebags (most likely the biceps and tight clothing that the man sported). Nevertheless here you were speeding down the freeway, thinking way too hard about your love life completely blanking and forgetting to drop by your apartment to quickly change into something more work appropriate.

Before you knew it you’ve parked your car, walking into the cold air. A shiver runs down your body and the shock hits you when you realize. Here you are in a little skimpy black dress that clings to your curves in “just the right way” according to Penelope before shoving you out into your car heading to that horrible excuse of a date, “ahh shit. Fucken seriously! Of course this is just my luck … I mean at least I look good” groaning and mumbling to yourself, you make your way into the building. You knew Hotch would be understanding, I mean you never know when you’re gonna be called in and it sounded urgent so yeah, sometimes you and your coworkers walk in with inappropriate work wear. You will never forget the time he called everyone in at god knows what time, Spencer had walked into the room with his pjs sporting a fluffy dress robe, you seriously thought someone was going to have to perform cpr on you that night.

Walking into the building in heels was definitely a pain in your ass, but you managed as you pushed the briefing room door open. A low wolf whistle from Derek Morgan was the last thing you needed right now “damn sweetheart, who knew you could clean up so nicely“ As you make your way into the room, you playfully roll your eyes at him.“haha very funny” you cringed as everyone’s attention was now drawn to you. while taking a seat next to JJ, wishing to be wearing literally anything else “Sorry Hotch, i came straight from..” you hesitate for a second, glancing around before continuing “A date, but this sounded important so I didn’t have time to change”The stoned faced man simply nods at you “It’s fine. You're here, right now we have a lot to cover” He starts debriefing the team, leaving no detail out of the case, no matter how brutal, you tried your hardest to give him your unwavering attention, but you could feel someone’s eyes on you. And out of the corner of your eye see him. Spencer.

His stare was hot and intense, and fuck was it making you become a flustered mess. You glanced at him from your peripheral trying your best to be subtle about it, it was getting harder and harder to focus on Hotch and the case, not Reid. But when his puppy dog eyes drifted up, down and all over your body, your body involuntarily reacted, slightly squirming in your seat. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes turn and lock onto his gorgeous brown ones, a smirk graces your lips as he finally notices your eyes now on him. Looking like a kid being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he turns pink from the embarrassment and shame of being caught, and god did that make your head spin. Now it was his turn to awkwardly squirm in his seat while staring at Hotch with all his attention. You giggle under your breath at his fumbling awkwardness. Before you know it everyone around you starts to pack up their things and stand up, leaving you confused. Of course you spent the whole debriefing paying so little attention to the case and more on Spencer.

Sighing, you pull the hem of your dress down as you stand trying to save yourself from even more embarrassment. “soooo how did it go? Was he as yummy as you’d hoped?” Garcia wraps her arms around yours as you try not to stumble down the stairs towards your desk “you, my love are officially banned from meddling in my love life” you could already hear the trail of complaints bouncing around in her head as you plopped down onto your desk chair, reaching for the new case folder hoping to catch yourself up before take off in the morning “aww come on I for sure thought you’d be jumping his bones, all those rippling muscles, who In Their right mind could resist” the thought of the man you had seen a few hours prior put a foul taste in your mouth, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust “he was a complete dick, he legit referred to himself as an “alpha male” AN ALPHA ,Only thing I wanted to jump , was off a building at that point” a defeated look from her was all the conformation you needed, no longer were you going on blind dates, and your love life was back to being non existent and sad “sorry Pen I tried, I really really tried, you just have horrific taste in men like my god do we need to get you some help. These guys are basically human garbage” whilst looking up your eyes naturally drift and settle on Spencers desk frowning as you watch him, his heads buried in the case file whilst obsessively jotting down notes like some multitasking god, your heart couldn’t help but pine after his more, the looks you shared moments before didn’t help your case either. Resting your chin in the palm of your hand, you drag your eyes away trying to spare yourself from going into one of your Spencer Reid spirals. You look up at Penelope already disliking the pitiful look she was giving you “are you sure your ready to give up?, I mean I know this cute guy who would be super into you, he's just your type “the new voice startled you, turning in your seat you’re met with Emily smirking down at you whilst leaning against your desk inserting herself into the conversation with JJ beside her “wow ok fun, are we all just gonna just dive head first into my personal life?, don’t we have a case to work on?” trying to deter the subject of the conversation off of you was a bust, as the women you call friends gleam down at you with a shared look “yeah no this is too entertaining to sit out on.” you couldn’t believe you were having this conversation right now, letting out a groan you leaned back in your chair covering your face in hopes of hiding the redness in your cheeks “sweetheart, what you need is a good ol one night stand, get a certain pretty boy out of your system” if you weren’t already melting into a puddle of embarrassment, you definitely were now “Morgan shut up please for the love of everything holy”

you could only pray Spencer wasn’t paying attention to the little group that was forming at your desk, maybe he was being good and reading the case file like the rest of them should be doing but of course luck wasn’t in your favor tonight “what are we talking about?” Before you could shut the whole conversation down Morgan happily answered Spencer “oh, we were just discussing Y/L/N’s love life. I think she needs a good root, what do you think?” that stupid smirk Morgan was happily wearing was enough to make your blood boil, now you truly wished to disappear “ok ok that’s enough” you shoot up from your seat avoiding any eye contact with Spencer not wanting to see his reaction to your humiliating red face “conversation over, my love life is going back to being non existent, thank you for your concern but it’s over, officially dead so no more talking about it.” you snatch the file off your desk ready to get the hell out of whatever situation you found yourself in “i'm going home to at least get some sleep before we leave tomorrow or I’ll be a zombie all day” with that you hastily made your way out of the building and into the cool night air once again.

wrapping your arms around yourself in hopes to provide some warmth, you slowly make your way to the car park. Before you could make it to your car you could hear foot steps getting closer and closer until they were right behind you, stopping along with yours once you had reached front of your car. Quickly spinning around you slam them onto the car's hood, arm in your hand, face down and pinned.

“Ow ow ow ow Ow!” Shit. It was Spencer. The man you’ve been daydreaming about and here you were pinning him to the hood of your car. “oh shit sorry, my god, don’t walk up on me like that holy shit Spence you scared me” you pull away off him whilst letting go of his arm and backing away a little. Spencer lets out a hiss of pain as he pushes himself off the hood, rubbing his arm to try and relieve the pain “sorry I was just trying to make sure you got to your car safely. It’s late a-and” he looks at your dress whilst clearing his throat looking away awkwardly “are you ok? you seemed upset in there” he looks back at you whilst giving you a smile that made you wanna pass away on the spot “yeah I’m ok, just having your dating life put on full blast in front of the team like that can be a tad embarrassing” silence was the only response you were met with, you glance up at Spencer trying to think of something, anything to say in this moment “you look really nice by the way, it’s unfortunate your date turned out that way.” His eyes meet yours, your breath gets caught in your throat as heat creeps up your neck to your face “t-thanks” tugging on the hem of your dress you smile sheepishly “not the most comfortable outfit, honestly wish Pen let me wear my sweater but you know”

“Penelope” you both say, you giggle as Spencer chuckles. “Oh by the way, I thought you may want these, may help a little tomorrow” he hands you the notes he took from the briefing, Your fingertips brush against his, the feeling of warmth from his hands sends a shiver down your spine. “Thanks Spence. I appreciate it” you stand there longer than needed before you start to turn away from him. “You know, that even though there aren't any hard statistics, it’s roughly estimated that every 1 in 3 or 4 blind dates actually end up as a success” he rambles on, looking back at him you try to pay attention but you can’t stop your eyes from sifting down towards his lips “so there is a chance” his voice fades away as his words become background noise and your thoughts become louder and louder, all you could think about was him, the feeling of wanting only grew stronger with each passing minute. It didn’t help that his lips were tempting you, calling you in. you couldn’t hold yourself back much longer, will power growing weaker and weaker “fuck it” your body moves before commen sense had its time to put a stop to whatever ridiculous thoughts you had muster up, suddenly your lips press onto his without thinking it through. It was short and one sided yet sweet, the faint taste of coffee and sugar overwhelmed your senses

The sudden realization hits you hard as you push yourself off Reid, the feelings of regret and fear settles itself in your stomach making you feel sick “Sorry I wasn’t thinking, shit sorry, forget that happened ok” you back away keeping your eyes glued to the ground in fear that you’ll look up and only see rejection written on his face. What in the hell possessed you to do that?, why the fuck did you do that, the only reason you kept your feelings shoved down was to protect your friendship with Spencer, nothing meant more to you then the bond you both shared and now you’ve ruined it and for what? A stupid kiss? “wait, uh No no it was just unexpected I didn’t hate it actually quite the opposite” your head snaps back up at a red faced flustered Spencer Reid “don't apologize“ his warm hands warp around your cold ones as he steps closer to you once again “did you um maybe want to try that again? Only if you want to though I don’t want you to regret anything” you giggle as he starts to nervously stumble over his words, this time more confident in your actions your lips find his for the second time tonight.

The taste of coffee meets your lips again as your body relaxes into the kiss, which is very reciprocated this time. The warmth radiating from Spencer chases the cold night air away. As your bodies shuffle closer together. you both hesitantly pull away from each, you wanted to stay here in this moment for as long as possible but of course your bed was calling your name along with the early flight departure. “I should go” you really didn’t want to “I know“ his hands stayed on your waist for a moment before slipping away “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow” the sweet look on his face drove you crazy, the urge to say fuck it and stay with him for the remainder of the night was overpowered by the sleepless night before, you settle for placing a goodnight kiss on his cheek instead “night Spence” winking you open your car door and make your way in, you turn the car on and roll the window down to call out to him as he backs away with a smug smirk on his face “sweet dreams pretty boy” with that you drive away replaying the events of tonight in your mind, god you couldn’t wait to get the case over with so you could finally have a date that wasn’t going to end in ruins, especially with the man you’ve been crushing on since your first day, yeah no you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight now.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Polar Opposites

(1-1)

Short story # 21

Gif NOT mine.

Summary - You and Bruce have absolutely nothing in common, and yet he can't seem to get enough of your attention. He is completely desperate to make you his, and prove to you that he's more than the tabloids make him out to be.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW (There is cussing & talk of violence.)

Reading time (roughly) - 25 minutes

Reader is fairly covered in tattoos, and is more on the metal head/tomboy style. Enjoy.

(Y/n) has known Bruce for a year now, having met him by chance while at a gala. She was a waitress, serving glasses of champagne to the stuck up society of Gotham. She smiled charmingly to each and every last one of them, despite wanting to tell them to fuck off every time one would catch sight of her tattoos, scowling at her in disgust as if she were the scum of the earth. That is until she crossed paths with Bruce. She'd offered him a drink with a smile, a well practiced role to play while working jobs like this. He'd accepted a glass, and when she turned to move on to the next guest, he caught sight of the tattoos decorating her hands. She was technically supposed to wear these delicate white gloves, to look more appropriate, and to hide her ink. But she had a habit of loosing her grip on her drinks tray while wearing them. So against her bosses wishes, she went without them. Before she got even a step away, Bruce had taken ahold of her elbow, of the arm not carrying a tray full of expensive champagne, and tugged her back to his side.

"Can I help you?" She asked with a bit of a bite in her tone, despite the smile gracing her lips, her eyes betrayed her true feelings. Without a word Bruce pulled her hand up into his line of sight, closely observing the fine details of her tattoos. (Y/n) tried tugging her hand free, but he kept ahold of her arm, ignoring the curious looks of other party goers. "Back off man." (Y/n) hissed, dropping the tray of champagne, she yanked back with full force, effectively tearing herself free. People gawked and gasped in surprise at the sudden noise of the various glasses breaking. While (Y/n) glared daggers at Bruce, who still hadn't uttered a single word, her boss rushed over to see what had happened. His eyes widened considerably when he saw (Y/n) glowering at the Bruce Wayne. The man quickly made up his mind, and stormed to (Y/n)'s side. Without asking what had happened, or even considering the needs and feelings of his employee, he tightly gripped her bicep. "You're fired." He hissed in an hushed tone, not wanting to draw any more attention to the situation. Her attention snapped to him in an instant, her anger now palpable to anyone with eyes. "That's fine." She hissed pulling back her arm.

Unlike her now former employer, (Y/n) was content with making a scene. Without a second thought she ripped open her white button up top, the buttons flying in every direction, she aggressively yanked the material from her arms, and threw it onto the wet floor. The black tank top she wore underneath clung to her like a second skin. Bruce wanted to intervene, but the sight of tattoo sleeves she sported made his voice catch in his throat and die. She was unlike any woman he'd seen before, clearly covered in a vast array of ink, with a confidence that rivaled his own. Her former employer scoffed at her defiance. "You'll never get another job in this town." He threatened her. "We'll see about that." She shot back before turning her back to them, intent on leaving, and giving Bruce a glimpse at the tattoo that covered her back and shoulders. "I'll make sure of it!" The man shouted, clearly enraged by her attitude. "Get fucked!" (Y/n) shouted over her shoulder, practically shoving her way passed the Gotham elites. It wasn't until she was out of sight, and the man began apologizing to Bruce that he snapped out of his daze.

Without a second thought Bruce dropped the glass of champagne he held, and rushed to follow after the woman who'd stunned him into a stupor. By the time he rushed out into the chilly night of Gotham City, she was long gone, like a mystery of the night she'd vanished without a trace. Bruce's heart raced in his chest, looking up and down the empty street, he ran in the direction he hoped she'd gone. But she was long gone, and Bruce hadn't felt this lost in a long time. He'd called Alfred and had him look into the catering company for the gala, and asked him to find out who all of the employees were. By the time he arrived at the mansion, his loyal friend had all the information he'd asked for. A list of each employees name, paired with pictures, printed off and waiting on his desk. Bruce sifted through the papers for several minutes before finding (Y/n). He said her name in a soft whisper, repeating it a few times to really get a feel for it. With her paper in hand, and without saying a word to Alfred, he went down to the batcave. Punching her full legal name into his computer, he scoured for any information.

She had no criminal record, which he was a bit relieved by, but he did find her various social media accounts. Practically stalking them he learned all that he could in one night. She was new to Gotham, and she seemed to be struggling with adjusting to her new life there. From what he gathered, she'd been apartment and job hopping, seeming to get herself into one pinch after another. For several weeks he stalked her accounts, and tried pinpointing where she'd be working or living next, anywhere he could bump into her at, that wouldn't make it obvious he was desperately trying to find her. And ironically enough it had been purely accidental when he ran into her again. He was making his way up the stairs leading to the Gotham library, intent on picking up a few books to take his mind off of (Y/n) for a while. When the noise of a rumbling trash truck caught his attention, he wasn't sure why, he'd heard them plenty of times and never paid them any mind before. And then his eyes landed on (Y/n) as she heaved a couple trash bags into the back of the truck. His heart froze up for a moment, then he was jogging across the busy street to speak with her.

Cars honked at him, and he waved apologetically, the commotion catching the elusive woman's attention. When her eyes locked onto his familiar face she scowled, he tried to smile at her, but she didn't seem interested. "What the fuck do you want?" She grunted with annoyance. "Look I'm sorry about what happened at the gala that night." He said. Wincing a little when she rolled her eyes before turning back to her job. "Really I-" She cut him off when she swung another trash bag into the back of the truck, the sticky black bag just barely missing him. "How about you do me a favor." She huffed before tossing the last bag in. "Anything." Bruce said, totally ready to offer her anything she asked for. "Hop in the back of the truck where you belong." She said with a sweet smile, before pulling the lever that crushed and packed the trash into the back. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle, finding himself at a loss for words again. "How... How about a job?" He tried hollering over the noise of the truck, sighing under his breath when (Y/n) looked at him confused, clearly unable to hear him over the noise.

"I said HOW ABOUT A JOB?!" He hollered louder, feeling a tad bit embarrassed when she cut off the noise halfway through his sentence. "I've got a job thank you." She mused as she stepped up onto the back of the truck, ready to signal for the driver to take off. "I could offer you something better." He tried, but she only laughed. "I ain't no pencil pusher Mr. Wayne." She shot back, and before she could signal the driver, Bruce grabbed her arm, not carrying in the slightest about the sticky feeling of her work shirt. "Please let me help." He begged with a soft look in his eyes, but the confusion in (Y/n)'s eyes turned to anger. "I don't need your fuckin' charity." She hissed before flagging the driver down, having yanked her arm away. The truck jerked then pulled away, and in his desperation Bruce chased after her. Only to loose sight of them after they'd gotten far enough away and they turned down another road. Leaving him there panting for air, his chest feeling tight for having been so close, and letting her slip between his fingers again.

He would go on for several more days trying to track her down, only to be surprised when she showed up on his doorstep one evening. She looked worse for ware, her lip busted and swollen, a nasty bruise blooming on her jaw, and her knuckles busted and swollen. "What happened?" He asked as he rushed her inside, having answered the door while Alfred was busy with dinner. "What's it look like." She huffed, leaning into his hold with a hiss, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Got jumped." She added, walking on wobbly knees. "What, why?" He asked as he sat her down at the dining room table, kneeling at her feet to asses the damage. "Didn't think to ask 'em." She chuckled bitterly, groaning in pain she clutched her ribs. "You need to go to the hospital." Bruce said as he stood up, intent on calling for an ambulance. But he froze in his tracks when (Y/n) quickly took ahold of his arm. "No fucking way." She hissed, slouching back into the seat when he turned back to her. "Why not?" Bruce asked as he knelt to be level with her.

"Can't afford it for one." She chuckled softly, grunting again with her hand against her ribs. "I'll pay-" He tried but she cut him off with a glare. "You should see a doctor." Bruce tried to reason with her, frowning when she laughed a hardy type of laugh. "If you think I look bad, you should've seen the other guys." She said with a grin, and he couldn't help but believe her. "I think you have a broken rib." Bruce pointed to where (Y/n) clutched her side. "Oh yeah it's definitely broken." She said it so casually Bruce was at a loss for words. "You got a first aid kit layin' around in this estate of yours?" She asked him in the softest tone he'd heard from her so far. "Yeah of course, stay here I'll be right back." He said before rushing off. Another door opened into the room, an aroma of food wafting into the room, making (Y/n)'s stomach turn with hunger cramps. "Oh hello." A gentle voice entered the room, and when (Y/n) turned her head to greet the individual, the man gasped in shock at the sight of her. "Oh you poor woman." He said as he rushed to her side, leaving the trolley of food behind. "I'm alright darlin'." She drawled with a small grin, trying to reassure the older man.

Bruce came rushing back into the room, a first aid kit in hand. "Master Bruce shall I call for an ambulance?" The Butler asked as he turned his attention to his employer. "No Alfred that won't be necessary, set the table for two, and have a guest room ready." Bruce said before ushering (Y/n) to her feet. "Very well master Bruce." The Butler bowed his head slightly and set to work. "I've got a small room set up as an infirmary, it'll be easier to patch you up there." Bruce said as he led her down a hall. "Of course you do." She rolled her eyes, despite the amused grin on her lips. "Why didn't you just take me there in the first place?" She asked as they neared the end of the hall. "I honestly forgot all about it." He admitted with a chuckle, flushing in embarrassment when she shook her head in disbelief. "You're an idiot." (Y/n) muttered as they entered the "small" room. "Only when I'm around pretty girls." He said with a grin as he helped her sit down onto an examination chair. "That's nice dear." She retorted sarcastically with an equally sarcastic smile, making Bruce chuckle softly.

Methodically the billionaire cleaned up the scrapes and cuts. Having to dig out small chunks of asphalt from her banged up knees. She hardly reacted to any of it, simply watching him with curiosity. "I never would have guessed you could do something like this, let alone be willing to actually do it yourself." She stated as he pulled the last of the asphalt from her knee. He peered up at her, with an unreadable expression. "There is a lot people don't know about me." He stated before cleaning the cuts on her knees with warm water and a washcloth. "I guess so." She mused, glancing up when the Butler entered the room. "I took the liberty to bring some Tylenol extra strength, and a glass of water." The older man said as he placed a tray with the items onto a nearby table. "Thanks Alfred." Bruce said not looking away from his task at hand. Without a word the Butler left the room, closing the door behind him. "Can I ask you something?" Bruce asked as he moved onto her opposite knee. "You just did." (Y/n) said with a grin, chuckling when he gave her a pointed look. "Ask away." She hummed with amusement.

"Why did you come here?" He asked her, focusing his attention on cleaning her knee. She was quiet for a short while, and when she didn't answer his question, he looked up to find her with a lost look in her eyes. "I didn't..." She bit her raw lip, ignoring the sting she felt when she bit onto the cut. "Hey look at me." Bruce pulled her attention back to himself, effectively getting her to stop biting her lip. "What's wrong?" He asked in a gentle tone. "I didn't know where else to go." She admitted in a near whisper. "I don't... I don't have any friends in this fuckin' town... Everyone I've met hates me for one reason or another... Except for you... I think." She muttered the last part anxiously. "I don't hate you." Bruce assured her with a smile. "I was kind of an asshole before, so I wouldn't blame you for hating me." She admitted, making Bruce chuckle. "I kind of deserved it." He argued with a smile, making (Y/n) smile right back, then her smile washed away, and she looked lost again. "Those guys... They weren't just trying to jump me... They were trying to kill me." She said as she picked at a torn part of her pants. Bruce gripped her calf a little tighter, but she hardly noticed. "I've done things I'm not proud of, and I can look after myself okay..." She exhaled heavily through her nose.

"But I'm fucking scared, and I can't go home because they know where I live." She continued, jumping slightly when Bruce suddenly cupped her bruised cheek. "You don't have to worry about that right now okay, you're safe here. I promise." He was sincere in his words, his thumb lightly brushing her cheek. "Thank you." She whispered softly, a stray tear falling from her cheek. It was the first time she'd cried in years. After Bruce had finished patching her up, he passed her the pain killers and water. His eyes idly scanning over the tattoos decorating her arms, only just realizing her legs appeared to be just as covered as her arms, tattoos peaking through the various tears in her jeans. "Why do you have so many tattoos?" He asked suddenly, as (Y/n) sat down the now empty glass. "Why does it matter?" She shot back with a bit of bite, having grown sick of people judging her for her choice to get tattoos. "It doesn't, I'm just curious." Bruce explained. (Y/n) eyed him for a moment or two, before responding. "I never felt all that comfortable in my skin, but with these." She held her arms out to him, showing off the intricate work. "I feel more at ease, with it all... I feel more like me." She explained and Bruce found himself understanding her reasoning entirely.

That night was a year ago on this very day, and Bruce couldn't have been more pleased with the outcome of their chance meeting. (Y/n) opened up more to Bruce during her stay at the mansion, telling him all about her past, and her passions. And while they had nothing in common, he felt that he connected better with her than he had anyone else in his life, especially the women. When (Y/n) was all healed up, Bruce had offered to teach her some hand to hand combat techniques, claiming she could benefit from knowing self defense. She had agreed with a grin, and by the end of it, she'd thoroughly kicked the billionaires ass in every sparring match. Even when he tried adding in some mixed martial arts, she excelled past his skill set as if she'd been doing this her whole life. If Bruce wasn't smitten before, he definitely was after that day. After a few months of getting to know eachother, Bruce made the bold choice to invite (Y/n) to move into the mansion. He half expected her to decline and say something snarky or sassy about it. But she surprised him yet again, and accepted his offer with a soft smile.

To say he was overjoyed would be an understatement of the highest degree. And after a few weeks of adjusting to her new life at the mansion, (Y/n) made it known how she had come to feel about the billionaire, and they began officially dating. In his excitement to show her off, Bruce asked her to attend a gala with him. And she swiftly declined, telling him she'd never attend one of those shitty parties again. But today he was adamant about convincing her to join him to a big Gotham ball being thrown for charity. "Please darling, these things are always so boring without you." He asked as he sat beside her in one of the many sitting rooms of the mansion, she sat reading a book, only glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I've got a beautiful dress for you." He said, as he traced a line up the ink marking her thigh. "I don't really do dresses." She pointed out with a grin. And it was true, she mostly wore band shirts, jeans or shorts, with either combat boots, or converse. Something Bruce considered a breath of fresh air, compared to stiff models in tight dresses and high heels. "I think you'll like this one." He said with a grin, having had this dress made just for her weeks ago. "Please my love, go with me." He begged as he slid closer to her on the couch. The contrast in their outfits almost comical.

"And what do I get in return?" She asked with a grin. "Anything you want." Bruce promised, prepared to give her the world on a silver platter. "I want a ride on the batbike." She stated, having been privy to his secret identity since she moved in. "It doesn't exactly seat two." Bruce pointed out, a fact she already knew. "Hm what a shame." She mused before turning her attention back to her book, Bruce sighed in defeat, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He then muttered something, but (Y/n) hadn't caught it. "What'd you say?" She asked him. And he lifted his head, resting his jaw into her shoulder. "I'll let you drive the batmobile." He said in a whisper, grinning when her head whipped over to look into his eyes. "Liar." She accused as she squinted at him. "When have I ever lied to you?" He asked with a knowing smile. "Fine you've got a deal, Batman." She said with a cheeky grin, chuckling when he leaned forward to nip her jaw.

"Come on darling, you need to get ready." He encouraged pecking her cheek afterwards. (Y/n) sighed softly as she sat her book aside, taking Bruce's hand when he offered it to her, assisting her to her feet. He led her to their shared bedroom, and into the expansive walk in closet. Where a long silk black dress hung on display, another attempt to convince her no doubt. (Y/n) observed the gown with curiosity, an amused grin tugging at her lips. The bust was cut low, the back completely exposed, with fine chains keeping the back together. When she touched the dress she realized the skirt was slit on both sides, which would allow both her her legs to be exposed high on her thighs. "Bruce Wayne, are you trying to slut me out?" She asked when she turned to her boyfriend, a brow arched in question. Bruce's cheeks tinted pink, and he seemed a little embarrassed. "I just wanted to show off how incredible you look." He stated, knowing full well the dress would expose a vast majority of her tattoos. "Uh huh sure." She said with a grin, moving to shoo Bruce out of the closet. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked." He pointed out with a chuckle, (Y/n) scoffed despite her amusement.

"Yeah well I don't want you to see my struggle as I try getting this contraption on." She said as she pointed back to the dress. "I could help you know." Bruce offered. "Nope. Last time I let you assist me with getting dressed, you couldn't keep your dick in your pants." She sassed with a small laugh, and while she was right Bruce had intended on protesting to the statement, but stopped short when he remembered the heels she was going to need for the evening. "Oh I nearly forgot, you're going to be wearing these heels." Bruce said as he picked up a black pair of heels, which had small chain accents to match her dress. (Y/n) eyed the heels then Bruce skeptically. "I don't do heels babe." She pointed out. "Well you can't wear your combat boots." He argued with a small grin. "I don't see why not." (Y/n) giggled, but took the heels anyways. "Okay now out." She shooed him away, smiling when he held his hands up in surrender. "Okay okay I'm going." He said as he backed out of the room. After he closed the door behind him, (Y/n) turned her attention to the dress. Despite herself she found the gown beautiful, and she felt a little excited about going to the ball.

Once she was finally dressed, high heels and all, she exited the closest to find Bruce waiting patiently for her. His eyes widened momentarily, and his breath hitched. He stood up and approached her with slow steps, as if he were in a trance. "You... You look incredible darling." He finally breathed out, taking her hand in his, he had her turn slowly, showing everything off. "I might not be able to resist you." He said with a sly grin. "You better mister if I'm going to this thing, I'm gonna make it worth of it." She sassed before walking to the vanity. "I have something else for you." Bruce said as he walked across the room, coming to her side with a large box which clearly contained jewelry of some kind. "I don't like diamonds you know." She eyed him wearily. "I know you don't, but I do know you love amethyst." He opened the box, revealing a glamorous necklace. "Allow me." He said as he pulled the necklace from the box, placing the cold item around her neck. (Y/n) sighed almost dreamily at the feeling of its weight, it sat high on her collarbones, with a large center piece which lay against her sternum. She did find the necklace stunning, but she felt odd wearing it.

"It's not really my style, but it is very pretty." She admitted to him, looking at him through the mirror as he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "I know it isn't your style." Bruce said before tracing her jaw with his thumb. "But I hope you'll indulge me tonight, and continue to wear it when we "retire" for the evening." He said with a suggestive smirk, his words making (Y/n) chuckle softly. "If you ask nicely enough, I'll wear nothing but this necklace anytime you like." She said with a cheeky grin, leaning into her boyfriends touch. "You're really making this hard." He said as he closed his eyes, trying to keep his composer. "What am I making hard?" She asked with a small laugh. "You're making it hard not to ravage you and ditch this ball." He said as he opened his eyes, unsurprised to find her smirking at him. "Yes well I plan on making good on my part of the deal, I'm driving the batmobile if it's the last damn thing I do." (Y/n) said with determination, making Bruce smile at her. "Well then let's get this over with, so we can leave early, and I can have my way with you when we get back." He hummed as he took her hand in his, hooking their arms together once she was standing. "You're insatiable." She mused before pecking his cheek. "I'll never get enough of you darling." Bruce said before pulling her in for a proper kiss.

[pricegouge]

As requested, follow up to this. 141 x gn!reader, but price is the only one fucking reader explicitly. no gendered language for reader and no genital description, but there are multiple orgasms so make of that what you will. reader wound up being pretty civilian-coded in this one though, sorry

CW for under (re: straight up not) negotiated public/viewed sex. John just basically decides he's gonna fuck you in front of his boys and that's that on that. dub con touching. this turned into a bit of a punish johnny fic for literally no reason, sorry. (it's me. i'm the reason. i vibed too hard with reader in these two fics and i don't like those freaky blue eyes sorrrrrrrryyyyy.) but! he can have some pet play as a treat. uhhh… barest hint of belly bulge 💛

John has never dressed you before, but he catches you with one too many buttons undone the day after burning his dog tags into your sternum and you know you've struck a chord by how he zeros in on the gauze he can see poking out above your hemline. Within the hour he's announcing plans to have his boys over for dinner the next night and assembling an outfit for you before bed.

"Just want you to look nice, pet," he says, eyes far too eager. "Want to show you off a bit, you know?"

Pressed trousers and silk button down, John insists you wear the gold chain he'd bought you for your third anniversary, which conveniently means you have to wear your top unbuttoned just a bit too much to be appropriate, in order to make it all settle nicely against your skin. John asks how the silk feels against the tender spots around the burn and when you say it's fine, he carefully removes the gauze that covers you. You let him because it was more precaution than anything - John's insisting - the burn there more superficial than generic baking mishaps, or hair straightener run-ins.

It didn't stop him from staring at it hungrily, eyes glued to you as you flit about the house, getting ready for guests. You know that look well, though it takes you a moment to place what specifically it's intended for.

"What happened to Mr. The-Boys'll-Know-What-It-Is?" you quip, palm hiding the mark from him as if being demure.

John just shrugs, uncowed. "I tried something for you…" he reminds you, walking away before you can even reply and you gulp because, while that's true, you don't entirely know what it is he's asking you to try.

***

You're not entirely sure how it got to this point. The 'showing off' turned to 'let them see,' turned to curious fingers tracing John's marks, to Soap asking if he could mark you because John hadn't fully considered who he was talking to when he brought up heat play. 

Turned to that stormy look in John's eyes he sometimes got when you were acting bratty and he thought you needed a reminder just who you belonged to.

You've never seen it turned on anyone else, except maybe the occasional brave waiter. You've never given any thought to how that would play out until John's got you sprawled out across the dinner table you haven't even had time to clean off, fingers working you open while he works you with lips and tongue, squeaks and shrieks of protest going unanswered. When you try to lever yourself up for the fourth time, John pries off of you with a wet smack, voice gruff when he tells Simon to hold you down.

Despite the wide-eyed look you turn on him, Simon takes this order just as easily as any other. Coming around the head of the table, you hear the wood creak as he hauls his considerable weight onto it. He walks his knees up until they're flush with your back, presses you flat against his thighs with a sturdy palm splayed right across John's dog tag.

"Easy, pet," he rumbles, and you do your best to ignore the growing thickness pressing against your shoulder.

You would respond with something quite biting, if not for John's own teeth pressing against the crease of your thigh threateningly.

It's Soap who breaks the standoff, shoving at Ghost's hand with a needy, 'Fock, Si, lemme see.'

For all your complaining, you miss John's mouth the second it's gone. He sits up far enough to stare at the younger lieutenant menacingly, voice a low growl when he tells him to keep his hands off you.

Soap huffs, but sits back in his seat, unfortunately close to your face. Gaz doesn't give John enough time to return to his task, asking for permission to play with your nipples with the kind of shit eating excitedness you know is equal parts eagerness to play, and a desire to piss Soap off.

John doesn't even glance at you to gauge your opinion on the matter. "You may," he rumbles before taking your sex back into his mouth almost aggressively.

"Ah, ye fockin' -," Soap curses, but whoever and whatever the fuck they are, you never learn, too distracted Gaz's plush lips brushing over the silk of your shirt, tongue hot and wet through the thin fabric.

It catches you off guard and you can't help but cling to him, palm flat against the nape of his neck. 

"No touching," John growls against your skin, mouth slick from where he's been working his tongue alongside his fingers.

You and Kyle both look, but John's eyes are firmly on you. You nod in understanding, folding your arms up over your forehead on instinct. You'd almost forgotten about Simon, but when he draws both your wrist into one hand and holds them against his chest, you're reminded of just how fucking spread thin you are. 

"Cap," Soap whines, but it's Simon who answers - John's mouth too preoccupied. 

"Wait your turn, pup."

"Not gonna get one if you keep being so fucking entitled." John separates from you to speak, but only technically, voice humid and thick against your skin. When he sinks back into you, a third finger joins the first two.

"John," you whine, and Gaz must take that as a challenge because his breath fans cold across the soaked material of your shirt. It clings to your skin, reveals the outline of the jewelry there. He catches one of the ball ends between his teeth, tugging gently. 

You think you hiss, but it gets swallowed up by Simon's appreciative hum. "Never pegged you for the type, pet," he purrs. "Wanna see mine?"

It's instinctive, the way your hands flatten against his chest, searching.

Ghost laughs, leans over you as best he can. "Lower."

"D'ye hear tha', cap?" Johnny cries. "Ghost's tryna get your hen tae touch his cock."

You can feel John's broad shoulders shrug between your legs. "Sooner let him than let you brand my hen."

The way you gulp back your panic would be audible, if not for the slick sound of Price's fingers in your cunt, or the popping of your buttons when Gaz decides he's had enough of your shirt. You watch John for a reaction, but he gives none. Watches Kyle almost apathetically when the lieutenant gets his lips on your nipple. His voice is like a rockslide when he instructs the other man to use more teeth.

You keen when you feel Kyle's pretty white teeth on you, head knocking back into Simon's plush lower belly. You feel the latter's hand slide across your chest to your neglected tit, but your focus shifts to the abandoned burn, distracted by the way the heated skin tightens when exposed to the cool room air. The only one who seems to notice is Johnny, upsettingly blue eyes darting back and forth from your own down to the inflamed mark on your chest. 

He waits until John is thoroughly distracted, fingers grinding deep against that spot that makes you arch and clench and gasp. "Does it hurt, bonnie?" he whispers, his movements obvious under the table. "Or does it feel better now, wi'out Ghost's ham fist on it?"

You would answer, except the abuse your piercings are weathering combined with the brutal manner John's fingers move within you have your breath coming hard; thoughts even harder.

"An' how 'bout this oone?" Soap continues, free hand daring to slide along the table, down your side. His finger hovers menacingly above the lighter burn there, still covered with a bit of gauze. John's watching, gaze burning you more than anything he's done thus far. You feel ungrounded, unmoored, like you're floating above yourself despite the three and a half sets of hands that hold you down. 

"Such a wee, sweet little thing."

Your tension cuts violently before it can properly build when he presses his thumb to the mark on your thigh and you realize he isn't even talking about you. 

Simon holds you with your hands trapped to your chest, the heat of your burned palm pressed flat against your tender sternum. You've never felt your hand throb before, skin flushed with more than just arousal. It's novel, adds a thread of discovery to your shudderingly good peak alongside the feeling of so many weathered hands on you.

John doesn't give you a moment to recover, pulling you by the hips until you slide bonelessly into his lap. He lines his cock up with your slackened hole without much preamble, the huff of his breaths betraying just how much he needs you. 

Tipped forward until you're flush against his chest, John's voice is a husky whisper meant for you alone when he tells you how good you are, what a perfect pet you've been.

It's hard to listen, brain still tripping over the orgasm he'd just pulled from you. "C- can't."

"You will," he assures, and your breath leaks out of you in a high keen when he angles your hips just right against his own, cock so deep inside you you're surprised you can't see it in your stomach. 

As if he wants to test that limit, John tilts you back against the table with one palm flat against your tummy. You know he's feeling for himself there, eyes like molten lava spilling down your front until he finds what he's after and he leers up at you, pressing down against your walls until his cock grinds hard into you. Your hands scramble against the table behind yourself, palm searing when your grip threatens to break the blister there. You're so concerned with bracing yourself you almost don't notice the way the table doesn't jolt away from John's ministrations, too weighed down by Simon's heavy form shuffling across it to lean over you, eyes nearly a physical weight where they bore down on the place John has you split open, fucking into you furiously.

"C'mere pup," Simon rumbles, and Johnny scrambles to his side, eager as he tucks himself under Ghost's arm. "See that? See how well this little pet takes cap's cock?" Soap doesn't say anything, but you gather he nods by the way Simon continues undeterred, "That's why cap gets to brand this pretty skin and you don't."

He's not even talking to you, but the notion has you cursing, lolling your head back until it falls against Simon's pec. He doesn't let you off the hook, holding your head up and directing you to look at John. "There's a good pet. Eyes on cap when he makes you cum."

It's Kyle's hand that pushes you over, though, quick and clever when he works you with spit-slick skin across your abused flesh. You don't dare look at him when you cum, but you tilt your head against his chest, breathing in the strong scent of him - spice and sweet, so much different than John, but just as comforting.

John lets you ride it out (forces you to, rather, grip firm where he rocks you against himself until your moans are stuttery and your hole flutters more so than properly clenches.) When he pulls out, he guides you to your knees and you hold your mouth open instinctively, but John tilts your head back with a broad palm to the base of your skull, lets you watch from your odd angle as he fucks his fist. It takes you a moment to realize his eyes are on Johnny, the younger man nearly shivering under his captain's glare.

"Whose pet is this?" John asks, nearly indecipherable in his lust.

Automatic, "Yours, cap, please -. Fuck, wanna -."

"Ask pretty and I'll let you lick it up."

"Shite," you hear Soap hiss, voice just as quivery as you feel. "Please, cap? Please let me clean yer cum off yer pet?"

John only grunts, breaths hot and heavy as a bellows as he turns back to you. It doesn't take long. You wrap your hand around his more out of habit than necessity, and John groans long and deep as he cums across your chest, painting the hot skin there in blazing stripes that make you gasp and flinch minutely away.

It takes him a moment longer of staring down at you to settle, stroking your cheek with his rough knuckles until he decides you've both had enough, motioning Soap closer with a lazy curl of his fingers.

There's not enough room between John's thighs for the both of you, but Soap has no problem crowding you from around John's calf. His tongue is hot and rough and slobbery and you cry out in disgust when his first instinct is to slurp rather than lick. John just laughs at you both, leaning back in his chair as he holds Johnny's head to your chest with a firm grip on the man's mohawk. 

"Keep behaving yourself, pup, and I'll let you clean up the other boys' messes, too."

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。AKADEMIYA GOSSIP — ALHAITHAM.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 alhaitham’s attire elicits a response you’re not all too happy with through the akademiya

☽ contents ⋮ gn! reader, jealous! reader, mentions of girls taking an interest in alhaitham but reader is unspecified, you sit on his lap, sfw + fluff

☽ notes ⋮ you had jealous haitham. now have jealous you

personally, you think alhaitham needs to get rid of that awful skin tight top of his. it’s an outrage—it’s unfair, really, always serving as a distraction for you with his sculpted abs and defined pecs taunting you at the most improper of times.

but that’s not even the worst part—recently, there’s something much more concerning than the distraction of his (very well-maintained) physique.

“you know, i think they should consider giving you a work uniform for this position,” you mumble, and there’s a slight pout on your lips that makes alhaitham pause as you gesture at his attire, “this isn’t very appropriate for a high position such as grand sage.”

he raises a brow, putting his pen down.

“acting grand sage,” he corrects, “and are my fashion choices not up to your standards?”

“that’s not the problem,” you mumble, “your terrible eye for clothing is your problem, not mine.”

“well, that’s wonderful to hear. i wouldn’t want to inconvenience you with my lacking aesthetic,” he says sarcastically—because everything is always a quick witted reply with him, and you send a glare his way through a huff.

“the problem here is the way your clothes fit.”

this time, there’s a very visible and very deep pout on your face—if alhaitham wasn’t as good with self control as he is, he might even have marched across the room and kissed it off by now. instead, he only gives you a quizzical look before he turns back to his…endless pile of papers.

“and what do you mean by that?”

the question alone is all the encouragement you need to dramatically fall back on the couch you’re seated at, arm falling to cover your face as you sigh with a little more emphasis than you really need. it’s so like you—so typical to bring out the theatrics, and it’s so like him to roll his eyes and mumble about how you’re over exaggerating.

and yet, somehow, it works. everything about you and alhaitham works—even as you glare his way while he rolls his eyes, even as you whine about everything while he always has that same dry tone, even as you jump to conclusions while he thinks through everything meticulously. somehow, it always works—which is why you refuse to let those filthy, home wrecking girls from the akademiya come anywhere near your (slightly irritating, but very attractive) boyfriend.

“today i overheard two girls talking about your abs. two! only archons know how many other people have been talking about them—”

he clears his throat, cutting you off and silently hoping you don’t notice the slight blush on his cheeks as he mumbles, “well, there’s not much you and i can do if other people—”

“and just imagine if they’ve stared at your tits! this is horrible—”

“i don’t have tits,” he hisses, “why must you always insist on calling them that—”

“oh no,” you croak woefully, cutting him off as you ignore him, “they can’t have your tits. you have to stop wearing that tight shirt, our relationship depends on it,” you insist.

“you can’t be serious—”

“in fact, i think you should just wear the akademiya robes. they won’t be able to stare at much of anything if you wear those.”

“and if they stare at my face?” he raises a brow, lips quirked slightly in amusement even has the lingering flush of pink still grazes his skin.

and he looks beautiful like that—soft rays of sun kissing the silver strands of hair so they look golden, flowing over his skin and letting shadows nestle into the sharp slopes of his cheekbones. you can’t see from where you are, but you know there are flakes of gold lit up in those teal eyes of his—the same eyes you glare into when you’re mad, the ones you meet first thing in the morning, the ones you can’t look away from as you whisper i love you like a secret you’ve held onto in this life and the last.

you crinkle your nose, clearly distressed at the idea of people fawning over his features, and he can’t help but smile gently at the sentiment.

“you’re right,” you nod, “you face is also very attractive. maybe you could—”

“i think you’re looking too deeply into this,” he says, making your face twist into a scowl.

“this is serious,” you hiss, and the way he blinks at you like you’re crazy earns him a harsh glare, “have you not listened to people speaking of you? grand sage alhaitham looks soooo handsome today,” you mock in a high pitched voice, “i think his muscles look larger than yesterday.”

“i don’t concern myself with akademiya gossip,” he shrugs, “as long as it causes no trouble for me—”

“well this time it will cause trouble for you,” you narrow your eyes, “acting grand sage or not, you aren’t immune to sleeping on our lovely living room couch.”

and you’re stubborn like this sometimes, irrational and just a little flawed in your logic, but alhaitham finds his chest constricts anyway, finds that even when he can’t make sense of you, that faint thrum of his heart tells him he doesn’t need to. so he rolls his eyes, holds out an arm for you that makes you scoff even as you instantly make your way over.

and when you seat yourself on his lap, arms twisting around his neck as his settle for your hips, you faintly think that the akademiya girls would lose their minds if they saw you like this—like you’re the earth’s core pressed to his hands, like you’re the center of his entire universe.

“it’s a bit unfair to punish me for what other people say,” he hums, making you huff.

“and it’s unfair walking around like this when you’re heavily committed in a relationship,” you accuse, poking at his chest as he chuckles.

he presses a gentle kiss to your nose, lets his eyes close and his breath exhale softly as you cup his cheeks. and even with the endless pile of paperwork on his desk and that meeting he’s forced to join after this, alhaitham enjoys being the akademiya’s grand sage just a little bit if it gets you worked up like this—if it gets you to pay a little extra attention to kissing him and tugging him closer.

and when your fingers slip into his hair, and his thumb rubs circles into your hips, there’s an unspoken truth between you that makes you smile to yourself.

i love you, you think.

i love you, he knows you know.

© saetoru do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[warping-realities]

Life Adjustment (Repost)

“Did you want to see me, Jack?” said Stu, throwing himself onto one of the armchairs in his brother's enormous office.

Jackson, Stu's brother and the current president of the construction company founded by their father, looked at his younger brother with piercing eyes.

"I'm glad you could make it to our meeting, Stuart, considering you've been busy doing nothing every day for the past few years." Was the response given by the obviously less than happy older brother, as he looked in disgust at his younger brother's paint-stained clothes that had just ruined an expensive armchair.

"Come on, Jack, that's not fair; you know everything I've been through!"

"Everything you've been through? Please, Stuart, being dumped by your college girlfriend is not an excuse to let yourself go and become a bum still living in your parents' old basement. You're 25 years old and haven't done anything useful with your life."

"I wasn't dumped, Jack. She died, you idiot!"

"Yes, very sad, but it's been almost five years, five years during which I've supported your filthy habits, your gym routine, your entire lazy life as a talentless artist. That's enough!"

"I have a stake in this company..."

"Then take responsibility!"

"... and you don't understand, Jen was the love of my life," Stu concluded as if he hadn't been so rudely interrupted.

"Jen? Who's Jen, Stuart?" Jackson asked with a slight smile.

"Who's Jen? You must be kidding, Jack!"

"You know I don't tolerate childish habits, especially in my workplace, Stuart. So I ask again, who is Jen? I've never heard you mention any Jen, brother."

"Jen, Jeniffer, my girlfriend who… wait, no, I don’t know… who is Jen?"

"Precisely," Jackson replied, his sly smile widening but never reaching his cold eyes. He watched an impossible transformation unfold before him. In the blink of an eye, with a flash, instead of the brother he knew and had come to deeply detest over the years, there was a better-groomed version, with a smoother beard and shorter hair, with more defined muscles in workout clothes. Still, far from what Jackson considered ideal.

"So, Jack, why did you call me here? I have a client scheduled at the gym, so I don't have much time."

"A client... at the gym?"

"Yeah, what else would a personal trainer be doing?"

Absorbing this information, Jackson decided to make one more correction.

"I don't understand, why waste a college degree working as a personal trainer, Stuart?"

"Maybe because I studied sports science, Jack."

"But your major was in business, Stuart."

"Business, no way... or... maybe..."

Another flash and another Stuart stood before Jackson. Much better, he thought, seeing the figure before him, dressed more appropriately, with a toned physique belonging to someone who clearly took care of himself but didn't scream "gym rat." Still, there was certainly room for improvement, but he decided to let this new version of his brother speak.

"I imagine you want to talk about the status of the new building downtown; I can assure you I'm in direct contact with the team, and everything is going according to plan, Jack."

"Team? What team, Stuart?"

"Our construction workers, of course."

"And why would you be in direct contact with them, Stuart?"

"Oh, maybe because that's my role in the company? Overseeing the progress of the projects, making sure everything's right, walking among the guys and knowing if they're satisfied with their work."

"Maybe that was the case a few years ago, before you went to college, when our dad wanted to test your abilities. But since you graduated and returned to the company, you begged me to take a position in the office because you couldn't stand being around lower-class people."

"What? No, I would never be that snobby, no, or... did I... ask? No... ask?"

Another flash, another Stuart. Almost there, Jackson thought as he saw this version of his brother. He was wearing a sports coat and khakis, but that relaxed attitude needed a few more adjustments...

"So, tonight I'm having another business dinner with some clients; I'm thinking about hitting up a club with a few of them; you should come along for an hour, bro."

"Actually, I called you here precisely because I wanted to discuss your outings, Stuart. I understand social connections are important, but we have employees for that, plus it's a waste of your MBA. So I'm moving you to the head of financial control, right below me."

"MBA? Jack... no, I... financial department? I don't want that... or do I?"

"Of course you do; you accepted the position last year."

"Last year?"

A new flash and a new version of Stuart. This time, Stuart was wearing a proper suit, although still regrettably without a tie, and despite the neatly combed hair, there was still that beard. This kind of carefree attitude was not ideal.

"The acquisition of the land in Arlington was a success, Jack, so much so that I organized a dinner with the responsible team, along with the bonuses they'll be getting."

"If they're already getting a bonus, why organize a dinner, Stuart? Besides, you've never been one for such frivolities; your life has always been extremely rigid and regimented. Taking care of your body to present a powerful and assertive image, dressing appropriately and behaving with dignity at work, keeping the right distance from the employees; after all, you are the boss. And I don't think I've ever seen you smile at them, let alone go to dinners with them. It's not in your nature; you know how to be sociable when you want to, of course, but only when there's a benefit for the company; after all, profits and the company's image are your biggest concerns," Jackson concluded, thinking that finally this time the result would be as expected.

"I... don't... smile... of course I smile... no... image... profits... yes... knowing how to behave..."

A new flash, and finally, the perfect version of Stuart was before him, Jackson thought. Still sitting rigidly in the armchair with a clean-shaven face and the hint of a sly smile, with the same cold eyes as his brother, impeccably dressed in a dark suit with a tie that made him look like a younger version of Jackson.

"Staff cuts have been made, Jackson; there were some tears from others about the increased workload, but I told them they'd manage or be replaced by someone who would."

"Excellent, Stuart, and how do you feel about that?"

"Sorry, Jackson, but I don't understand your question."

"Don't you feel bad about firing all those employees?"

"Why should I feel bad about that? My role is to think of what's best for this company, and that's what I did."

"So cold, brother. I have to be careful; otherwise, you'll end up taking my place."

"If you lower your standards, brother, I won't think twice."

Thinking quickly that he might have overdone it, Jackson intervened once more.

"I would believe that if I didn't know that since we were kids, I've been your biggest example, and above all, you are loyal to me, Stuart."

This time there was no visible flash, but a clear change in Stuart's eyes, which now showed a glimmer of admiration toward his older brother.

"Sure, brother, if I'm who I am today, it's thanks to you!" Stuart replied, standing up and speaking in a tone of voice that, though cold and distant, still displayed immense reverence for the figure before him.

Jackson couldn't help but display the closest thing he could muster to a smile that his nonexistent emotional skill would allow while responding to what, in his opinion, was a much-improved version of his brother.

"Indeed, brother, and I'm glad you recognize that."

[satancopilotsmytardis]

(In)Delicate Touch

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Commissioned by @zehei Dabi has been working as a professional sub at La Vénus for a year and a half and he really does enjoy working there. The rooms are great, the way they book clients is clear and comprehensive, and he likes his boss a fair bit too. But one night a client goes too far and Dabi finds himself in a bad drop and nursing wounds he didn't want. He expects to get fired over causing so much trouble, but Tomura is there to lend a hand in any way that Dabi needs.

Content: BDSM club, sex work, bondage, impact play, safe word use, subdrop, aftercare, hurt/comfort, hand job, anal fingering, anal sex, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, praise kink.

Word Count: 10878

La Vénus is the only place Dabi bothers to take contracts through anymore. The BDSM club is the best in Kamino and it is the only one that really keeps up with the professionals who want to use it as a place to do business. They even have a portal on their website so that professional doms and subs can put their profiles, their limits, their availability, and a secure line for contacting. La Vénus has rules, of course. They're considered independent contractors and they can be removed from the club whenever the owner dismisses them, but they take a very small cut of the money they earn, and the security they provide is well-worth the price. Dabi doesn't have to be scared of giving his apartment address to anyone or going to a secondary location with a client, and V ensures that they are always abiding by the rules by having a row of rooms for their working doms and subs that have open windows, so that anyone can see inside and be certain that their business is being conducted appropriately. 

If he also happens to think that the owner is hot as fuck with his hair pushed back, his deadly fucking quirk barely contained by his gloves, and his perfectly tailored black suit with a blood red coat, and getting to check in with him before every shift is fucking perfect, then that's his business. 

"Just one session tonight, Dabi?" Shigaraki asks, checking his phone for the contract he and his dom for the night submitted for use of one of those rooms. 

"It's supposed to be a long bondage one." He explains. 

"Hmm, are you sure that all of the information you entered is correct? I thought you only used silk and no nylon for your staples." Dabi is genuinely surprised Shigaraki has paid that much attention to him, or at least to his preferences. He's got upwards of three hundred people in this club every night of the week and he's never seen the other man take a day off in the year and a half he's been subbing here. Not only that but he's got twenty doms and subs on rotation, he didn't think that anyone would bother to remember more than the names of the people he's been working with. 

"It was his first time booking, he might have mis-clicked. Can I still make adjustments to the room setup?" There's only another twenty minutes till the club opens its door and Dabi is supposed to be alone for at least an hour before his client arrives. He was planning on putting on a nice little peepshow for people, but he'd rather make certain that the room and everything is all set up for his session with a client. 

"Of course. I can have silk brought to your room." He agrees. "Do you want red to... match?" Dabi's already put up his coat and bag in the private changing area that the performers have access to, so he's just in his dark red lacy panties and the silver body chains with small red crystal dangles hanging off of them. He used to go for a blue look, but to distinguish workers from anyone else just looking to partake at the club, all of the performers from doms and subs to strippers and workshop teachers have to wear a deep red leather collar with La Venus embellished on it in silver foil. He didn't want the accessory to look out of place, and pivoted to wearing red instead of blue at the club. 

"If it's not too much trouble." Dabi always likes to think about his optics. Other people he's talked shop with around the club say they're usually focusing on a scene when they're in it, and that's great that works for them, but Dabi wants to be certain that he's staying constantly vigilant, and that he's setting himself up for future clients too. If their sessions are all going to be observable, then he is going to be a hell of a sight to see, and he's gonna make sure that he's got his aesthetic dialed in. 

"It's no trouble at all, Dabi." Shigaraki tells him easily.. "Does everything else seem alright?" Dabi reviews the contract again, and that looks like the only thing that was entered wrong, and he nods. "Alright, you're going to be in L2 today," he reaches back on the wall, unlocking the glass door and retrieving the key for the right room. His favorite room actually. He likes being on the left side because the bounce light is a little more diffused from that side, giving people a clearer view through the window, and he likes being in rooms two or three in that hall because those are the ones that people tend to linger in front of more, not wanting to clog up the entryway as they try to get to the seating areas that also line the hall. 

"Thanks, Shigaraki." He takes the key, but the owner doesn't let go of the tag for a second. 

"You know you can call me 'Tomura'." 

"Maybe when I'm off the clock, boss." He retorts easily. No matter how hot the other man is, Dabi doesn't want to get distracted. This is his job, he can't go around fucking that up by getting familiar or, god forbid, flirting with the guy who's establishment pays his bills. 

Shigaraki, for his part, looks wryly amused and lets him head out after that, the next person slipping in to confirm their night's plans as well. Dabi heads to his room to finish getting ready and wait for his silk. Maybe he will have a chance to put on that peep show after all. 

///

Dabi spends the first hour that V is open teasing his nipples and palming himself through his panties on the bed getting himself achingly hard and so close to the edge, but easing off of his peak to keep himself 'unspoiled' for his client who asked for him to be pent up and a little frustrated. Definitely a streak of sadist in him, but Dabi isn't a stranger to that, and he's looking forward to getting thoroughly worked over. 

Jin, one of the security team he recognizes at a glance, brings the new client to the door and Dabi is fully not expecting the blonde man to be so much taller than he is even after knowing he would be from his ID when he booked the session. Dabi steels his nerves. "Goto, it's good to meet you, I'm looking forward to our session." He starts with a pleasant smile. "If we can just re-touch on rules and boundaries, then I'd be happy to submit to you. Would you like to sit?" 

"Yeah, sure." The blond only has one eye, his prosthetic in the missing one looking like it's been forced into place with the metallic spikes around it that is kind of intimidating. He sits and Dabi starts to go through his usual spiel, he restates his hard limits, that they'll be using the traffic light system, the hand gestures that he will use if at any point during the session he goes non-verbal for any reason, and then he turns back to ask if there's anything he needs to go over as well. Goto is flat and unmoved when he says, "No." Sounding more bored than anything and Dabi's skin prickles with the first stirrings of discomfort. "Why are there silks instead of ropes?" 

He frowns slightly, "During the consultation, I said that I couldn't use rope over my staples. Since you said you wanted a heavy rigging session, I had it switched for silk since that's something my skin can tolerate." 

The other man considers the silk for a second before scoffing softly. "Fine. But you can take impact, can't you? If we're using silk, I want to use a paddle instead of my hands." 

Dabi doesn't normally love to use a paddle, it's wider and less accurate, meaning partners can overlap his staples on accident and leave him with fresh wounds. "I think that a riding crop would leave prettier marks, don't you, Sir?" He offers instead carefully. 

Goto looks him up and down and Dabi tries to look smaller and softer for him. Clearly he's more of a sadist than he'd originally thought, but the pay for this session is half of his rent this month. He can put up with this if it gets him what he needs. "Fine." Dabi expects him to ask about his levels, to get the toy off of the offered wall of them and test his tolerance. It's good practice for a session like this, but Dabi figures, 

"Remember, club rules state no impact with any implements across the face, and only light impact across the stomach and places prone to injury. My staples are fragile, so please avoid those where you can, but anywhere else is alright." 

"Yeah, got it, can we get started now?" The blond nearly snaps. Dabi bristles, but says nothing. It's his first time at V as far as he said during the booking. Maybe he's uncomfortable knowing the far wall is a window, even if it looks like a mirror from their side. 

He makes concessions on his politeness and breathes out a slow breath, trying to shake his tension and allow himself to slip into the headspace that he needs to. "Of course we can, if that would please my master." He simpers sweetly, trying for doe-eyed and helpless. 

The man starts to loosen some of his tension and tosses the jacket he was wearing over his black mesh tank top onto the chair in the corner of the room for more intimate cucking or voyeuristic sessions. "That's better, whore. I better not hear another mouthy word out of you, or I'm going to have to get rough." 

Not his favorite type of scene, but Dabi is a professional sub, he submits.

///

Goto is rough with him, and he likes his knots tight. They're loose enough, he thinks, for maybe one of Dabi's fingers, but his feel bigger as they move over his skin and knot them into place. He works methodically, not paying much attention to Dabi himself as he works. He occasionally pulls at the silk with an unhappy set around his mouth, but he clearly knows what he's doing, and Dabi finds himself over the course of an hour, knotted into a few different positions, as the other man gets a good look at his body and how flexible he is like this, before he ends up in a ball tie, tipped on his side. When the ropes are secure, thankfully, the other man doesn't actually also reach for a ball gag. He just puts his bigger hand over his ass, and palms him through his panties. He's not really doing much but groping him, and it doesn't really feel good, but Dabi moans anyway. 

The yelp he lets out the next second is real though as the riding crop comes down across the back of his tied thighs so hard that Dabi would put the pain at a seven already. The sound splits the air and he nearly chokes on his breath. 

"Not another nasty sound out of you, whore. You're not here to feel good, you're here for me to use." 

Dabi holds up three fingers to show that he understands, and then bites his lower lip hard as another crack comes down, this time just beneath his ass. And the next overlaps the first. Then across his exposed hip, along the outside of his thigh. It hurts, going up to a nine and holding there as the man hits him again and again with the crop. he goes over his scars, over his healthy skin, and the blood rushing up to the freshly forming welts as they swell, puts an uncomfortable pressure along his seams, especially around his thighs. He swears that between the ropes holding his legs together and pressed to his chest, and the ache of the impact, he's going to pop out his staples along those seams. 

"Y-yellow," he manages as he's panting between blows. 

"Thought I fucking said to keep your mouth shut?" The riding crop gets tossed to the bed, and in that second, Dabi thinks that he is setting it aside to check in. 

But the next robs him of that delusion entirely. Goto's hand fists in Dabi's hair, and he grabs hard to force his face into the sheets. Dabi barely manages to tuck his chin tighter to his chest so that he isn't smothered into the pillows and unable to speak as the man cuts off the other way he would be able to signal that he needs to stop. "Red!" He cries out, wanting to be let up immediately. 

"God, you whores here have had it too good. Thinking you can tell me what to do? When to stop? You need to learn your fucking place." He snarls, using one hand to hold him down while his other goes to-- Dabi hears the metal and leather sliding through each other as his belt is pulled. Fuck, fuck, fuck, 

"Red! Stop--" He hears the other man spit into his hand and his whole body goes hot with his terror. No, no, no, even if he hasn't moved his panties out of the way yet, if he gets that, or anything else in his seams when they hurt so badly, when they're so close to open, then he could get sick. He can't get sick again, he can't. Dabi tries to fumble for his quirk desperately, wanting to burn the silk from around his body, wanting to scare this fucker before he does anything worse to him--

"Don't you know that I own you?" 

It's like every string in him has been cut. Dabi's whole body goes so instantaneously numb that he can't make his quirk work. I own you. It's not Goto's voice that echoes in his mind. Not pain hits his body as he is shunted so sharply to hiding in his room with Natsuo as their father snarls at their mother. It's a stupid fear, it's an old helplessness that he shouldn't let distract himself now, not when he can't stop that memory, but he has to stop this disgusting man from ruining him even more as he hears his hand moving roughly over his cock. 

"Don't!" His voice doesn't even sound like his own, he can barely recognize it. It hasn't been filled with such sharp, anguished terror since he was burning--

"Get away from him!" There's movement, shouting, a scream behind him, but Dabi is only shakily trying to push his quirk away now, so scared he may light the bed on fire accidentally. He can't hurt his seams again, can't use his quirk right now, he'll burn it all to the ground and he's already destroyed whatever place he had here. Dabi sobs against the bed, his fear too big and sharp to make sense of whatever is happening beyond his body. 

There are voices, he thinks, furious and short, and the kind of whispers that come in the wake of something awful. He's the awful thing. He lost control of a session. He's the one who's broken, bleeding now, if not from his seams, than from his eyes as he sobs on the bed. 

"Dabi," the voice comes, addressing him and the bed dips just the slightest bit. He doesn't know who's speaking to him, just that it's not that man. This voice is low and trying to soothe him, he thinks, but it's hard to focus on anything other than the fear choking his chest and his quirk that is rioting beneath his skin. "Dabi, you're starting to smoke." The voice is so gentle. "No one is going to hurt you anymore." He waits but Dabi doesn't believe him. People are always hurting him. He's always hurting himself. Why would this be any different? He sobs harder and there is a longer pause, probably as the new voice decides where he deserves to be hurt when he's already been broken so thoroughly. "Can I touch you, Dabi?" 

He barely croaks, "R-red--" Through his sobs. He needs it to stop. He has to make it stop. 

"The scene is over, Dabi," the voice promises him. "I just want to untie you. Don't you think it would help if you could sit up, Dabi?" 

Would it? Could he make himself small on his own terms then? He sniffles, but it doesn't stop the tears. He barely manages to nod. 

"Okay, I'm not going to touch you. You just need to hold still, alright?" Dabi does his best to do as he's told, but tensing his muscles lightly makes them start to shake hard. He feels a little tug at one of the silks and then he's got the whisper of... something barely heavier than air against his skin, and the restrictive silk is gone. It happens twice more and then Dabi is able to slump against the bed, his limbs under his own control again, and Dabi does his best to push himself up, mind still swimming through a rolling sickness. Sick. He could get sick again. He could get hit again. He needs to focus. 

It feels impossible to do as he forces his mostly numb arms beneath his chest as he tries to turn around. His vision swims through his tears and he doesn't find the hulking man with blond hair anywhere in the room. The far curtain has been drawn over the viewing window, and Shigaraki is sitting at the foot of the bed, his hands resting in his lap. No, no, no. Further panic makes his ribs constrict sharply around his lungs. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" he sobs immediately. He's ruined everything, he's made so much trouble for the club. Oh-- oh god, he's really never going to be able to work here again. He's going to have to go back to what he did before--going to have to take on more clients like Goto, going to have to risk his health, his safety-- 

"Dabi, you don't need to apologize. I just need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?" 

He should be able to, shouldn't he? That's supposed to be the simplest thing a person can do, but he can't quite manage it past the tiny hiccupping sips of air that he's making himself in past the hitching sobs that are shaking his body. 

"...Okay, can you look at me, sweetheart?" Shigaraki's voice goes even softer, and Dabi forces himself to peek up at him from the tight hunch he's made of himself up against the headboard. "That's perfect, now I just need you to follow my breaths. You don't have to be perfect," he soothes, "I just want you to try. Can you try for me, Dabi?" 

Shigaraki takes a slow breath in, holds it for a few seconds, and then he lets it out in a long steady stream. Dabi doesn't think he'll ever breathe like that again, not when his chest is so tight, but he isn't being yelled at yet, isn't being hit, and he doesn't want that to change. He tries so hard for the first few breaths, but he can't stop crying for long enough to manage it on those. 

But Shigaraki smiles at him anyway, "That's it, you're already doing such a good job for me, sweetheart. Can you keep going?" He resumes the patterned breathing, and the soft encouragement makes Dabi try harder. He's already made such a mess, he has to be at least capable of doing this right. 

He forces himself to breathe. Each one stutters and stalls until his tears aren't so constant, until they're just a scattered few droplets on his cheeks and his lungs are able to fill a little more. In some vague, dizzy shadow of his mind, he thinks he was hoping that breathing again would make the awful, cold pit in his gut disperse a little. That maybe the breaths would loosen that knot of dread, but he doesn't feel that happen. His dread stays settled against his nerves as those wake up after shorting out to try to protect him from what was happening to his body. Suddenly, he's not just scared, exhausted, and sick to his stomach, he's in pain too, and he starts to shake, a thin whimper leaving him as he looks down at himself. He has to uncurl his knees from his chest to see the side of his thigh that was exposed to the crop. 

The welt he finds across his scar is so puffy that he can see it clearly, and it's shiny. The color is too dark for him to tell if it's blood, sweat, or if it's because it's just so swollen around the fresh wound, but it hurts and he needs... something. He can't get sick again, but he is having such a hard time reordering his thoughts, figuring out what he needs to do next when everything hurts and his mind is so foggy. 

"Are you in pain, Dabi?" Shigaraki keeps talking to him softly, and Dabi barely manages to nod. "I want to get you something to drink and some medicine, but there isn't anything here." He explains carefully. "Do you think that we can move to somewhere else where I can get you those things?" 

He doesn't want to hurt anymore. He doesn't want to get sick. Dabi barely manages to nod his head, the action feeling like it takes every ounce of his strength.

"Good, do you think you can stand by yourself, sweetheart?" 

Dabi doesn't know. He feels weak and his legs hurt more than anything else. He is shaking already when he just manages to uncurl his arms from around them. It's the first flicker of sense that goes through his head when he kicks off his pumps before even attempting to put his feet against the floor. Shigaraki stands as well. 

"Can I come closer, Dabi? You can hold onto my arm if you need help." He smiles at him as he makes the offer and Dabi doesn't have the energy to speak. He manages to hold three fingers against the rumpled sheets and moves to the edge. The shock of the cold floor against his bare feet is such a small thing to make him uncomfortable, but everything inside of him is already so messy that he can't tolerate it, pulling his legs back up. "...Is it too much?" 

He manages another tiny nod. 

"Okay, can I pick you up? I promise I'll be very gentle, and when I put you down, you'll be able to have some water and something for the pain." 

He doesn't want to think. He doesn't even want to exist right now. He leaves his fingers open against the sheets. Shigaraki can do whatever he wants to him now. He's already broken. What's another fracture in his skin? 

"I'm going to pick you up. I need you to keep your hands where I can see them so I know if it's hurting." Why bother? He won't stop if it does. 

It doesn't hurt when Shigaraki picks him up. He's careful as he lifts him off of the bed, supporting his back with one arm and the other hooking under his knees instead of his thighs to keep as much pressure away from the welts as possible. Dabi is lifted and he gives up. He tucks his face against Shigaraki's white shirt and closes his eyes as exhaustion sweeps so completely through him. 

///

He's not certain how long passes between being carried from that room to finding himself blinking as he notices that there's something sugary on his tongue. It's soda, he realizes after a second, lemon-lime soda. The sweetness of that helps him to take stock of other parts of his body. He is aching and sore. His broken body hates him again and it's his fault. It's always his fault. He should have known better, should have been more careful. But he wasn't and now he's hurting and he deserves it. 

Dabi pulls away from the straw that's being offered to him and tries to take in his surroundings. They're in one of the private rooms, the actual private rooms of the club, and instead of having the lights low and a thrum of music going through the sparse bedroom, the lights are on all the way and it's as quiet as it can be with the activities of the club still filtering in from past the door. Shigaraki is sitting on the chair that has been dragged to the edge of the bed that Dabi's sitting on. The backs of his legs hurt, and he shifts a little on the edge as the other watches him, taking the cup away and putting it on the side table when he finishes with that. 

"...I'm sorry." His voice sounds like it's been completely scraped raw as he tries to make his head clear. He needs to go. He made so much trouble. He has to leave. If he leaves by himself, at least, then he won't have to be kicked out. He would rather save some small thread of his dignity than have to give that up too. 

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Dabi." Shigaraki's voice is that same low, careful tone that he doesn't deserve. "Are you still hurting? I had Yumina bring some of the bruise salve. Do you want to put some of that on?"

The welts definitely hurt and he would really like for them not to anymore, but he just shakes his head and starts to stand. "Can I get my stuff before I go?" His voice shakes as he asks. It wouldn't be the first time he's just been kicked out without any of his things. But he doesn't know how he's going to even make his rent without V. He can't have to start over with his whole life without his phone too. 

"... If you think you're ready for that, then I need to know if you want me to call the police." Shigaraki asks. 

Dabi blanches, fear swelling through his chest and making it go tight. "What?" Did he break his contract with the club? He thought he would be fired, not arrested. 

"Do you want to press charges against him? I know it's difficult in situations like this, but if you want to have him arrested, we can do that. If you want..." Shigaraki's expression blackens, "Other repercussions made, then we can decide on that as well." 

Him? His head feels like it's still full of fluff. "...Aren't you mad at me?" His voice is tiny when he manages the question. 

That replaces the darkness on his features with something softer and more surprised in an instant. "Of course not, Dabi. You did everything you needed to, there's no reason for me to be upset with you." He watches Dabi as he says those words and Dabi has no idea what his face does, but he is even more deliberate and careful as he keeps speaking. "I'm sorry that happened, I'm sorry that I didn't get there faster. But you're not in trouble, and we're going to make sure that Imasuji never does something like this again." 

His seams beneath his eyes hurt and he feels something hot and wet drip against his thighs. 

Shigaraki sees him start to cry and shifts slightly before catching himself. "Can I touch you?" 

Dabi hesitates, half expecting to be hit again, but he finally gives a tiny nod. Shigaraki gathers him up, and pulls him close, tucking Dabi's head beneath his chin and getting him to sit at an angle in his lap so that the worst of the welts don't have any pressure against them. And then his hands start to pet so gently over his skin. He holds him and he speaks, 

"I'm so glad you called out for help. I'm so sorry that happened and I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure that nothing like this happens again. I promise that you're going to be safe if you want to keep working here." 

"...I can stay?" 

Shigaraki looks at him like he wishes he could pull all of the pain out of Dabi's skin. He curls a hand gently around the back of his neck and he rests their foreheads together. "Of course you can, sweetheart. I wouldn't want you anywhere else." 

The tears fall a little faster and Dabi tangles his fingers into Shigaraki's shirt, clinging to him as he begins to sob fresh. 

///

It's not until he notices the pain getting more intense in his legs that he tries to take stock of himself again. Shigaraki reaches over to the side table and takes one of the tissues to help dab away the blood from under his sore seams and crusted under his staples. He hisses slightly from how broken and achy they feel and is hit with another jolt of fear over how bad they must be. 

"Are you in more pain?" Shigaraki glances at his watch, "You can have another dose of pain medicine if you want it." 

Dabi doesn't remember even taking the first, but that must mean it's been hours since the last one and he feels sharply guilty for forcing the other to stay for so long dealing with him. "I'm okay," he can be. He will be, he thinks. Maybe. If he's not actually broken from everything that happened before. "I need to go home--" He tries to shift and can't help the sharp sound of pain he makes as he puts a little more weight on the welts and his aching seams. 

"Dabi, I won't make you have anything you don't want, but I need to know you're going to be alright if you decide to leave." 

He swallows, not wanting to look at him, but not trusting his muscles much after how much just that little shifting hurt. "...I need my medicine." He admits quietly. 

And Shigaraki doesn't blink. "Okay, is it in your bag? Do you want me to have someone bring it for you?" 

"...Okay." 

Shigaraki shifts his hold on Dabi's body slightly and he sees him pull out his phone and shoot off a text to Jin to have someone bring Dabi his things. He gets an affirmative, and after just a couple of minutes, Shigaraki is picking him up again so that he can put him on the edge of the bed while he goes over to the door to retrieve the bag. He brings it over and Dabi pulls out the alcohol wipes and his salve before being faced with the location of the hurts and how he's going to manage to check them. 

"Why don't you lay on your stomach? I can help you." He offers gently. "You can watch in the mirror and let me know if there's anything you need." 

He considers protesting, but he doesn't have a better option if he wants to see how these look and how fucked he's going to be trying to get back into his tight leather pants before he walks home. If he can even manage that. "Okay," he agrees quietly, making himself lay on his stomach, the chains and crystal beads pressing against his skin. He takes a shaky breath and turns his head so that he can look at himself in the mirror that's suspended above the bed. 

The welts are dark and crusted with tacky deep red scabs at some of the highest points and the places where they overlap with each other. That's not good, but Dabi is more scared of his seams as his attention goes lower. His staples are doing their best to keep his skin together, the sections there so swollen with irritation from either side of his skin being abused that they've nearly expanded past their limits, but they are, technically, shut. He gives a soft sigh of relief. Shigaraki makes sure he's watching and then starts to clean him up with gentle, deliberate movements, always giving Dabi enough time to ask him to stop before he touches the next place on his body. And each touch is light and careful. His skin is cool through his gloves as he opens the alcohol wipes and dabs away the bits of blood before going to the salve Dabi spends most of his money making sure he never runs out of. 

He immediately lets out a shaky sigh of relief at the first cold touch of the creme against his skin. The medicine is a thin antibiotic lotion that has a slight numbing effect that takes away a lot of the lingering discomfort. Knowing that he is getting what he needs, that his seams aren't actually open, that helps to take away the threads of fear in him, and he lets himself watch Shigaraki in the mirror as he rubs the medicine into his skin. 

He moves in soft circles, making sure to get along the welts and along each line of his seams and puncture of his staples. His hands are delicate, not looking to hurt him any more than he already has been tonight, and Dabi... starts to drift as the fear, pain, and worry ebb. He's being taken care of. He gets that so rarely. Normally he barely lets himself have a minute or two of aftercare once as session is over, and even then, he's usually using that time to try and get his client to book another session while they're still coming down from the high of their domination or while they're still aching for a release they'll need to find on their own elsewhere in the club. But this feels good. He can't remember the last time someone else helped him put the medicine on his skin. 

More of the pain fades as he finally allows himself to relax a little more against the sheets and he sighs. Shigaraki's hand stills for a second, but when Dabi timidly leaves three fingers open against the sheets, he feels three open in return against his thigh before he keeps tending to the wounds and swollen areas of skin. It puts a soft kind of warmth in his body that makes him want more of that. He's being careful, he's listening to him and taking care of him. Dabi wonders distantly if it says something sad and pathetic just that is enough to make his body temperature creep up a little higher the touches continue. 

He doesn't mean to let out the little moan that slips his lips when Tomura's fingers move along his seam towards his inner thighs, but it feels so nice to have a soft touch there. Dabi opens his legs a little more and shifting against the sheets lets him feel that his cock has started to harden too. Tomura stops when he hears that soft sound of pleasure and Dabi is reluctant to look over his shoulder to see his face, instead watching him stiffen over him in the mirror. A sharper fear goes through him. He wasn't supposed to make any noises, was he? Is he going to be hit again?

"Does that feel better, baby boy?" Tomura's voice is a little thicker, lower, and his fingers trail from the inside of his thighs along to the outer edge so that he's not touching any hurts anymore. And he puts two fingers against Dabi's skin, waiting. 

Is this a scene? Could it be? Dabi wants to take away the unpleasantness still echoing around in him from what came before. But... he doesn't know if he'll be allowed that, even when it's Shigaraki's collar looped around his neck. "...Yes, Sir. More?" He chances, keeping his hand as is. 

"Of course baby, just have to tell me if there's anything you don't like." He strokes along his thighs again, and Dabi watches in the mirror as he goes from just trailing two fingers over his skin, to both of his palms open, the soft leather touching his seams and healthy skin. This touch goes between his legs, up a little higher, light and good. A nice touch after the angry ones, and Dabi lets out a tiny sigh. "Does that feel nice, sweetheart?" 

He tucks his face into the sheets, giving up on the mirror, and manages a nod against them. Dabi doesn't normally get to be soft after something so rough, but the contrast feels so good. Like it's putting fluff around all the hurts that were written into his soul and skin. He shifts and Tomura's hands immediately retreat, but Dabi only wanted to push up a little, getting his knees a little more under him so that he would be able to lift his hips slightly as he starts to get harder, and to spread his legs a little more. 

"Good boy," Tomura murmurs, his hands going back to his skin and tracing circles up his thighs, deeper between them. He goes higher, but not where Dabi wants them. He wants something that feels good now. Tomura's already made things so much better. He can take away the last sharp bits of unhappiness in him, he knows he can. "You just have to show me what you need, baby boy, I'll give you anything." And he sounds a little breathless as he speaks. 

It makes the neediness in him go a little hotter and he makes himself let go of the sheets so that he can reach back and find Tomura's arm. He hooks his fingers in the edge of his gloves and feels his face go hot as he pulls at him. He lets his arm be moved and Dabi brings it further between his legs, until his fingers are grazing the edge of his panties. Tomura takes over from there and Dabi is holding onto the sheets again as he moves his fingers lightly over his covered balls and up to his hardening cock. 

"You want to feel good, sweetheart?" His voice going hotter. 

Dabi manages a little nod, still certain he won't be allowed that after before. 

Tomura's fingers stroke up his cock, cupping him through the lace as he hums softly. "I can do that, baby boy, but I need you to move for me." His hand retreats and Dabi wants it back, so he lets Tomura get him onto his back, and Dabi is confronted with the sight of himself in the ceiling mirror. His face is flushed and still a little blotchy from crying. He looks dazed as the chains glitter in the light of the room, his legs spread wide, knees bent to keep the worst of the welts from touching the bed. And his cock is hard and stretching his panties. Tomura moves between his spread legs, leaning over him carefully and blocking his view in the mirror. And there's not a trace of cruelty in his look. His eyes are warm and he's smiling at Dabi softly. "Can I take off your panties, sweetheart? I want to make your pretty cock feel good." 

Dabi bites his lip and nods. 

"Can I hear your color? It will make me feel better if I know you're using them." He asks, reaching to cup his cheek and stroke his thumb just under one of his aching seams. 

"Green, Sir." 

"Good. But you don't have to call me that, baby boy. I can be whatever you need from me right now. What do you want, sweetheart?" 

He wants to be safe. He wants to feel good. He wants the softness and sweetness that he never gets, let alone after something bad has happened. And he wants to be small in the wake of that. "Daddy," he whispers, his face going so hot with his shame, terrified that he can't have this either. 

Tomura's smile makes his eyes warm too as he leans over him, his hand shifting so that he can push his hair from his forehead. The kiss he presses there feels like a balm as much as his medicine did against his hurts. "You're doing such a good job for me, baby boy. Lift your hips a little more." 

He does and Tomura makes sure the thin fabric doesn't rub against any of the welts as he pulls his panties down his legs. Dabi kicks out of them when they're low enough and then he chances reaching for Tomura, getting one hand in his hair that is as thick and soft as he's always wondered. He lets himself be pulled up, but when Dabi wants a hard, messy kiss to reassure him that this is something he can have, he's instead given one that is so soft and achingly tender that it makes him breathless. His whole body gets a little warmer as Tomura kisses him, his hands moving lightly over his skin, stroking up his thighs before he shifts over him.

 Dabi almost whines, but he feels him reaching and hears the rustle of plastic as he finds the bowl on the side table that holds the variety of lubes that are in every room for the club-goers' use. Tomura picks one at random and brings his other hand up to tear it open, and when he wraps his hand around Dabi's length, his glove glides across his skin and makes Dabi's toes curl with pleasure. The touch there, after the pain from before, after denying himself even earlier, makes him gasp, wrapping his arms around Tomura's neck to keep him close as he touches him. 

He moans, his hips moving, trying to get more of that good sensation after a night of bad. "Daddy," he pleads. 

"I've got you, baby boy." He murmurs, pressing a kiss softly to the seam aching under one of his eyes. His fingers move over him, making sure to rub along his ladder and around his head, bringing Dabi's pleasure higher. He whimpers when he tightens his thighs around Daddy's hips and it makes his hurts ache a little. But he doesn't have to hurt for long. Tomura immediately shifts so that he has one hand under his hip, lifting Dabi's weight a bit and moving it higher on his back, making sure that none of the welts are rubbing against the sheets and that he doesn't have to try to get him closer, not when he's holding onto him, his legs supporting his lower half. And letting him feel Daddy's cock is getting hard too where it's pressed against him. 

Tomura doesn't pay his own arousal any attention, his hand moving deliberately over Dabi's cock, searching and finding every place that makes his pleasure sharper. His body is already so exhausted from the night, that it's not hard for him to get lost in the feelings, for his head to start to float into that soft good space that makes him love being a sub. And when he moans and tries to move into the pleasure, he doesn't get yelled at, he doesn't get hurt, instead Daddy gives him more kisses. 

"There, you're doing such a good job, baby boy. I'm so happy that you're letting me help you feel good, sweetheart. You're so pretty when you're blushing like this." And the words put more of that needy, squirmy heat in him through the heavy fog rolling in. He twists his wrist as he strokes him and Dabi moans loudly, hips jumping up into the touch. Daddy sees how much he likes that and he keeps doing it on each stroke, making him shiver and tremble, moans spilling off his lips and his fingers tugging at Daddy's suit jacket as his cock leaks. 

It only takes a few more of those tight, perfect strokes before Dabi's back is arching again, smoke curling out of his throat, as he cums, spilling all over Daddy's hand and his own stomach. He gasps, trembling against the sheets as that bliss soaks through his veins and leaves him absolutely boneless. 

"Perfect, baby boy. You did such a good job for me. I'm so proud of you, precious." He starts to shift, reaching for another wipe to clean him up and even floating, Dabi knows he doesn't want to get cleaned up yet. He doesn't want to stop. He wants Daddy to make him feel so good that he doesn't even remember the welts against his thighs. 

"Daddy," Tomura pauses and Dabi struggles to find more words, "More? Please?" He tries to be careful, making sure to only put pressure on the inside of his thighs as he tightens them around Tomura's hips. And then he rolls his hips down, breathless when he feels how big and hard Daddy's cock is. 

"Are you sure, sweetheart? All I want is to take care of you. We don't need to do anything else." He reassures him, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

Dabi knots his fingers in his jacket a little tighter and pulls at it, nodding. "Green. Please, Daddy?" 

"Of course, precious. But if you change your mind, if you don't like something, all you have to do is tell me, and then we'll be all done, okay?" 

"Mmhm," he mumbles, pulling at his shirt again. 

Tomura gives him another kiss, and then only partially disappoints Dabi because he does have to move away if he wants to strip himself of his clothes, the fabric getting tossed item by item onto the chair until he's only wearing his gloves. Only what he needs to make certain that Dabi is safe before he moves back between his legs and kisses his lips again. Dabi loses himself in that, his hands now getting to move over all of the pretty pale muscles that have been hiding under his clothes. 

Daddy's hands move over his skin too, touching his chest, pushing his chains out of the way so that he can play with the rings through his nipples, and over his sides, down his stomach, up his thighs. He goes slowly, his mouth going across Dabi's jaw and along his neck and collar bones, looking for places that make Dabi's skin go warm again. When his hands go lower he opens his legs wider, when his fingers, slick again from more lube touch him tentatively, he gasps, "Green," again before they start to move against him. 

He has to keep one arm around the back of his neck, still scared of being tossed aside while he's getting so close to the perfect floaty place he rarely ever gets to find, but the other knots back against the sheets, needing something else to hold onto. Whimpers and moans spill past his lips as Daddy circles his hole until those nerves are prickling with need. When his first finger presses in he feels gone, as the pleasure aches through him as his cock starts to harden again. 

Tomura opens him up with the same deliberate, gentle movements as he did to soothe his hurts and by the time he has three inside of him, moving against his prostate, he is near tears again from how good he feels this time. "Tomura!" He can't help the sounds spilling from him, his cock pressing against his stomach and drooling fresh pre from how needy every touch is making him. "Tomura, Daddy, please, please!" His nails bite into the sheets and the back of his neck. "Please, I want it, please, want your cock." 

"I'm going to give it to you, precious, just have to wait a little longer." Tomura gives him another kiss before he shifts again, pulling a condom from the bowl of them and Dabi waits with breathless impatience for  him to get it on before he's pulling him back in, and shifting to help him line up. His head rubs against his hole as Tomura untangles his fingers from the sheets, catching that hand and threading their fingers together. Before he can feel overwhelmed from the tenderness of that action, he starts to press inside and Dabi is lost in the stretch of him inside. 

It feels like it takes an eternity for him to be so deliciously, perfectly full. Tomura presses more soft kisses across his face as Dabi pants and whimpers, every breath makes his nerves sing like his whole body is trying to make up for the agony from earlier by amplifying every flicker of pleasure. He's hazy with it as he demands, "Green, Daddy," when he can't possibly stand to wait a second longer for it to get even better. 

Tomura breathes a laugh against his skin, leaning back just enough so that Dabi can see him smile. See his pretty eyes looking at him like he's the whole world. "Okay, baby boy, but you know what to say if it's too much?" He nods weakly and Tomura gives him another kiss as he starts to move. 

Dabi has never had sex like this before. He has never been so deep in the cloud of his subspace, never been touched like he was something precious. He has never had someone moving inside of his body, doing everything they could to make him feel good the way Tomura is. He makes sure that he's rubbing against his prostate, going at a slow, deliberate pace that keeps from putting any hard pressure against his seams or bruises, and he doesn't lose his patience with that. He keeps fucking Dabi so carefully instead of chasing his own pleasure, and he looks at him, holds his hand, like this is all he needs. Like seeing Dabi falling apart under him is all he could ever need in the world. Like he's not a burden, not an inconvenience, not an employee, but something... precious. It all makes his head so messy in such a different way than before that Dabi is smoking again as his quirk heightens alongside his pleasure. 

He is so hazy that he doesn't know how long Tomura is moving with him, kissing him, his hand tightening against Dabi's as they both build their ecstasy higher and higher. But Daddy's fucking him slow, so it must be a while. He doesn't know if it matters though, because when his cock starts to ache again, his balls going so tight, and just before his orgasm pulses through him again, he finds himself squeezing their interlocked hands together a little tighter. 

"Tomura," his name is a gasp and he's not expecting the other to whisper back, 

"Dabi," like he's the most important thing in the world. He really doesn't mean for that to push him over the edge, his body thrumming with pleasure that goes even higher as Tomura bottoms out inside of him as they cum together. Dabi doesn't think he's ever managed that with a partner either, but his fog is far too thick for him to care as Tomura captures his lips in another all-consuming kiss. 

///

They lay in bed together for a while, Tomura pressing more kisses and praise into his skin until Dabi stops trembling with his pleasure. Until his fog rolls back from his mind and after the night he's had, all he can do is feel exhausted. Tomura didn't bother taking off his watch when he was getting ready to fuck him, so Dabi catches the edge of his glove and pulls on it so he can see the time. 

"Fucking hell--" he starts to sit up out of the circle of the other's embrace as he realizes it's dawn. He started his session at eleven. "God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" His stomach sinks. Fuck, fuck, he cause so much trouble for the club tonight and then he'd fucking slept with his boss. 

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Dabi." Tomura tells him immediately in the same even tone as he did before, with the same warmth in his eyes. "Are you feeling better?" 

He hesitates, taking stock of himself now that his head doesn't feel nearly as out of sorts as he had since he dropped. "Yeah... thanks for taking care of me." 

"Of course--" 

"No," he pushes a little harder, straightening his spine. "You didn't have to do that. You could have left me to deal with it myself, you could have called the cops and let me come down barely-clothed in a police station. But you made sure to take care of me here, and treated the bruises. Thank you." 

Tomura doesn't dismiss the words this time. "...You're welcome, Dabi. Is there anything else that you need?" 

"A shower, breakfast I guess, and the patience to deal with cops and heroes for a couple of hours if I decide to report that douchebag for assault." 

Shigaraki's expression darkens. "This room has a bathroom attached. If you want to go clean up, I can go get your day clothes from your locker and bring them in for you. I can't offer much as far as food goes, but I might be able to help ease the stress of the last part." 

Has Goto been held here the whole time? He'd asked if he wanted to go to the police earlier, but Dabi hadn't been thinking clearly enough to put that statement into any more context. "Okay." Tomura hesitates a second, and then leans in and presses another kiss to his forehead. 

"I'll be right back, firefly." 

///

Dabi goes and takes a shower, and by the time he's finished and dried with the towels that smell sharply of the detergent used to make sure they're clean, Tomura is all buttoned up again and Dabi's day clothes are waiting for him along with another soda, bottle of water, and a bottle of Tylenol. He takes the pain meds, downs the water, and dresses. If he goes to report this then it's going to be a long fucking day to start without a lick of sleep. He should have asked for an espresso martini, though he doubts that any of the bartenders are even still here. 

When he's dressed, white t-shirt, leather pants, leather duster, boots, and his backpack with his medicine, heels, and club clothes inside, he figures there's no putting this off anymore. 

"Okay, let's deal with this fuckwit." He says with more bravo than he feels. 

"If anything is too much, you just have to say the word, and I'll deal with it, Dabi." 

"I appreciate that, Shig, but you can only fix so much." 

Tomura doesn't stall anymore and they leave the private rooms, going through the main area of the club. It's not that unusual for Dabi to be leaving after closing, but it's definitely later than he usually leaves. He's never seen the club completely empty, even the janitorial staff having finished for the day and abandoned it. They go out of the main area and into the hallway of red rooms, and Dabi startles to find the second room on the left has been roped off with velvet barriers because the glass is gone. Dabi pauses, staring at that gaping nothing that's letting him see that the room has been thoroughly cleaned and reset even though he doubts anyone will be using it until the glass is back in place. 

"What happened?" He doesn't remember hearing any glass break. 

"I was in the main room when I noticed the commotion. I didn't want to lose time by running around to the back hallway." 

"You broke the window?"

"No," he says, continuing to move down the hall. "That could have sprayed you with glass. I decayed it." 

"You're insane." Dabi barely manages to say through his thick throat. 

"When I took over this club I said I would make it a safe place for everyone who comes to indulge. I'm not about to let one of my staff, one of my best members of staff, get hurt here." They leave the hall and Dabi doesn't know what to say to that, so he chooses to remain silent. 

Tomura takes him down the service elevator, unlocking the buttons that lead to the basement level with a key and Dabi is a little concerned. He didn't know anyone ever went to the basement levels for anything. But once the elevator is moving again, he reaches back for Dabi's hand and laces their fingers together again, bringing them up so that he can press a kiss to Dabi's knuckles. It puts a warmth, a comfort in his stomach that he's never had the luxury of before. They take the long ride down and when the doors open, Dabi finds the winding pipes and cords that he expected of a place that holds the guts of the skyscraper. Tomura coaxes him out into that tangle of piping, and Dabi follows carefully behind, his quirk sitting hotter under his skin. 

He's led around two corners before they reach a doorway that Tomura knocks on once. He hears a couple of locks being thrown and then the door opens-- revealing Jin, who sees him and immediately breaks into a smile. 

"Hey, Dabs, you doing better?" 

"...Yeah." He wants to ask what exactly is going on, but the other man moves out of the way so that they can see into the room and Dabi bristles, smoke getting trapped behind his teeth as he sees Goto, a gag in his mouth, and his arms cuffed behind him with dampeners where he is strapped to a metal chair that's been bolted to the ground. "What--" Tomura pulls him into the room gently with their entwined hands. 

"Like I said before, we can call the police if you want us to. You have a written contract and a lot of eye-witnesses that will prove that he was in violation of that." He lets go of Dabi's hand to go over to Goto. The other is glaring, his teeth bared as much as they can be around his gag, and Dabi notices that part of his arm is gone. The cuffs are hooked above his elbows because on the right side, everything from the forearm down is gone. And Dabi sees a dangerous thing in Tomura's neutral expression as he takes off his glove, resting four fingers against the back of the chair. "Or we can take care of this now." 

"'Take care of' how?" But the coldness already starting in his gut is answer enough. 

"My quirk doesn't leave anything behind for anyone to find. There isn't even DNA in the dust." He doesn't say it outright, but there's no mistaking this proposal for anything but what it is. And immediately Dabi thinks he should be scared. For as gentle and caring as Tomura just was with him, he can and has, apparently, killed people before. He is dangerous. But he is watching Dabi with that tentativeness from before. Trying to make certain, he thinks, that Dabi is alright just like he has all night. "Jin already sent a double on his way with both arms intact. He can go around living his life until he gets hurt and when that happens, there will be nothing to trace it back to you. You'll be safe, Dabi. No matter what." He promises. 

He'll be safe, he thinks, even if they do go to the cops. He'll be safe, have a club full of witnesses, and his contract-- and he knows that they still won't care. Muscular will get a slap on the wrist, if anything, and then the next time he wants to get his rocks off, he'll go find someone else who isn't in a club full of people who care about what happens to each other. He'll find someone desperate, helpless, and alone, and he'll go further than he could with Dabi-- if he hasn't done that already. "...Your quirk works on anything?" 

"As far as I'm aware." He replies evenly. 

Dabi takes a step forward and Tomura waits. Goto glares at him with his one working eye. Looks at Dabi like he can't understand how someone as low as him could possibly warrant anyone bothering to care about what happens to him at all. It makes that shattered thing inside of him sharpen into something with teeth. He reaches for his face, a flame already in hand and grabs on. 

He can't go hot enough to turn his skull to ashes, not without his seam hurting badly, but it is immensely satisfying to hear him screaming around the gag as it melts over his teeth and tongue as his eyeball boils in his skull. He takes a step back when his hand starts to hurt, and Muscular is still thrashing in the chair, letting out muffled screams. 

Tomura lets it go on for a few more seconds before he catches a part of his arm where the fire hasn't spread yet, and holds on. He screams until he crumbles away. When there's nothing on the chair but dust and the air is filled with the lingering, unpleasant scent of burning hair, Tomura steps around the chair, pulling his glove back on deliberately. Jin slips out of the door, though Dabi sees him lingering outside of it. 

"There. He can't ever hurt you, or anyone else again." He starts to move closer and Dabi takes a step back. 

"Red." The word stops the other man in his tracks, hurt flickering across his features. He takes a deliberate step away from Dabi and doesn't come any closer as he finds the rest of his voice. "...You could though," he says, feeling the prickles of anxiety under his skin. Fuck. Fuck, what did he just do? He might have gotten rid of that bastard, but Tomura owns him now. Even more than he already did. 

"I wouldn't. Not ever, Dabi. If you don't want to work here anymore, then you're free to go. If you'd like a letter of recommendation or a referral to any of the other clubs in this area, I'd be happy to provide it. If you want to stop doing private sessions for a while, then that's alright too. If you want, you can put on some classes-- or you can dance if you want. Kenji mentioned that you two have been practicing together. I can be your boss again," and Dabi doesn't expect the way that makes something go sharp behind his ribs. "Or I can be... nothing to you." 

Dabi hesitates, but Tomura keeps his distance and he can't find even the slightest hint of a lie in his eyes. He just sees them sad and worried, the same way they were when he saw how badly he'd been broken. And Dabi wants them warm on him again the way they had been when he'd held his hand as they came. It's probably wrong, probably insane, but Dabi thinks he could be very happy with Tomura, even knowing that he would destroy the world if it hurt him. He hasn't ever had someone who would take care of him. He's certain Tomura will unless he tells him to stop. And.. he knows now that Tomura will stop if he ever tells him to. 

He's the one who crosses the space between them. "I want a week away," he demands breathlessly. "You don't call, you don't check on me, you don't mess with my profile. You let me leave, knowing I could go to the cops." He catches the lapels of his suit, hands hot with barely contained flame. 

"I can do that, firefly. But," Dabi's stomach sinks, "you need to go up and see Atsuhiro to get your pay for the week. I don't want you to leave without it if you decide not to come back." 

Dabi pulls him into a hard kiss.

///

When he comes back to V a week later, his locker is exactly as he left it, and he doesn't see Tomura until he's getting ready for the consultation. He walks in and finds the other holding himself with his spine straight, looking at his tablet with a furrow in his brow. 

"Dabi, welcome back. I'm sorry, I'm having some kind of technical difficulty. Your bookings for tonight aren't showing up on the schedu--" He catches the edge of the tablet and sets it aside before stepping right back into his space like their last kiss was a minute ago and not a week, and gives him another. 

Tomura goes still against him before his hand wraps around the back of Dabi's neck, his other arm going around his waist, and he kisses him back like he's the only thing that matters in the whole world. Like he's trying to tell him that he'll never be broken again. 

"Canceled them. Just want you to take care of me." He breathes when they part. 

Red eyes go surprised before warming. "I will for as long as you'll let me, firefly." Tomura promises. Dabi seals those words between them with another kiss. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, consider leaving a comment!

[prodbymaui]

Burberry.

I see you wearing burberry, my favorite brand

PAIRING: jung jaehyun x fem!reader

GENRE: infidelity; father's best friend; porn without plot

WC: 3k+ words

WARNINGS: age gap, explicit content, mentions of saliva, cum eating, oral sex, reader's a vixen istg, unprotected sex (cover your stump before you hump!)

SYNOPSIS: Your father was happy to have you agreeing on paying a visit to the Jung manor, specifically to your future fiancé Jung Sungchan. What he didn't know was you travelled to meet a different Jung. At least he resembles Sungchan a lot, no?

A/N: dilf jaehyun? ceo jaehyun? why not dilf ceo jaehyun fucking you against his expensive table?

NOW PLAYING... MONROE BY TAEYONG !

Nonchalant munches of greens from your lunch echoes the quiet dining. Despite uncaring of what's happening around you, the stares coming from your father bothers you more than you want to admit.

Your fork clashes the plate. ''Okay, what is it?''

Clearing his throat, Seojin sits up, prim and proper. ''Why don't you go and pay Sungchan a visit today? At the Jung Manor. It'll only be appropriate for you to develop a bond with him as your engagement nears.''

Ah, of course. Back at it again with that 'get close with Sungchan, you'll need that once you finally get married to him' bullshit. Your father is a man of many things and letting you make your own decisions is not one of them.

Scoffing, you mumble under your breath about how he never allowed you to have a boyfriend yet here he is forcing you to marry someone you can consider as a stranger if it's not for knowing his name and his basic informations.

Knowing well that any objection will earn you a month of being grounded, you reply with a sigh. ''I'll go now then, better spending it with the love of my life instead of wasting it doing nothing.''

Feeling as if you would die if you spend any second more in the dining, you pat down the napkin against your lips. Bidding him a goodbye-- the voices in your head lets out a vomiting sound, not fond of acting sweetly to your father.

Your heels clacks the tiled floors, an oversized white chanel sunglasses covers your eyes.

''Jaehyun will be there to confirm your presence.'' His voice lace with sternness. Almost giggling at his words, a smile of mischievousness appears when you turn your back on him.

Oh, Seojin bets his best friend acknowledges his daughter's visit.

A cheerful chatter distracts Jaehyun from the work he is currently doing, the voices sounds too familiar and one of them stirs curiosity inside him. It isn't long before the door of his office opens just as he expects, revealing you clad in your all pastel pink outfit that consists of a bralette, a-line skirt, knee-high socks and mary jane pumps. All those topped with an oversized pink fur coat from burberry.

The man pays no mind, fingers continuously signing the stack of papers in front of him, not even giving you a single glance. You chuckle. This sight isn't new to you, acting as if he isn't affected by your presence, ignoring you as if he wouldn't sock anyone's jaw if he sees them looking at your way. Jaehyun likes playing the strong, conscious clear man.

But certainly, out of people, you know that this act doesn't even last long. Disappearing just as quickly as they came. A brush of your hand against the skin of his thigh is all it takes for Jung Jaehyun to crack, so you did just that.

The sheep stops pretending to be a wolf, crumbling into pieces the moment you settle yourself on top of him, the warmth of your clothed core pressed right directly to the area beneath his belt. A subtly sound of thud pricks your ear, that must be his pen. Sooner, Jaehyun's palms are already snaking their way up to the flimsy piece of fabric that is hiding underneath your fabric.

A smile of amusement and satisfaction shows itself on your face. Jaehyun had never been good at keeping up his facade, pretending to dislike all the things you do to him only to end up drooling in greed the moment you let him touch you the slightest. You figured out the older man much earlier than he expected. He pushed and pushed you away with his so called determination, so fabricated that it was too late before he realized he had you spread out on his bed, pussy dripping in wetness as you beg him to fuck you with his big cock.

''Seojin texted me,'' What a sentence to greet you. If you are to be asked, you'd prefer not mentioning your father right now. Spreading your hands on his chest, you beam at the firmness, licking your lips as you lean to his neck, nosing and inhaling his scent. ''Thought you were here for my oldest son.''

Shaking your head and rumbling a no, you nip the pale skin lightly, closing your eyes when his hands reaches the cheeks of your ass to squeeze, parting them which sends you shivering in his arms as the cool air coming from the AC pans your wet panties. The build up of tension feels like killing you-- You came here for a good fuck and not to be coddled like a newborn baby. Jaehyun knows that well.

You also had learned, over the course of years fucking up your dad's best friend, that Jaehyun gets off of torturing you. Men like he is, they love to parade their power over people, letting them know they are capable of making them feel things only they, themselves, can reprimand. Too bad for him, you've studied Jaehyun enough to realize you hold the same exact power over him as well. You brings out the vulnerable in him just as he knows which buttons to press to weaken you.

Leaning back on his chair, arms on either side with his legs wide open, radiating such dominating aura. Jaehyun rakes his eyes to drink your appearance in, biting his lips as he takes off your sunglasses. ''Dance for me, darling.''

Holding on to his broad shoulders, your hips sways in an enticing way, fingers going through your strands as you hold them up to reveal your neck, inviting him to dig in. If Jaehyun did an attempt of hiding his hunger for you, he's surely bad at it.

Smirking, you place your hand behind you, the chair is close enough for you to settle your arms on Jaehyun's oakwood table. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, the bump in his pants comes in contact with your clit through the fabric as you grind forward, hard nipples evident on the bralette.

Presenting yourself fully in front of him, Jaehyun's definite that you're one hell of a devil. A vixen sent to tempt him, seduce him and lure him to a one-way ticket to hell. One would say he should've resisted, he should've been a loyal dog to Seojin like his best friend was to him. But even loyal dogs strays away with a mere sight of a bone, don't they?

You get off of his lap, standing in front of him as you move slowly, waving to the sensual music only the two of you can hear. Turning your back against him, your lace panties peek after the hem of your skirt, if Jaehyun tilt his head a bit, he would see the full view of the white delicate fabric barely covering your ass.

The fur coat pools around your feet as you brush it off your shoulders slowly, Jaehyun crosses his legs, eyes burning holes to your dancing figure. The older man curses when your bralette comes next, throwing it somewhere far where can only be found if one searches. As you bend over his table, presenting your ass to him-- Jaehyun decides it'll be the last straw. His grip goes from the flesh of his thighs to the curves of your waist, shoving you to his table with crotch pressing against the crack of your ass cheeks.

You'd die if you don't get that dick inside any of your hole now, so you waste no time grinding on him, moaning wantonly like those porn stars that teenagers loves to jack off. Jaehyun lets out profanities. The walls aren't too thick as they look, he hopes covering your mouth tightly will send a signal, or a warning. Whatever way it is that you decode his message.

He makes you face him before he shoves his tongue inside you, licking across every surface, devouring every piece of you. The act receives a gasp from you, arms circling around his neck while trying to keep up with his pace. One of your breasts gets cage by his hand, fondling them as his lips travels to the hardened nipple, biting them a little before licking the sting away.

The lids of your eyes becomes heavy, mouth opening to catch breathes you couldn't do within your nose due to an overwhelming build up of tension. His head remains locked inside your embrace as you arch your back, a hand in his hair didn't know whether to pull away or push him impossibly closer to you.

A yelp escapes your lips when you're, so suddenly, on your knees. Jaehyuns stands before you like a God-- large, domineering, and powerful in all sorts of matter. You're just there, at his mercy with your teary eyes and hands properly on your thighs, waiting for him to instruct you like a puppy. The slender fingers fumbles through his belt and sooner, the length and girth above average is already in front of you. A tug from your hair pulls you out of your trance, meeting Jaehyun's sharp and questioning glare when you look up.

''Suck.'' If your father gets the chance of seeing this, it'll be unbelievable for his eyes. He won't be able to fathom the idea that only a word from his best friend would have you scrambling obediently.

Ever so cruel Jung Jaehyun didn't even offer the slightest bit of signals nor gestures, tugging your head backwards as he shoves his thick cock in your mouth. Thank heavens you've lost your gag reflex a long time ago, courtesy of endless practice, because if not-- both of you would be grimacing at the sight of vomit on the floor.

Jaehyun moves inside your throat like it's your pussy he's fucking, indifferent to the slight pain he's inflicting to you, pricking tears in your eyes. He pays no mind to the struggle on your face, the tears running down that pretty features, honestly it even makes him harder if possible. There are codes and specific actions you both had agreed on so it doesn't worry Jaehyun to be harsh on you. The man knows when to stop. The man knows your insides are screaming in glee.

His eyebrows quirks upwards as one of your hand disappears from his vision, the difficulty is soon replace with pleasure, and he doesn't have to be a genius to find out what goes on. Scoffing mockingly, his grasp tightens, your cheeks coming in contact with the skin of his pelvis area. Muffled sound of surprise vibrates on Jaehyun's cock when he forces a foot between your legs, placing it just right where your soaking wet core sits. Embarrassment fills you, blood flushing your cheeks as you desperately moves against the older's leg, eyelids flickering to the new found pleasure.

Bobbing your head in a way of thanking him, Jaehyun hums in satisfactory, hips meeting your head harshly. The more thrusts he does, the deeper he gets in the back of your throat. The fabric of Jaehyun's black pants darkens at an area, your jaw goes slack as you caress his balls, earning a groan from him that ensures you're doing well. Well enough for him to come down your throat without much of an effort on your end.

Jaehyun pulls you up, sprawling you out on his table. If someone questions the name of his dinner, your name would be the one to be oozing out of his lips. Gasp leaves your lips when the ripping sound pierces your ear drums, eyes widening. Jaehyun is nonchalant to your reaction. He only digs in like a starved man, hot tongue diving in your velvet walls while his hands keeps your legs firmly open.

The pink muscle explores the insides of your core more than it did in your mouth, slurping sounds echoing the four walls of the office. You'd be lying if you deny that your horniness levels up. Jaehyun plunges two fingers without a warning, lips encircling your clit next as he sucks on the bud while searching for the spongey spot that irks you a feeling of euphoria.

Today must be your lucky day. It isn't usual for Jaehyun to be this eager, treating you like an antique vase that got passed down from generations to generations. However, none of those manners shows themselves. It seems like Jaehyun now wants to break the glass vase into pieces, crushing it with his hands until there's nothing left but shards that looks like ashes.

''Jae-- fuck!'' Your head thrashes, hands reaching for air before landing on the edges of his table, gripping them as you hold on to the last bits of your sanity. Hips jerking upwards feverishly, making a mess on Jaehyun's vogue magazine worthy face. It must be the desperation or the friction you've been receiving since earlier that causes you to finally let go, enabling the older man to have a taste of your sweet juices. Jaehyun is once again humming in satisfaction.

But it's not yet enough, no. He won't be sated, not until he finishes with your pulsating pussy stimulating his release. That intense work outs pays off as Jaehyun transfers you to his window, face greeting the glass in a harsh press. His eyes darkens when he sees your expression. Did you just fucking smile?

A slut, that's what you are.

The clutches of his hand stays on the back of your neck. Your legs folds almost completely as the thick shaft enters you abruptly, sending you to clench at the unexpected penetration, mouth forming an 'o' because of how deep it is-- your smile widens even more.

Clenching, drools, or simply; a mess. Those are the words Jaehyun would say to describe your current state. To have you going jelly over his cock, to have you moaning and thrashing for him-- Jaehyun almost wishes he gave in sooner. Maybe he would've enjoyed this sight more often rather than the annoying nags of his wife, whom he never loved-- their relationship was supposed to be all business not until their parents demanded an heir.

The thought of the irritating wife fuels your desire of leaving your marks on Jaehyun for her to see. For her to remember that Jaehyun had never been and will never be hers. For her to be reminded that Jaehyun only loves one woman and that's not the one he married.

Whimpering helplessly, your nails digs in to the skin of Jaehyun's thighs, legs shaking violently to his rough thrusts, even getting on your toes uncontrollably. It's electrifying, the pleasure you're getting. No words can amount to how Jaehyun fucks you with so much passion, as if he'd taken up a sex related major in college instead of business.

Your head spins as you feel yourself flying away, reaching your own euphoria, tears once again racing down your cheeks, throat so fucked out that you are lessen to a babbling mess. A slap across your ass cheeks sends your jerking, high pitched moans near to seep through the doors and let everyone know the activity shared by the two of you, even the 3 year old Yuna. God, poor baby Yuna.

''Jaehyun! Yes, yes, yes.. fuck, yes!'' What are you even saying yes for? Is Jaehyun fucking you so good that your brain got mushed up? Did the honored, top of the class student became a dumb, whimpering mess? That stirs pride inside Jaehyun. He's gonna make sure that you'll never seek sexual pleasure from those college frat boys again, he'll make you realize that you only need a man to feel what a good sex is.

Merciless thrusts continues despite the clear weakening of your legs, arms catching your waist to hold you up. The ringing of his phone diverts his attention for it, smirking mischievously as he proceeds to answer the call.

''Ah yes, Seojin-ah!'' He must be fucking sick in the head, conversing with your father while his brutal pace messes up your insides, tip continuously bumping against your sweet spot that creates white spots in your vision.

''Of course, of course. The kid is here-- she actually looks like she's having fun,'' It's partially true. Your tongue lolling out and eyes crossing doesn't mean you're not enjoying, right? What's causing you to have fun though, your father doesn't need to know about that.

''Yes, would you like to talk to her?'' Jaehyun bites back a laugh when you try your hardest to shake your head albeit drunk on his cock and strings of saliva appearing at the sides of your lips. ''Ah, that's too bad. I'll talk to you later then? Alright, you take care.''

Dropping the phone to the nearby chair, two of his fingers chokes you, making you spit out more.

''Did you hear that, darling? Your father is looking for you, worried that you might've disobeyed him and went out to fuck one of those little frat boys again. Say, is he gonna be proud if he knew his daughter is no longer getting fucked by a hormonal kid? or is he gonna burst out in anger once he finds out that she turns into a desperate slut in the hands of his best friend?''

He groans loudly and with a slight change of his angle, your vigorous movements becomes a telltale sign of your climax. Legs stretching as you stay on your toes-- a white ring forms around the girth of Jaehyun's cock, his moans getting louder as you clenches down on him due to overstimulation.

The inconsistent rhythms of his bucking and the harsh grip around your waist, Jaehyun's cum fills you like a dam. He rides his high together with yours, sharing an intimate and full of tongue kiss as you hear Sungchan's sigh behind the door.

Chuckling at your future fiancé's complains, Jaehyun helps you dress up. ''At least hurry up for a bit, the devil's just arrived. I don't want to deal with her annoying ass again.''

You shake your head at his words, describing his mother as a devil? Pfft. ''Like father, like son, huh?''

''What can I say? Sungchan takes after me. Especially in terms of taste in women.''

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The flight makes you restless. It’s more than just the confinement but the company. Each time your hand wanders up to fix your shirt, it’s swatted away by another. You wince as you look at your boss, his eyes glued to his phone screen. 

You fidget and cross one leg over the other, then switch. You crane to see the baggage crate and push yourself to your feet. Before you can stand straight, you’re wrenched back down. 

“Where’re you going?” Stark challenges. 

You wince and shake your head, “just... to get my laptop. I was going to do some work.” 

“Did I tell you to do that?” 

“Well, no, sir, but--” 

“I’m your boss so you work for me. You do what I say.” He puts his phone down on the table and shifts to look you up and down. “If you’re getting up, why don’t you get your bikini and show off for me?” 

“Huh.... what? Er, sir?” Your lashes flutter and your eyes skitter back and forth. 

“Yeah, sure. Gotta make sure it’s hot tub appropriate.” He winks and nudges you. 

“Oh, uh, but...” 

“But?” He sucks his teeth and the humour drains from his face. “Do I need to report you for employee insubordination? Ha. But who exactly do I report you to? I mean, the CEO doesn’t really have anyone above him so...” 

Guilt tugs in your cheeks. You can’t admit your mistake aloud, yet you can’t defy him either. You just nod and stand. You walk slowly across the cabin. You’re not used to the floating sensation that makes you feel heavy at the same time. 

You grab your bag and unzip it. You sift around for the black one-piece.  

“Gotta try it on to get the full effect, sweetheart,” Stark snickers. 

You do up the bag and put it back. You cringe and sidle toward the bathroom. The attendant emerges from behind the curtain and you quickly hide inside the tiny compartment. You roll the door shut and look at yourself in the mirror. You look just as terrified as you feel. 

It’s just the way Stark is. He doesn’t like being refused or any glint of defiance. It all stems back to that day when you got in the way of his fun. Really, it’s your own fault. You should have been patient. You should have waited before you just ran right in. 

You turn away from your reflection and ice flows through your veins. Once he’s thoroughly humiliated you, this will be done. Or you could quit. In mid-air. Without a way home. 

Shoot. 

You switch out your business attire for the swimsuit. It’s been so long since you put it on. It’s tighter than you remember. It pulls high along your pelvis and your bottom threatens to fall out completely. You feel little better than naked. 

You face the door and gulp. You amp yourself up to emerge and when you do, you nearly collide with the attendant. Oh god! As much as you want to retreat and hide behind the door, you can’t. You’re locked in place until she disappears behind the curtain. 

Mr. Stark whistles in his seat. You approach, hands hovered over your ass, and stop just beside the leather armrest. You do your best to conceal yourself behind the empty seat. He reaches for his drink and swigs. 

“Can’t see you like that,” he chirps as he considers the dark scotch. 

“Sir... I...” 

You choke down your protest and step up. You turn to face the table and shiver as he looks at you from the corner of his eyes. He frowns at you and his cheek dimples. 

“What the fuck is that, George?” 

“Um, my swimsuit--” 

“That isn’t a bikini.” 

“I know, sir. I don’t have--” 

“I pay you enough to afford one. Don’t act all innocent with me. Turn around.” He spins his finger and you blink. You shake your head and pout. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

He snaps his fingers. You look at the window and the clouds outside. Even if you had the strength to run, you can’t. So, you do what he says. 

“Move your hands,” he demands. You pull your hands to your side and bounce on your heels. He hisses through his teeth, “whoowie, Georgie cakes, that’s a hell of a keester.” 

You quickly twirl around and clap your hands to your bottom. You sputter, “Mr--” 

He snickers and bites his lip, “come on. Put it on me, George.” 

“Hm?” Your brow furrows. 

“Don’t give me that dumb look. It makes me horny so get over here.” 

He squares his shoulders as he leans back into the leather cushion. He drags his hands up and down his pants and wiggles his hips. He purrs as he looks down at the twitch in the fabric. You inhale and hold it in until it aches. 

“Sir?” 

“Sit.” 

You turn and shift between the seat and the table. You reach back to touch the armrests to lower yourself but nearly tumble. Stark yanks your wrist and forces you in front of him. Before you can get your balance, he has you by the hips. He pulls you in his lap and wraps his arms around you. 

You wriggle and push on the armrests. “Mr. Stark, this isn’t... appropriate. This... you said... a work trip?” 

“I’m working,” he tilts beneath you. The blunt prod makes you squirm. “Hard. Lot of work to keep from blowing right now.” 

“Huh?” You try to stand but he has you trapped in his arms. 

“Keep rubbing your ass on me like that and I won’t be able to. Relax and... enjoy the flight.” He keeps an arm hooked around you and eases back. You tense as his hand spreads across your stomach, fingers petting just above your pelvis. He pulls you back and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“Grab my phone for me, will ya?” 

[thetriumphantpanda]

where have all the good men gone? | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Three

Chapter Summary | A date, supposed to get your mind of Javier, goes terribly, and he's the only person you can think to call that will make anything better.

Chapter Warnings | Mutual pining, slow burn, sexual tension, flirting, alcohol consumption, protective!Javi, misogynistic comments (not from Javi), (1) man being a pushy douchebag (also not Javi), swearing, mentions of the drug trade - nothing else I can think of.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3k

Authors Note | I am truly having the most fun with these two and I hope you're enjoying their story so far! Things are definitely going to be heating up soon, so please hang in there, it'll be spectacular when they finally do get spicy with each other! If you're enjoying this then comments, asks and reblogs are my lifeblood and if you'd like to support me further, please consider a donation to my  Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

“I promise he’s good fun,” Liv’s voice speaks through the phone, cradled to your ear by your shoulder as you skim through your wardrobe, “Nice, and age appropriate.” She teases. 

“Shut up,” You grumble, still annoyed that you’ve allowed her to talk you into this at all, “This is still a terrible idea.” 

“You were the one complaining about Javier Peña being a bad idea,” She defends herself, “And you also could have said no, too late now.” 

You sigh because she’s right. You’ve been trying for the past week to convince yourself that finding someone else might make wanting Javier go away, even just a little bit. Someone your age, not entangled in your family dynamics, or at least you’re hoping anyway. Liv had suggested someone she knew from work, a nice boy, two years older than you, his head screwed on, a managerial position at work. Sensible. 

“I have no idea what to wear.” You groan down the phone, there are plenty of dresses you could choose, but somehow, it feels like this person you don’t know doesn’t deserve that of you. 

“Put those jeans on,” Liv speaks, crunching coming down the phone line, clearly she’s snacking like she always does, “The tight ones, makes your ass look phenomenal, and the lowest cut top you own.” 

“Liv,” You chastise, “I’ve never met him before, I’m not fucking him tonight.” 

“I didn’t suggest you did,” She chuckles, “Just give him a taste of what’s to come.” 

“Unbelievable,” You mutter, but follow her advice anyway, pulling out a shirt that cuts low, scooping out your jeans from the drawer, “Right, I gotta go and get ready, but if this is awful, you’re entirely to blame, okay?” 

“Hearing you loud and clear girl,” She chuckles, “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Goodbye!” You chuckle, hanging up. 

It’s still light out, so you opt to walk to the bar in town. It’s not all that far, and the air has cooled enough by the time you leave that it doesn’t feel too stiflingly hot. The bar is not one you would have chosen, one of the more upmarket establishments in town. You wish you could go back to your normal dive bar, with its slightly sticky floor and the smell of fried food. You give him the benefit of the doubt though, maybe he’s just trying to impress you and you can’t fault him for that, can you? 

Liv told you he’d be sat at the bar in a blue shirt, and there’s only one person it can be when you get close enough, “Victor?” You ask, stood next to him. 

“The one and only,” He smiles at you, standing from the barstool to give you a hug, which you allow, “You look hot.” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, sitting down on the stool next him, noticing a drink already there for you, it’s a cocktail, bright pink, and you know you’ll already hate it, and you do when you take a sip, wincing as the fruity blend moves down your throat, “Oh, it’s very sweet.” 

“I thought it was a safe option, most girls love this drink.” 

You’re tempted to make a comment about this clearly being his favourite place to bring his dates but you bite your tongue, working through the necessary small talk as you try and drink it as fast as you can so you can choose something you might actually enjoy. 

“So, Liv told me you’re a journalist,” He comments, sipping his glass of whiskey, “What kind of things do you write?” 

“I mainly cover news about the drug trade and how that affects the town.” You explain, taking the last sip of your drink, flagging the bartender down. 

“Pretty morbid,” He shrugs, ordering himself another whiskey as you opt for a margarita, “Surely a girl like you should be writing about fashion or something.” 

You scoff, “So I can’t write about things that are important to our town because I’m a woman?” 

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” He tries to backtrack, “Just that it’s intimidating, is all, might put people off,” He chuckles then, “Although not me, like my girls with a bit of personality.” 

You roll your eyes and don’t even try and hide it as you sip at your margarita, much better, you think. It carries on like that for another hour, Victor and his thinly veiled misogyny and his boring, surface level conversation. He tries at some point to put his hand on your knee, but you jerk away, moving so he can’t touch you. 

“You want another?” He asks when you finish your third drink, “The night is still young.”

“No thank you,” You say, trying to be as polite as possible, “I have work tomorrow so probably best to head home.” 

You try and insist that you pay for your part of the bill, but to his only credit, he insists on covering the tab but does then try and wrap his arm around your waist to walk you outside, which makes you want to hit him more than anything. 

You stand next to him on the pavement outside the bar as the doors close behind you. You can still hear everyone else talking inside, but you have no idea what to do. You want to go home, but it’s dark, and you know you’d told your dad that Victor would walk you home, but you don’t want to spend another minute in his company. 

“So, am I gonna get my goodnight kiss?” He asks, trying to take hold of your wrist to pull you into him. 

He’s stronger than you, so he does sort of succeed in pulling you into his body, but you manage to put your palm against his chest to push him back. 

“I don’t think so.” You cringe a little, trying to lean back as far as you can with his hand pulling your wrist. 

“You’re joking right?” He scoffs, “I paid for your drinks, try and be interested in what you said and you’re going to refuse me?” 

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” You speak, trying to talk the situation down, “I just don’t think this is gonna work.” 

“Don’t need to tell me,” He snaps, “Such a fucking tease turning up dressed like this, but you’re really just a prude.” 

“Oh fuck off man!” You try and push him again, succeeding in doing it enough for him to let go of your wrist so you can put some distance between you, “I don’t owe you shit.” 

“Forget it,” He turns around and walks away, leaving you on your own, “Probably would have been a shit lay anyway.” 

You’re tempted to call back but realise it’s not worth it, so you let him wander off, leaving you on the sidewalk on your own with no idea what to do now. You would walk home, but if your dad see’s you on your own, he’s going to kill you for being silly enough to walk home alone after dark, and then find Victor and kill him too for being a jerk. 

You slump against the brick wall of the bar, rooting through your bag, there’s enough cash to go back in and get a drink and try and calm down a little, then, your fingers brush against the card you’d slipped in there a few days ago. The name and the number, and the few coins in the bottom of your bag, draw you to the phone box at the end of the street. You’re putting the money in and dialing before you can convince yourself it’s a silly idea. 

He picks up on the third ring. 

“Peña.” It’s so formal. 

“Javi?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level, but ultimately failing. 

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing he asks, and he sounds frantic. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, I just-” God this seems so stupid now, mainly because you don’t want to admit you were on a date, you don’t want to make yourself seem unavailable to him, “I was on a date and it didn’t go well, he was meant to walk me home and well, I don’t want him to, but I don’t wanna call my dad.” 

“He hurt you?” He seems cross, protective even, which makes your tummy flutter. 

“N-no,” You sigh, “He got pushy when I wouldn’t kiss him but I’m fine.” 

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the phone, can hear the jangle of keys, “Where are you?” 

“I’m at the phone box at the end of Grant Street.” You say, you’re about to speak again when Javi beats you to it. 

“Stay there, go inside a store or something and wait for me, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” 

“Okay,” You nod, like he can see you, “Javi?” 

“Yeah, querida?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare,” He scoffs, “Never apologise for needing my help, okay?” You can hear the sound of his truck engine in the background, “I gotta hang up to drive, but I’ll be there soon, promise.” 

“Okay,” You sniff, “Thank you.” 

You can hear the dial tone before he can reply, so you hang the receiver back up and head into the liquor store on the other side of the road. You smile at the clerk, who asks if you need anything, you shake your head, tell him you’re just waiting for someone and then spend the rest of the time looking out of the window. 

He’s parking up in a worryingly short amount of time, and as you walk from the store you worry that he put himself in danger driving so fast to get you. He’s opening his door and climbing down from the truck. As soon as you’re close enough, he’s got his hands on your shoulders, searching your face to make sure you’re alright. 

“I’m fine Javi, I promise,” You insist, holding gently to his arms, giving him a smile, “I’ve probably overreacted.” 

He lets his arm drops and signals for you to get into the truck, following swiftly, “If he made you uncomfortable it’s not an overreaction,” He speaks, turning the truck back on and pulling away, “He still around?” 

You shake your head, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” 

It makes you wonder if he means good because he won’t bother you anymore, or good because it means he won’t be tempted to do something about his blatant disrespect. You decide not to probe that one, but file it away for later. You’re driving down the street when your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you’ve not eaten since lunch. 

“You hungry?” 

“I could eat,” You mumble sheepishly, “I’m sure there’s something at home.” 

Javi nods, but drives straight past the turning he would need to take you home, driving straight on instead and turning off a little later. You’re about to ask where he’s taking you when he pulls into the parking lot at McDonalds. He parks up and tells you to stay where you are. 

You watch him as he walks away, perfectly broad back, shirt tucked into his jeans. He really is a vision in every way when you look at him. He’s striding back out a little while later, brown paper bag in one hand and a soda cup in the other. He passes them both to you as he climbs back into his seat. 

“What’s this?” You ask, taking a sip of the cold soda. 

“Cheeseburger, extra pickles and a Sprite with extra ice.” 

Yet again, he’s managed to amaze you with his observation skills. There was a time where he’d taken a trip with you and your parents, just a day out of town somewhere, and you’d stopped to get food on the way home, you’d made this exact order, turned to him and told him it was your favourite, and somehow he’d filed that away for right now, when you needed it the most. 

“Thank you.” You speak simply, reaching in for the burger, unwrapping it carefully before taking a bite. 

Javi can’t help but watch out of the side of his eye as you eat. God, you looked beautiful. Jeans that looked like they’d been painted onto your skin, showing off all those perfect parts of you. A shirt that was enticing without being too much. Fuck, he wanted to reach over, use his thumb to wipe away the tiny bit of sauce that had gathered in the corner of your mouth, push it into your mouth and let you lick it off his thumb. 

You ball up the wrapper your burger had come in once you’ve finished, dropping it into the paper bag, picking up the cup of soda to suck the Sprite through the straw, “You alright now?” He asks. 

You look at him, small, sad smile on your lips, “Just can’t help feeling there’s something wrong with me.” You shrug, offering him a sip of your drink which he declines. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, wanting to reach over to you, put a comforting hand on you, but deciding against it for now. 

You shrug a little, leaning your head back against the seat, “No-one ever looks at me in that way, I suppose,” You answer honestly, and he wants to tell you it isn’t true, that he thinks of you exactly like that, no matter how much he shouldn’t, “I’ve been with one guy in my whole life and I don’t think he ever really liked me, was only with me because I was the only one left out of my friends.” 

“Did he say that?” 

“He didn’t have to,” You shrug again, “He never really made an effort, never took me out, never really wanted to sleep with me much either, I guess I was just easy for him,” You say, “Convenient.” Is what you finish on. 

“It isn’t you,” Javi speaks, turning his head to look at you, resting it against his seat in much the same way you are, “First of all, college boys are always idiots, don’t let that be your base line,” You snort and turn your head to look at him now, “What did tonight’s idiot do?” 

You shake your head at him, “He was just a misogynistic asshole,” You add a shrug, “Apparently because I’m a woman I should write about fashion and not anything that actually matters.” 

Javi scoffs, because in his experience, women make the best journalists, quiet, unassuming but they always knew how to pull strings and get what they wanted and he doesn’t doubt you’re the same, “Take it as a compliment,” He offers, “Sometimes it’s best to intimidate boys, and the ones that you don’t?” He asks as a rhetorical question, “Those will be the men worth your time.”

You chuckle a bit, rolling your head on the headrest behind you to look back out of the front of the car, “You’re just saying this to make me feel better.” 

Javi reaches over, takes hold of your hand and gives it a slight squeeze before he’s letting it drop again, almost like he’s been burnt, like he knows he shouldn’t have done it, “I am saying it to make you feel better, that’s the whole point, but it’s true,” He shrugs a little in his seat, “Don’t feel like you’ve got to rush into that side of life either, you’re still young, there’s plenty of time for you.” 

You hum in agreement because you know he’s right, it’s what everyone always says to you in these circumstances, but somehow, coming from him, it means more. He’s older than you and although you’ve no doubt that he’s known plenty of women in his time, he’s in just the same predicament as you are. 

“Will you take me home?” You ask softly, “I’m tired.” 

He nods, starting up his car, pulling out of the parking lot and finally driving you back home. 

He pulls his truck up just down the street from your house, far enough away that your dad won’t be able to see, but close enough that he knows he’ll be able to sit and wait to watch you get in safely. He cuts the engine and turns to you, giving you a soft smile, trying to tell you that it’ll all be okay. 

“Thanks,” You speak softly, “For all this, made a shitty night not so bad in the end.” 

“Always,” He smiles back, “I mean it when I say you don’t ever need to worry about calling me.” 

“I know,” You smile, and he feels his heart swell at the sight, “Well, goodnight Javi.” 

He doesn’t really register what’s happening until it’s too late. You drag your body across the truck instead of moving to the door to open it and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It would be innocent enough if it wasn’t for the fact your lips press into the skin just far enough away from his mouth so as not to cross a line, but not right in the middle of his cheek either. It’s the softest way he’s been touched in a long time, and he can feel himself wanting to grip onto you, smash his mouth to your own and finally scratch the itch that’s sitting under his skin. 

You pull away, but before you can open the door, he’s taking hold of your wrist and moving closer, pressing his own kiss to your cheek right back, further up your skin than you had done to him, but it’s a kiss to your skin none-the-less, one that floods his chest with hope, a feeling he hasn’t really felt in years. He keeps his mouth there probably for a little longer than he should, committing the feel of your skin on his mouth because he knows this is as far as he should push things, but he also knows that he now needs to know what the rest of your skin feels like under his mouth. 

He pulls away and when he looks at your eyes, all full of hope and want, the same look he’d seen countless times in Colombia, whether he was promising a visa or led next to someone in bed, and he knows he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged these kinds of feelings, but he’s done it now, he can’t take it back, wouldn’t want to if he could either. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, querida,” He says softly, “Nothing wrong with you at all.” 

[pixie-bby-airia]

Who Would’ve Thought?

Summary - Soap and Gaz spot their usually silent teammate giggling her ass of in front of their usually stoic lieutenant and they can’t help but watch in confusion.

Warnings - None

“Gaz - come ‘ere” Soap gestured at the soldier, his eyes fixated on the strange sight he’d been witnessing for about 2-3 minutes now. Gaz tilted his head in slight confusion but complied - now mirroring soaps gaze as they both took a moment to see their stoic lieutenant and the quietest member of their team having a nice chat.

To be clear - neither Men had ever heard the shorter of the pair interact with anyone else on the team before, and while she was sweet she was inexplicably silent. But here she was, stood in front of the most hard to talk to man on the squad and she appeared to even be giggling.

“Who would’ve thought aye?” Soap chuckled - “the mouse and the big cat are apparently pretty good friends” Gaz couldn’t even begin to respond - a little too confused to think.

————————————

Ghost smiled beneath his mask - pretty proud of himself for getting his team member to let out a cute laugh - apparently she was not one to shy away from his darker, dry humour.

He understood why they’d given her the call sign Bambi now, you could only see her big doe eyes, lashes long as they blinked up at him - she had the rest of her face covered by a black mask. While this was the usual, it was only now he was fully paying attention to her features.

The two hadn’t interacted many times before - however he could safely say this is the closest anyone else on the squad had got to talking to her. She would usually give a smile, well what could be seen as one from the squint of her eyes and light crinkle of her skin. Aside from that she mostly communicated through hand signals - to the rest of the team anyway, however her and Simon had a few conversations by now, mostly about work but sometimes she’d reveal a little bit about herself, and for once Simon was actually interested in what she had to say.

In particular he can recall one time when she revealed some of her favourite music to listen to - now whenever she’s wearing her headphones around base he imagines she’s most likely listening along to her favourite artists - holding back a dance and singing along in her head.

“You’re very funny LT” Her voice was sweet and soft - a gentle vibration compared to his gruff gravely tone. His smile returned again - enjoying the praise. “I think we have an audience” she whispered. Eyes gesturing subtly over to the Sergeants and their obvious stares from across the room.

Simon made eye contact with soap who raised his eyebrows and grinned before scattering away - muttering something about giving the couple some privacy. He heard the small giggle come from her again.

The feelings she was stirring up within him were certainly not appropriate - especially considering his role as her lieutenant. Could anyone really blame him though?

[mayakern]

Why....why are the sweaters 3/4 sleeve??? Personally I would totally get a black sweater (or white tbh) but I can't vibe with a 3/4 sleeve (for a few reasons, mostly various sensory/attention problems) so i was wondering why that choice was made and whether there's any chance of a full length sleeve being made in addition or instead? But also I'm curious as to exactly what kind of fabric it is? Is it an anti-pill material? (Pilling is one of my fabric enemies)

so first off, this as is about the lace collar sweaters that will be hitting the store later this year. you can watch the full video here, but i’m including screenshots as well for those of y’all who don’t want to watch the video.

2nd, i get that everyone has personal preferences, but this was unnecessarily rude. you’re not going to like every decision we make, and that’s OK, but if you’re old enough to use a credit card to buy things online, you’re old enough to realize that product decisions you dislike were not made to personally gall you.

there were a few reasons we chose to do 3/4 sleeves, but the primary reason was that 3/4 sleeves work better for a variety of arm lengths. a 3/4 sleeve will look good whether someone’s arm is shorter or longer than average, whereas a full length sleeve can easily be too long or too short for the person wearing it. we also didn’t want to do short sleeves because at the time the only other shirt we had in production was the wrap top, which has short/cap sleeves.

we do have some full long sleeve shirts/sweaters in planning/in production that we have not shown off yet, but currently we do not have plans to make a long sleeve version of this particular sweater because we have no idea what sales will look like. if these sweaters sell well and there’s considerable customer demand, we’ll consider doing long sleeves. if these sweaters sell poorly they will not be returning to the store, period. we are a small business with limited funds and we cannot throw infinite money at the wall.

last, the fabric composition is 62% polyester, 33% viscose, 5% elastane. we tested a lot of fabrics for this sweater, and this was the only one that felt right. its appropriate thickness (not super thin, but not super thick, so that it can easily be layered under warmer garments or worn solo without causing you to overheat), the cute ribbing, and the texture/feeling (which don’t aggravate my textural sensitivities as an autistic person with very sensitive skin) were all just right.

we’ve also done a number of wash tests and did not encounter any issues with pilling. in general, if you take good care of our garments, that is not going to be an issue from our current manufacturer, who have demonstrated time and again that they prioritize quality labor and material that is made to last. the reason shein products fall apart isn’t because they’re made of polyester: it’s because the sewing is rushed and the fabric fibers are low quality and often have a looser knit or weave, which makes them more prone to damage/falling apart on a structural level.

as for pilling specifically, pilling is actually the fabric breaking. looser weaves/knits are more prone to breakage because they are more open and cheap fabrics are often made of looser weaves, which results in more pilling. but even a high quality material can pill under the right (or wrong) circumstances. when fiber is wet, similar to hair, it is more vulnerable to breakage, and washing machines with agitators (the big thing in the middle of some washers) are really really good at breaking your fibers, thus resulting in more pilling.

anyway tldr the sweaters shouldn’t have any pilling issues if you treat them right and full length sleeves are not likely to happen but are not totally impossible.

[vamphorica]

MellodraMattic and Queerness: An Essay

Before I begin, I need to make it clear that my thoughts on this subject are directly inspired by this post by overkeehl. I not only recommend but insist that you read it before continuing, as I am going to be exploring a small component of the greater idea that they have already established. Essentially, I am taking the idea of Mello's character being queer-coded and developing it in regards to how MellodraMattic becomes a very validating ship in the context of marginalised sexual and gender identities.

I am also going to touch on internalised queerphobia, so consider this as a warning if that's not something you fancy reading about.

Anyway.

Mello is a distinctly queer character. I don't say this from an entirely projective approach because I think there are plenty of examples throughout Death Note where Mello's visual presentation and characterisation signifies it. His androgyny is the most explicit indicator of nonconformity in relation to traditional gender expression. I fondly remember when I first read Death Note, aged ten, and was convinced that Mello was a girl for several pages. Suffice to say, Mello's appearance is rather ambiguous, making him an adaptable character for one to project queerness onto. We will go into more depth on this later on.

It is also worth mentioning that Mello's style is quite camp. I love the way he dresses and only wish I had the confidence to pull off his outfits, but they are also very ridiculous and inconvenient. One of my Top 10 Mello Moments Ever is when he tails Mogi and Misa, wearing this:

Those sunglasses are doing absolutely nothing to keep him out of sight, but I appreciate the fact that he obviously thinks otherwise. He simply must serve cunt to the detriment of the task at hand.

If I have not convinced you that his style alone is a good hint that he is a queer character, even in the most general sense of the term, there's plenty within Mello's character context that isn't exactly subtle in how he is portrayed as evidently nonconformist. I do think you have to be careful not to equate certain traits with queerness when it may not be appropriate to do so (after all, there's many characteristics relating to neurodiversity that can be identified in those who originated from Wammy's House, and while I won't get into the whole discussion about the overlap there because it's not my place to do so, I also think it would be an interesting subject to explore).

However, it is completely understandable why a lot of queer people see themselves in Mello. As a child, around the age that I think many begin to explore their sense of self, Mello's identity is ultimately threatened by L's death. He is confronted by the prospect of working with (accepting) Near in order to catch Kira. Instead, he runs away, and the narrative that follows is of a man tied up in complex feelings relating to his identity as a 'runner-up'. To put it simply, it conveys queer grief very well — Mello struggles with the fact that who he is as an individual does not align with the expectation that Wammy's House instilled in him from a young age. Similarly, some queer people may find that they must contend with accepting an identity they had been discouraged from exploring as children.

I think for many queer people seeing themselves in Mello, this sense of shame that can be identified as internalised homophobia or transphobia is unfortunately a common experience. It can take a long time to recognise, let alone challenge the societal standards that have been deemed 'normal' or 'correct'. Mello encapsulates this disconnect well in the sense that his goal to defeat Near as a means to prove himself as a worthy successor to L is doomed from the beginning. He was never meant to be the one to become L, and yet he runs straight to his demise in his desperation to receive recognition from an institution that he could never succeed within. I am not suggesting that all queer people go through this level of intense self denial when exploring their identities, but I think it ought to be appreciated that through Mello, there are a plenty of parallels that reflect the complexities of discovering your sexuality and gender identity.

Additionally, if you'll excuse me posting two rather grim examples of objectification in the manga, it is worth noting that Mello, in close proximity to two naked women, does not seem remotely interested in their bodies, which might suggest a queer identity on a very shallow level. I do think, given how misogynistic almost all the male (and some of the female) characters in Death Note can be, Mello is notable in the sense that he doesn't actively discriminate against the female characters. He treats both genders like shit. Feminist icon.

Mello is very easy to project an assortment of queer identities onto. For what it's worth, I headcanon him as bisexual and FtM, but I know you are not reading this essay for my personal projections. You can consider Mello as MtF, asexual, gay, nonbinary — all of these identities can easily be validated within the canon context because Mello is so versatile while still being a developed and nuanced character. His story mirrors so much of the struggle that queer people contend with, and while I think it is a massive shame that it isn't resolved, I think that in itself only exemplifies the complicated nature of identity.

So, where does Matt come into all of this?

It is important to remember that Matt as a character was created for Mello. In the main series, it isn't even mentioned that Matt is a Wammy's kid, this information only being revealed in 'Death Note 13: How to Read'. However, this is crucial knowledge because it conveys the very essence of what makes MellodraMattic so great.

I love Mello, I really do, but he is cruel and selfish, in addition to being arguably one of the most dangerous characters in the series. For those who might relate to him for any of the reasons I have given thus far, it is still important to understand that Mello is not a decent person. He is deeply flawed, and as much as I like to joke that his crimes are perfectly fine actually, I can still appreciate that he is not meant to be regarded as an 'good' character, even if he is on the right side as far as Kira is concerned. His behaviour is very much correlated with his sense of inferiority, so in this case, his identity struggles do not excuse his behaviour, but they can explain it.

Yet, despite all of this, Matt remains by his side, regardless. While there's a general consensus that the two were separated for some time after Mello ran away, they eventually reunite and work together. In these brief moments, we can still gain a good insight into their relationship dynamic from the way they speak to one another. For instance, Matt is cheeky in a manner that the reader would not expect Mello to tolerate. Yet the patience in how he responds to Matt's insolence almost appears uncharacteristic. I am of the belief that Mello is not a highly reactionary character, despite how the series tries to portray him as such, and this calm composure he is capable of can best be seen through his interactions with Matt.

There is a real familiarity between the two men that I don't think is comparable to any other relationship in Death Note. For example, in the image below, Matt is complaining about a task Mello has assigned him, one that isn't exactly difficult, and yet he's already distracted. Rather than get frustrated, a response we would expect from Mello, he answers Matt gently.

I appreciate these moments are few and far between (for fuck's sake, there's only two panels that feature the both of them) but I don't think I'm reading into it too much. I think they're genuinely suited for each other, which is, of course, because Matt was written for Mello. Their chemistry is dependent on the latter canonically.

Matt brings out the more approachable side of Mello because Mello does not see Matt as a threat that he must remain guarded around. If we as readers have become acquainted with Mello through his act of cruelty, albeit as a means of survival, we must assume Matt is familiar with this side of Mello, too. However, it doesn't deter Matt, nor does it scare him. Matt is completely loyal to the very end, and while such writing is perhaps a little superficial, I think it does emphasise the point that Mello has someone who will put his life on the line for him and God, I don't know. I think you have to read that as love to at least some extent.

Mello is a complicated character, with plenty of attributes suggesting that he is queer. This only further contributed to his plot line that centres an identity struggle, which speaks to those who fall outside of cishetnormativity. Unable to reconcile his sense of self with the expectations placed upon him, Mello becomes ruthless. Yet, in spite of these flaws, he has Matt. He represents a kind of hope, I think, that those who connect to Mello through his queerness and subsequent struggles can gravitate towards. A hope that there's someone who will accept every aspect of your identity regardless, that there will be someone you can be yourself around.

To me, MellodraMattic is my favourite ship because I love Mello and Matt, and the way in which they interact with one another. It is also that initial identification with Mello, that makes Matt's character and their relationship more meaningful, an example of the fact that there'll always be someone who not only accepts, but loves you, regardless of the mess.

I think that's beautiful. 🍫🎮