#and it was a new pathetic green man

[king-crawler]

The only good line in ralph breaks the internet

[deadsetobsessions]

Bruce “Sad Wet Cat of a Man” Wayne meets Danny “Sad Wet Cat of a Teenager” and immediately adopts him. A prompt? A fic starter?

——

This was pathetic, Bruce groused, wringing his cape under the mostly effective shelter of an awning. Amity’s rain was somehow more potent than that of Gotham and it managed to soak the waterproof fabric of his cape. This was not scientifically possible.

Bruce refrained from giving into the urge of slamming his head backwards into the wall.

“You’re new in town, aren’t ya?”

Bruce subtly startled, head swiveling over to the presence he somehow hadn’t detected. His heart gave a little squeeze- and, uh oh, that’s the squeeze he got when he adopted his kids. Bruce was self aware enough to see where this was going, but as usual, he was helpless to stop it.

Batman slightly dipped his head. How did the child know?

Like he read his mind, the teenager nodded. “You look like it. We know everyone in Amity. And you’re new. Tourists.” He chuckled, brushing the weird rain out of his hair. “And, you’re soaked.”

“This is waterproof,” Batman growled.

“Yeah, in other places of the world, maybe,” At Bruce’s questioning look (not that anyone other than liminal could have figured out his friendly intentions via the scary glare he had on), the kid elaborated further. “but you didn’t get Amity-made textiles. They’re made to last in any weather.”

“This is rain.”

“Ecto-contaminated rain, yeah.” The kid sighed, one hand absently fluffing up his hair and getting rid of stray green-tinged water droplets. “I’m Danny. I guess I’m your Amity tour guide today.”

Well, Bruce wasn’t the type to turn down an advantage. If this was a trap one of his enemies made for him to stumble into, Bruce had to admit it was well made and well researched. He never could turn away kids, especially ones that had that edge of work weary exhaustion to them like Danny did.

Danny, as expected, tried to fill in the silence. Alfred's technique always worked. Even on Bruce himself.

"This is the mall, by the way. It's dead right now because you're here on a Wednesday during school hours." Danny smirked to himself.

"Why are you not in school then?"

"It's called skipping. Or, for you, I guess it'd be 'playing hooky,'" Danny sassed, making quotation marks with his hands. He was exactly like Dick.

Bruce felt his heart melt. Oh no. Alfred was going to be mad again. But... it was for a good cause! And besides, what are the chances that Danny'd be a crime fighting vigilante? Can't be that high, right? (Bruce conveniently avoided the fact that statistically, the chances of him adopting baby vigilantes were pretty much at a hundred percent success rate.)

"Hng." He grunted. Danny rolled his eyes. Like Jason and Damian and Stephanie. "Where are your parents?"

He had to get the important stuff squared away first.

Danny shrugged. "Come on. There's a fabric store that way. We'll make you a rain guard first so your stuff doesn't get wet."

Ah, classic avoidance. Danny sure reminded him of Tim. Bruce inclined his head. "Lead the way."

[landopoet]

devotion.

pairing teammate!lando x sainz!reader

warnings smut, alcohol mentions

synopsis things change between you and your teammate. you’re not sure if it’s a change you like.

part two of a two part series

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Clandestine meetings soon became you two’s most trusted secret.

The gentle touches, quiet whispers, longing glances and warm smiles were something you had grown to love. And your favourite part about it being secret? It was all about you.

In public, you’d pay no mind to Lando. During races, you’d still act like you hate him, still try and cause trouble on the track. But in private, where the only set of eyes on you were the green irises of the man you love, you’d be the centre of attention.

Lando’s hands wouldn’t touch you the same way in public as they do in the enclosed space of his driver room, hotel room, or your home. And that excited you.

You liked being secret. It was something sacred just between the two of you.

You liked it so much, you started to hate it. Maybe it was just the fact that Lando took you being a secret a bit too far. Or maybe it was just his way of hiding your relationship, if you’d even call it that.

You just couldn’t understand him going out with another girl, but still ending up in your bed at the end of the day.

Especially when you had deleted every dating app, got rid of every memory of any guy you were talking to, all because you and Lando have the chance to become something.

Your hope of that lessens everytime you see rumours of him going out with girls. It’s never anything romantic, just him at a table with a new girl every other week, so it didn’t bother you as much.

The bubbles in your hotel bathtub were softly caressing your skin when you saw the picture.

Casually scrolling on your phone in the bath as you waited for the conditioner to absorb into your hair, you made the horrible decision of clicking on that tempting X icon in the top left corner of your homescreen.

The first post? A picture of Lando’s tongue down a girl’s throat.

For the first time in a long time, Lando was the reason for that burning and disgusted feeling in your stomach. It felt like it was making its way up, the feeling getting caught in your throat as you type something out into a tweet, shut your phone off and drop it to the floor.

Even when you weren’t looking at it, the picture was burned into the back of your eyelids.

The mere image of his hands on her waist— the same hands he touched you with— was enough to make you feel that hatred crawling back.

As if on cue, your phone started ringing and the contact was none other than Lando himself.

“Hey, darling.”

You rolled your eyes at the familiar pet name. “Hi, Lando.”

Shuffling was heard on the other side of the call, you could only assume Lando was still in bed with the girl from that picture. “What’s with the tone? No ‘Lan’, no ‘baby’?”

“Sorry,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Stressful day.”

Lando chuckled. “Baby, we work at the same place. I’d know if you were off because of a stressful day. What’s wrong?”

You hated how he knew you inside and out, yet to you he had glued himself shut and you can’t pry yourself in.

“I don’t know.”

A sigh brushed past Lando’s lips. He knew why you were in a mood, and it didn’t exactly excite him to do that to you. In all honesty, he didn’t even know why he did it. It just happened, and you’re technically not together, so he thought it wasn’t a big deal.

The call stays silent for a minute or two, both of you trying to come up with what to say. Lando speaks first. “Come to my room. 304.”

“Lan, I’m no-” He hung up before you could even respond.

You finished your bath, hoping the water washes away whatever feeling was brewing in your chest.

The view of yourself in the mirror made you feel pathetic— why were you sulking over some guy?

It wasn’t even anyone special. Just the guy you’ve been in love with for about as long as you’d known him. The guy, who confuses you beyond words. You can’t help but try to decode whatever lies in the gaps and the silence, yet having no luck.

Despite being confused and frustrated, you dried your hair and changed into your PJs, and locked the hotel room behind yourself.

Lando’s room was just across the hall, the fourth door from yours.

This all felt too familiar, only fuelling the confusion and fear in your chest. It suffocated you, the notion that despite you being Lando’s, he wasn’t entirely yours.

Yet you still spent the night with him— slow and borderline loving, careful hands travelling your body and hungry lips trailing your neck.

And in the morning, the sun just above the horizon, you slipped from Lando’s grasp and found yourself crying away your mascara before it’s properly dried.

The black taint stained your cheeks, dripping down your chin and onto your sweatpants. You felt partly relieved to know Lando’s having fun. You’d hate to be the one to stop him from going out and finding other girls.

But that’s also what made you partly heartbroken.

It’s not even about you being hurt, it’s about other girls being replacements for each other, not knowing that you’re just like them— aching and breaking for someone that doesn’t see you the same way.

Your phone dings with a message as you wipe your tears away.

Lando: Don’t like morning cuddles anymore?

A giggle slipped past your lips before you thought to catch it, and you quickly typed up a reply.

You: I have a breakfast thing with Carlos.

You: Knew I’d probably ditch it if I were to cuddle you awake.

Lando: Will I see you at the party tonight?

Lando: DJs booth, just the place to be :))

You: I’ll think about it.

Except that you already had. You decided to go, more so for yourself than for Lando, but the thought that you’d get to spend more time with him sure was a bonus.

You continued on with getting ready as you called your brother and asked if he wanted to get breakfast. He instantly agreed, and you changed into something more casual and comfortable than the tear stained sweatshirt and mascara stained sweatpants.

Carlos was waiting for you in his car.

When you got in, he immediately felt something was off. Ever since you were little, it seemed like he had some sort of telepathy with you. Whenever you were sad, Carlos was there and comforting you.

He’s not sure what exactly is wrong right now, but he knows you need your big brother.

Carlos presses a few buttons on the control panel of the car and the sound of your favourite song plays. Your head turns to look at Carlos with an appreciative look on your face, a small smile adorning your lips.

You watch as he starts driving and turns the volume up, slowly beginning to dance along to the song as he mouths the lyrics. Soon, you broke out of your sadness and sang along with your brother.

This was exactly why you never gave up. Him.

Carlos has always been a great brother. You were still very small when you realised that. And everyday, every year, he proves that to be more and more true. Like when you were fourteen.

That year, the taste of heartache became familiar on your tongue.

It was the first time you had felt the touch of a male. It still lingered weeks after it happened. You felt loved and cared for, until you didn’t. Carlos was there through all of it, comforting you and threatening to beat that guy up for you.

Even though he was as protective as he could be, your heart kept breaking. It fixed itself, glued each broken shard back together, only to shatter again.

The flavour of love soon tasted more bitter than sweet. And you’re starting to feel the same way at twenty-four.

Minus the heart breaking and fixing itself part, but the flavour of bitterness still lingered on your tongue as you tried to wash it down with orange juice.

“Is it good?” Carlos points to your caesar salad with his fork, mouthful of scrambled eggs muffling his voice.

You poke at your food with a fork and shrug. “A bit bitter, but it’s fine.”

Carlos laughs at that, as he grabs your plate and switches it with his own. “The scrambled eggs are a bit… difficult to chew. But it’s better than croutons and whatever else is in this.”

You watch your brother take a bite of the salad, immediately making a face and trying his best not to spit it out. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” he says, through a faux pained expression. “It’s delicious.”

“I bet it is.”

Laughter came so easily when you were with your brother.

Carlos made you laugh so much you’d feel your abdomen grow sore with every giggle and laugh that escaped your lips. And Carlos loved seeing your eyes form into crescent moons, knowing that he’s still able to somehow make you feel better.

“Are you going to the party?” Carlos asks as you get out of his car, back at the hotel.

“Yep,” you shrug. “I don’t see why not.”

Carlos gives you a look as if he knew something, but said nothing about it. You brushed it off and made your way to the lobby. You ask for your key at reception, take the elevator to the fourth floor and as you’re about to unlock room 301, Lando’s hotel room door opens.

You don’t turn around to look, because you expect it to be Lando and you’re not sure if you want to talk to him right now. But what makes you whip your head to the left is the sound of a female giggle.

There she was. Same brown hair, same tan skin, same beautiful figure. Identical to the picture you had seen on twitter.

It made you sick to your stomach. Especially when you could see Lando’s head peeking out to kiss her goodbye, and you swore you could see his eyes focused on you. Though you can’t be sure, because as soon as you saw his curly brown hair, you were stepping into your hotel room.

It takes about fifteen minutes for you to calm down and for Lando to knock on your door.

You opened it expecting it to be room service, but Lando slipped inside before you could close the door on him. “You’re avoiding me.”

“I’d have no reason to, even if I was.” You shrug as you take a seat on the bed. Lando squats down in front of you, the palms of his hands flattening on your knees.

He rests his bearded chin on the top of his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I already told you,” you shrug, before leaning back to push yourself up on the palms of your hands. “I’m stressed with the races starting up again.”

“You’ve been doing just fine, baby.” Lando reassures you. “You got second place, remember?”

“That’s the problem. I’m always in second place.” You’re not sure if you’re talking about the race or not anymore, but you mean whatever you said.

Lando leaned up to try and kiss you, but you turned away.

“And I think it’s best if we stay friends.”

That hit Lando right in the gut. He felt his chest constricting under the weight of your words, all the air being squeezed out of his lungs as each word plugged his airways.

“What? What do you mean?”

You shrug. “I want to focus on my career.”

Lando runs the palms of his hands across his face. He’s not sure why, but he has a feeling it’s got to do with the girl who left his hotel earlier. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I guess.” You shrug, sitting up and looking at him. Lando now stood on his feet, looking down at you as his fingers softly grabbed your chin.

He lifted your face up to look at him, thumb softly brushing past your bottom lip. As if it’s a habit, your lips parted and he smirked.

Lando knows you don’t mean it. You know it, too. You just needed a reason to get a break from him, even though you really don’t fucking want to.

Lando sits beside you, the familiar warmth of his hands wrapping around your waist and next thing you know, you’re on his lap. His lips don’t hesitate to kiss away any thought of you two staying just friends.

As much as this relationship hurt you, it was irresistible.

You longed for the lingering taste of Lando’s saliva mixing with yours, the warmth of his hands perfectly slotted on your waist, the lasting vibration of his moans in your mouth.

And Lando longed for it just the same.

He couldn’t tell you why he was going out with a different girl every other night, for the past two weeks of you two being… something.

Lando’s not even sure himself. It’s just something he was used to, but these times around it just felt so wrong. Yet he couldn’t say no to those girls, until he’s sure you feel the same overwhelming feeling of love he has for you.

When you fall asleep in his arms, Lando fights the internal battle to stay with you. But he knows it’s for the better if he leaves before you wake up.

The warmth of his body still cradles the sheets he laid in when you get woken up by a call.

You swallow down the bittersweet feeling in your throat before picking up, slumber still lingering on your tongue. “Hello?”

“Morning, lil’ Sainz.” Daniel’s cheery tone tickles your ear as you turn on your side. “You hungry?”

You check the clock on the wall. Six in the evening never looked so bright, but again, you’re in Las Vegas and it’s never dark in the city that never sleeps.

“Sure, what do you have in mind?”

Daniel’s smile can be heard from a mile away when he talks and it warms you up inside. “Sushi or pizza, your pick.”

“Hm,” you sit up and stretch, finally letting Lando’s warmth slip away from your skin. “I’m feeling like sushi, to be honest.”

“Sushi it is! See you in twenty.”

And in twenty minutes, you were sitting on your hotel room bed, Daniel telling you stories about Max and you stuffing sushi into your mouth, trying not to choke as you laughed.

“Are you going to the party?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You ask, noticing how it’s the third time you’ve heard the same question.

Daniel shrugs. “I’m just wondering,” he explains. “Don’t know if I would’ve gone without you.”

Over the last few weeks, you and Daniel have become close. So close that he’s probably the only one on the grid that knows about the little situationship you have going on with Lando.

But Daniel never brings him up, not unless you want to talk about it.

“I’m going,” you answer his previous question. “I bought a dress for this specific occasion.”

“Care to show it?”

You bounced to your feet at his question and made your way to your suitcase, not noticing how Daniel’s eyes followed each of your moves. You pulled out a black dress before making your way to your bathroom and trying it on.

Daniel waited patiently as you got dressed, the sushi entertaining him until the bathroom door opened.

The sushi he held up with his chopsticks never made it to his mouth, stuck mid-air as he gaped at the image in front of him — a long, silk dress with a slit deep enough to reveal the tender flesh of your left thigh, your shoulders adorned by thin and delicate straps.

You giggle at Daniel’s reaction. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

The aussie briefly nods. “It’s gorgeous.”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. “Now, without pretending to be Lando?”

“It’s beautiful on you. Gonna make him drool,” Daniel grins at you. “My impression’s spot on and you know it.”

You giggle as you roll your eyes again, turning back around to the bathroom. The door doesn’t close shut this time, which prompts Daniel to rise to his feet and investigate what you were up to.

Leaning against the doorway, his golden eyes carefully watched as you dabbed on makeup. “Do you really need all that?”

“Yeah, you could use some, too.” You tease, leaning against the bathroom cabinet to get closer to the mirror.

“I mean,” you turn to Daniel when he shrugs. “You’ll be crying it off anyway.”

A used wet-wipe lands on Daniel’s crossed arms, him laughing and you threatening to throw another one. “Get out.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m picking you up in an hour, hopefully you’re done caking yourself in makeup by then.”

“Bye, Daniel.” You raise your voice as if to urge him to leave.

“See you, love.”

The hotel room door closes and you’re left alone again, thoughts of Lando quickly seeping back into your mind.

It’s like every time you tried to get rid of him, he found a way back in. And who are you to say no to him?

When you fell asleep in his arms earlier, the familiar scent of him clouding your mind, you felt it again. And as much as you cursed yourself for feeling it, you couldn’t help but let the feeling bloom in your chest.

Lando felt it too, and he felt it full force when he saw you walking into the club with Daniel’s arm around your waist. Yet the feeling of love in his chest was mixed with a tinge of jealousy. Or maybe more than a tinge, because his jaw clenched at the mere sight of your little dress swaying with every step you took.

“Everything alright, Lan?” Lando’s armcandy of the night mumbles against his neck.

His green eyes track you from across the club, narrowing in on you when you spot him and give him a small wink. “Perfect.”

You felt sick to your stomach at the sight of Lando and the same girl from earlier. His arm was gripping her waist in a way you thought was special to you and it made your skin crawl.

“You think he believed it?”

You turn to Daniel as he asks, sitting back in the booth you two shared. “I think so.”

“I can keep the act going, if you’d like.” He offers with a cheeky grin decorating his face.

You sip the margarita he had ordered for you, before smiling softly. “I’ll take you up on that, then.”

The night seems to pass you by as you get occupied in a conversation with your brother and his friends. Soon, the blasting music and fluorescent lights began to bore you, so you chose to scan the club for something to do.

When the dance floor catches your eye, you grab Daniel’s wrist. “Get up.”

The golden eyed man doesn’t utter a word as he gets up and follows you like a lost puppy, ready to go wherever you take him. He quickly realises what you want to do, his arm snaking around your waist in an incredibly familiar way.

Daniel feels your hand find the back of his neck as he pulls you in from behind, slowly moving your hips against his. It’s a platonic act, both of you know it, but at the moment, Daniel feels like it’s more than just a ruse to make Lando jealous.

Maybe, for the night, he could let loose and show you what a good man is. Maybe, if it all goes right, he’d get to take you back to the hotel, too.

He loses all hope for that when he notices your eyes scanning the room again, looking for the one and only man in your heart.

The man stood at the bar, green eyes carefully narrowed at the hand that’s slowly moving closer to your inner thighs.

He’s not sure why he’s so fucking jealous. It’s not like he wasn’t doing the same damn thing twenty minutes ago, hands exploring parts of the armcandy’s body they’ve never touched before. Lando feels like its fine only when he does it.

A gentle tug on his arm averts his attention elsewhere. Natalie, or whatever her name was, looked up at Lando with her big brown eyes. “Do you want to leave?”

Lando’s curls bounced when he shook his head. “No, baby.” You watch as he kisses her head, arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “You having fun?”

“Mhm,” she grins up at him, noses touching and the image slowly burns into your memory. You feel a spark of something inside of you, something that caused you to be more handsy with Daniel.

The sight of Daniel’s hands grabbing your ass, your arms tracing the outline of his pecs and Daniel grinning down at you with a look only you could get out of a man, made Lando’s blood boil.

The party turned less into a celebration for the race and more of a competition between you and Lando— both of you were trying to see how much the other could take until one of you inevitably had enough.

Lando didn’t seem to be phased at all, instead waiting for the moment you looked his way. His fingers curled around the short brunette’s jaw as he pulled her in, his tongue exploring her vodka flavoured mouth.

You watched them make out, anger and envy filling your system. You felt it pulse through your veins and it stopped the second Daniel spoke. “You might not like this idea, but maybe-”

“Kiss me.”

The australian blinks a few times, as if to try and make sense of what you just said. “What?”

“When Lando looks at us, I need you to kiss me.” You explained, arms wrapping around Daniel’s warm neck. You saw the blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Friends kiss, don’t they?”

“I mean, yeah.” He shrugs, an awkward grin decorating his pretty lips. “Sure.”

The song changes and you start dancing again, untangling yourself from Daniel and letting your own hands travel your body and raise your dress slightly, ass facing Daniel as he tries his best not to look at you too much.

But he couldn’t help it. His eyes seemed to be drawn to your figure, hands glued to your hips as you grinded on him again, back against his chest and faces inches apart. Daniel wasn’t even sure if Lando was looking, but he kissed you anyway.

His whiskey flavoured lips perfectly matched the taste of the margarita on yours, tongues fighting a battle neither of you will win. The kiss felt like something new, something you’ve never felt before and want to feel again, and again, and again.

To your luck, Lando was looking. He wasn’t just looking— he was burning holes into the back of your head with the intense stare he had on the image in front of him— his ex-teammate kissing his fucking girl.

Lando wouldn’t have that.

The brunette girl he was making out with earlier stands confused as her date peels himself away from her, making his way to the middle of the dance floor.

Daniel feels the warmth of your breath being torn away and the last thing he sees is Lando’s tight grip on your waist and your body following him into the bathroom.

The slam of the bathroom door is loud enough to scare whoever might’ve been in the neighbouring room.

You didn’t have enough time to comprehend what happened until you see Lando’s hungry eyes trailing your face.

“Hey, Lando.” A teasing smirk plays on your lips as you button up the third button on his shirt. “Button up, you look like a whore.”

The alcohol was obviously still twirling in your brain, but Lando didn’t care. “You’re one to talk, princess.”

You shrug. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah?” Lando stares at you, a fire so bright in his eyes that it burns you before he’s even touched you. “I’m sure you know exactly what I’m fucking talking about.”

The anger in his tone made you melt. You felt how much your teasing had rubbed off on him and the thought of him letting his anger out on you made you excited.

The bathroom door lock snaps when Lando’s fingers turn it, and the anticipation burns in your chest. It doesn’t take long for him to kiss you, lips attacking your mouth in a way you’ve never felt before.

Lando brings his hands to your hips, pulling you to sit on the edge of the marble countertop next to the sink. He traces his tongue along your jaw and neck, finding all the sensitive spots he had already memorised.

A loud whimper leaves your lips when he bites right above your collarbone, the tender skin turning red and teeth marks indenting it. Lando laps at the skin, groaning against it as if the taste of you was pleasure to him.

Lando slipped the straps of your little black dress off your shoulders, revealing your bare chest. He didn’t hesitate, tongue finding your left nipple and twirling around it.

“You lose yourself, darling.” He growls against your skin, pushing you further against the cabinet as your thighs dig into the edge of it. “Every time I’m not there to control you, you misbehave.”

“Mmm,” you groan as his hand wraps around your neck, softly applying pressure with his fingertips. You feel the air softly escape your lungs and the exhale is slow when you say, “misbehave?”

Lando bites back what he initially wants to say, a smirk decorating his soft lips when he notices the glimmer of lust in your eyes. “Little sluts like you never know when they misbehave, hm? Rubbing yourself all over my ex-teammate, kissing him… You thought I wouldn’t do anything about it?”

“I knew you would,” you smile, canines shining in the white glow of the bathroom lights. “I wanted you to.”

Lando narrows his eyes at you. “Is that so, pretty girl?” His fingers curl around your neck tighter, air hitching in your throat.

With one swift move, Lando pulls you off the cabinet and turns you around to face the mirror on the wall. It’s big enough that you can see your entire body and Lando standing behind you.

You’re too focused on the hunger in Lando’s eyes to notice him practically tearing your dress upwards, pulling your drenched panties to the side and slipping himself into you with ease.

“So fucking wet,” he moans, fingers digging into your hips so painfully that it feels good. “Was it me or was it Daniel that got you this wet, baby?”

A quiet moan leaves your lips as he stretches you out. You’d answer truthfully, but it’s too much fun seeing Lando so worked up knowing damn well he’s the only one who gets you soaked like this. “Mmh, fuck.”

“What was that?”

“He,” you huff, hissing when he slams into you a bit rougher this time. “Daniel got me, fuck,” the words get caught in your throat when Lando’s palm makes contact with your bare asscheek.

“Stop fucking lying to me.” He says through gritted teeth. “I know he can’t make you feel the same way I can.”

You hate that he’s right.

As fun as Daniel was, he could never have you be a whimpering mess underneath him. You��re sure he’s great and you know any woman that ends up with him will be lucky, but it won’t be you.

Lando pulls you back into the moment with a tug on the fistfull of your hair in his palm. “Look at me when I speak to you, darling.” Your eyes lock onto him in the reflection of the mirror. “Good girl.”

A weird feeling settles in your belly when he says that phrase. He’s never used it for you before and you realise you fucking love it. The grin on your face and half-lidded eyes show it, too.

Your head drops down onto the cabinet as Lando grips your hips again, pulling you into him as he basks in the melodical moans coming from your pretty lips.

“Look at yourself,” his veiny hand wraps around your neck and fingers dig into the base of your jaw, lifting your head up to face the mirror. “Such a fucking slut.”

Lando’s still pounding into you when the door handle twists and someone tries to get in.

The skin-to-skin noise doesn’t stop as Lando shouts. “Occupied!” all while his hand covers your mouth. He’s purposefully digging his cock deep into you, trying to fish out any loud noise he can get.

You’re drooling all over his fingers when your mouth parts and he slips two of them past your lips. Lando can feel your high approaching and he fucks deeper into you, surprising you with an orgasm.

You half expected him to leave you without one, but the pleasure washes over you as you moan his name. “Fuck, Lando!” He’s groaning when your walls close around him, and he’s spilling into you, his warm cum burning you from the inside.

Before you can even open your eyes, Lando’s flipping you around and pulling you off the cabinet. Your legs give out and Lando’s hands wrap around your waist before you fall to your knees, instead bringing you down slowly.

You look up at him, lashes fluttering as he pumps his cock a couple times. “Open your mouth, doll.”

Lucky you, not only did your pussy get filled to the brim and graciously given an orgasm, you get to feel his veins burn into the back of your throat, too.

Your soft lips part, closer to the base of his cock. As hot as it was the first time you did this, and the numerous times after, Lando wasn’t in the mood for any teasing.

“I told you to open your mouth, not to lick my dick and act as if you’re not desperate to have me down your throat.”

That statement alone was enough to make you open your mouth, greedily taking his whole cock down your throat.

You’re lucky the club was blasting music, perfectly drowning out your moans and whimpering as your nose brushed against Lando’s pubes.

Lando’s known for being loud, so his moans were probably heard from the hallway. For some odd reason, that turned you on.

His dick dug into your throat and you felt your eyes prick with tears, whimpers bouncing off his shaft and struggling to get past your lips. With basically no warning, Lando’s dick twitched and warm liquid ran down your throat. And you swallowed it without a word from Lando.

Lando wipes your bottom lip with his thumb. “Get up.”

You do as told, fixing the edge of your dress to lay flat against your thighs. You’re hiding yourself from him as if he wasn’t just in you a few minutes ago.

Lando buckles his belt up and watches as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your fingers softly dab at your face and you try your best to fix the mascara that runs down your cheeks.

His warm arms wrap around your waist and his face finds your neck. “You’re beautiful.”

“Did you just leave the girl by herself?” You ask, looking at him in the reflection of the mirror.

Lando shrugs behind you. “I’m sure she found her way home, or at least some company.”

“You’re a dickhead, Norris.”

“And you love it.”

The playful grin on his lips caused you to break out in a smile.

Lando follows you out of the bathroom, hand tightly wrapped around yours, fingers intertwined. Daniel’s eyes meet you across the club and he feels his heart sink to his feet at the sight of Lando so closely entwined with you.

“Hey,” the aussie says to you when you walk up to the table you two sat at. He’s accompanied by Charles and Max, who look at you with warm and welcoming smiles. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you smile at him and place your knee on the seat next to his thigh. You lean over him, completely unaware that your dress rides up and shows the smallest bit of your ass. Daniel softly tugs the dress down so it covers you up as you grab what you need. “Forgot my handbag.”

The men at the table watch you walk away, hips swaying like they usually do, and Lando’s arm wraps around your waist again as he leads you out the club.

Through blurred vision and quiet laughs, you somehow make it back to the hotel. As if it’s a habit, you made a beeline to Lando’s hotel room as soon as the elevator door opened.

Lando watched as you grabbed his keycard and swiped it to open the room.

When the light turned on, Lando’s messy hotel room came into your blurry sight. It was neatly messy, some clothes in piles and his perfumes and skincare scattered across the coffee table.

A giggle slipped past your lips when you saw Dior Sauvage amongst the many tubes and bottles. Of course he’d use that cologne.

You feel warm arms slip around your waist for the nth time this night and you lean back into his embrace. The smell of his cologne mixed with the alcohol lingering on him made your head dizzy. Lando’s lips find your neck and he softly kisses you, leaving a trail of love filled pecks down your shoulder.

“Lando?”

He holds his movements for a moment. “Yes, baby?”

“What is this?” You ask, voice trailing. The item in your hands is something that is so oddly familiar, yet you can’t put your finger on it.

Lando takes the keychain from your hands, fingers smoothing over the yellowing plastic. It’s pretty old, considering he got it when he was still in karting. “It’s the keychain you gave me. When we were like… Eight? After you sabotaged my race.”

At the mention of your karting days, your stomach turns. The memories of how disgustingly you had treated each other flood your brain and you don’t even hide the goosebumps infecting your skin.

Lando’s fingers softly wrap around your wrist and he turns you to face him before pulling you into his chest. The smell of his cologne mixes with the air as you inhale him deeply, trying to cling onto the feeling of comfort you can’t seem to ever hold onto.

For some reason, that tinge of guilt overtook any other emotion in your body and you felt your limbs grow flaccid at the mere thought of your past, and future, with Lando.

The hues in his eyes slowly disappear as he blinks. “You okay?”

“Tired.” The lie slips past your lips so easily, but it’s simpler to lie than to admit that your mind is going at a million miles an hour with thoughts of what you might never be.

Lando’s gentle hands tour your body and he carefully undoes your zipper, slipping the dress off your delicate skin with his fingertips trailing behind. You’re standing in front of him, and even though he’s already seen every part of you, you feel bare. Raw. Exposed.

It doesn’t take an idiot to notice when you’re off, but Lando felt it coming even before you two got to the hotel.

“Here,” he hands you a t-shirt and you nod your head as a thank you. Yet even before you begin putting the shirt on, Lando takes it from your hands again. “Let me help.”

Your curious eyes watch as he pulls the shirt open from the bottom and his eyes lock onto yours, “arms up,” he mumbles and you obey. He tugs the shirt over your head, the smell of his detergent stilling in your sinuses and making you dizzier than you already were.

Warm fingers softly cup your cheek and you lean into the touch, as his other hand fixes the hair that falls on your face. Lando doesn’t talk, you don’t need him to, instead he gently leads you to the bed and lifts the sheets up as you get in.

Your gaze follows his figure as he walks around to the other side of the bed and sits down at the foot of it. An annoyed grumble leaves his mouth as he fumbles with the buttons, but gives up when he can’t manage to undo them. The muscles on his back flex as he raises his arms to tug off the shirt, and not an inch of his skin goes unnoticed by your gaze.

You connect the dots on his back and draw constellations from them, far more beautiful than the ones you’ve observed in the night sky.

He lays his curls down on the soft pillow, facing you and his hazel eyes carefully study your face. Lando forced himself to stay on his side of the bed, despite every cell in his body practically begging to touch you.

“Come closer.” You whisper and he scoots over even before the words fully leave your mouth. You feel his arms gently wrap around your waist as he pulls you in with your back to his bare chest.

When his lips press against your neck, then your collarbone, and then your shoulder, you expect him to slip his hands into your underwear, how he would every single night you’d end up like this. Your legs subconsciously move apart as you push yourself onto your back.

Lando doesn’t do what you expected him to, though. He continues placing gentle kisses on your shoulder, not moving any closer to your chest and his hands still wrapped around you. “Not tonight, baby.” He mumbles against your skin, the warmth of his breath causing goosebumps to erupt.

“Why not?”

Lando pulls away looking at you. “That's all we do.”

You feel a certain warmth in your belly and a piercing feeling in your chest. “Yeah.”

He lays back down, curls bouncing as he gets more comfortable. You notice his green, piercing gaze softly studying your face as you look up at the ceiling. Lando knows something’s wrong. Nothing’s been right since he left you and Carlos’ home.

“Can we watch something?” You ask, eyes examining Lando’s face before he softly nods and reaches for the remote. The TV turns on to some random rom-com, and that’s what you settle on watching.

It’s one of the most clichè movies you’ve watched, and you can’t help but let a small smile decorate your face. Your eyes were on the screen, and Lando’s eyes were on you.

He adored the curve of your nose, the shape of your lips, the lashes that sat atop your gorgeous eyes. Lando’s been trying to ignore the feelings growing in his heart, but seeing you this close, being able to just watch you, he decides not to.

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” Lando’s low and gravelly voice tickles your ears. You turn your head a little towards him, watching how his eyes flickered with something close to what you felt.

“Like, at my house?” You ask, a bit confused by his sudden question. “What about it, Lan?”

He quickly shakes his head. “No, the very first time, when we were sixteen.”

As the words leave his lips, you notice the familiar look of anxiety on his face. The same look he gave you right before his lips touched yours, in that parking lot you soon found to be your favourite place.

That race was proven to be the worst of both of you’s careers— high speed corners, oversteer, crash.

You remember the anticipation of a race weekend brewing in your stomach, hands shaking and heart palpitating as you got into your race car. Lando was right ahead of you, his helmet bright as he got into his own car.

The race started as every other one, you felt confident and proud to have gotten this far. The corners were easy enough to turn, the car felt smooth and you had no doubt you’d land a podium that day or maybe even win the race.

The mind of a sixteen year old girl is more naive and confident than anyone else.

You felt the excitement in your chest as the next corner was easy enough to turn, and it’d let you be even further ahead of your teammate. But, as if it was on purpose, Lando’s car rear ended yours and both of you spun out.

Lando never felt such embarrassment and guilt, especially when he saw you get out of the car with clenched fists and angry strides.

You’re not sure what happened after that, but you remember ditching the briefing with your team after saying you felt ill and hiding in the parking lot, behind a car parked next to the curb.

The humming of the approaching evening managed to calm you down. You felt cold, reminding you that you can, in fact, feel and you’re not just a machine that’s expected to do amazing all the time.

Your silence was interrupted, because even if you were on the other side of the world, Lando would somehow find you.

“Want some?” He appeared from behind the car and startled you, a bottle of champagne in hand.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “How’d you get that?”

The brunet simply shrugged and sat down beside you, taking a large gulp of the champagne before handing it to you. You didn’t hesitate to take it and chug some.

“Listen, I’m sorry-“

“It’s fine.” You shut his apology down. “I wouldn’t have won anyway.”

Lando shook his head, clearly dismissing whatever you just said. “You’re stupid if you think that.”

“Gee, thanks.” You roll your eyes and take another swing of the champagne bottle. “Did you only come here to apologise?”

Lando shrugged. “Kinda, yeah.” You couldn’t help but laugh slightly at his expression. “I honestly feel bad, you would have definitely won today if I didn’t fuck up.”

“I heard it was a car issue.” You looked at him for the first time that evening. He looked genuinely upset, which was unusual behaviour for him, especially when it was something to do with you.

“Yeah,” he looked up at the darkening sky. “I could’ve reported it earlier, but I thought I could get in a few more laps before doing that.”

A laugh escaped your lips before you’d thought to catch it. “Was it that or did you plan to sabotage my race? As some sort of revenge, or something.”

“No,” he admits, looking back to the ground. He was nervous and scared, and wasn’t in the mood to tease you. “I wouldn’t do that. Not to you.”

Your curious and confused eyes met his. “What?” Your voice cracked and some form of anger laced your words. “Last time I checked, you fucking hated me.”

“I could never hate you, Y/N.”

“That’s bullshit, you’ve only ever tried to sabotage my races and you’ve been a dick to me for as long as I’ve known you.”

Lando sighs, not sure how to convince you or explain what he means. “I don’t know what changed, but I’m not like that anymore. I’ve tried to be nice to you, but you never take it seriously and you act mean instead of accepting it.”

“Are you trying to make me pity you so I forgive you for that stunt you pulled today?” You huff, a disappointed laugh leaving your lips. “You’re unbelievable, Norris. Don’t act like you actually like m-“

That’s when he kissed you.

You felt his breath brushing against your skin as his lips crashed against yours, chapped and rough, but it felt just right.

For a minute or two, you didn’t pull away. You let him kiss you and you kissed him back, and it was exactly what you needed. It wasn’t the champagne swirling in your tummy that made you all warm inside, but instead the soft touch of his fingers to your jaw.

It’s almost like it snapped you into reality.

You pulled away and scooted further from him, watching him with widened eyes. “What the fuck…”

“I’m not acting.” Is all Lando said, before he got up and left you alone, on the curb, just like he found you ten minutes before.

You felt awful for how you handled it, because after his confession, he went back to being cold and mean to you. He wouldn’t utter a word your way unless he absolutely had to, and the teasing remarks were gone.

It all changed from then, until about three years after, when both of you got into Formula One.

You blink and look back at Lando, the memory replaying in your mind multiple times as you nod. “Yeah, I remember it, why?”

“I did mean it.” He hums, fingers softly tugging a piece of your hair behind your ear after you’d turned around to face him. “I liked you back then. I was an idiot for not telling you.”

“Lando-“

“Let me talk, baby.” Lando’s green eyes reassure you and you urge him to speak.

“I was sixteen and stupid, and not persistent in getting what I wanted. I shut those feelings down until pretty recently, when I realised that I never really hated you. I was intrigued and interested.”

He takes a pause, mind sorting through the plethora of thoughts circling his mind in that moment.

“I’ve been yours since I kissed you.” You felt his words weigh on your chest. And you’re not sure if you can trust him.

“Then why did you do that? You can’t imagine how awful it felt seeing pictures of you and all those girls, while I laid in my bed and waited for you to call me and repeat the same routine.”

“I don’t know.” He admits, sounding as genuine as he is. “I was trying to ignore the feelings, in fear of rejection again, even though I knew I had you.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, not sure what to say. It feels awkward talking your feelings out with him, since you’ve never really done that before.

“It’s always been you.” Your eyes find his face again when he speaks. “Even though you hated me, it’s always been you.”

A small, bittersweet grin spread across your cheeks. “I used to hate you with everything I had in me.”

“I know.” It pains Lando to hear it, but he needed the reminder that the mutual hate you two have gone through for him to have you in his arms right now was too much to lose. He can’t risk that. “I felt it.”

“I’m sorry. About everything.” Lando felt the sincerity in your voice as you spoke. It’s the first time he’s actually hearing you speak about your feelings and he’s scared. He’s not sure if it’s the fear of rejection or the fear of losing you, but it shakes him to his core and he’s not sure how to handle it.

“It’s okay.” He says, eyes glimmering with a mixture of anxiety and desperation in them. “Get some sleep, we have a flight tomorrow.”

You nod softly, turning on your side but still facing him. There’s no amount of words you could say to him that would fully explain what’s exactly going on in your mind. It’s running at the speed of light with thoughts, and you can’t seem to grab ahold of a single one.

Lando lays on his back, shutting the TV off and placing the remote on the nightstand. You heard his quick breath as he moved closer to you, scooping you up and pulling you into his chest.

The warmth of his chest soothed you to sleep. Lando listened to your breathing, waiting for it to slow down and the exact moment when you’d fall to slumber.

His own mind was going haywire. There was so much he just said, still dodging the direct confession, and he cursed himself for it. He could have just told you instead of bringing up the worst night you two had ever experienced. Idiot.

Your face nuzzled further into his skin and he felt your arms snake around his torso, taking ahold of the beating drum in the middle of his chest. He was sure you could hear the rapid heartbeat shaking him, and you could.

The warmth and sound of his heartbeat lulled you to sleep faster than any other sound. When Lando was sure you had fallen asleep, he softly played with your hair. It’ll be a while before he can say this to you when you’re awake, and you won’t hear it now, but he says it anyway.

“I love you.”

It takes a moment for you to recollect yourself, the act of falling asleep that you’ve perfected since childhood finally coming to play. You bit back a small grin, ignoring the pitter patter in your own chest.

Lando felt uneasy when you shifted your position, lying on your stomach and partially on him, lips so close to his neck.

You placed a gentle kiss on his collarbone, eyes closed and breath steady.

“I love you, too.”

© landopoet

[horse-girl-anthy]

Revolutionary Girl Utena: Gender in Context

beneath the cut, I discuss the RGU's portrayal of gender in the context of 1990s Japan.

in Ikuhara's interview with Mari Kotani, he stated that in traditional Japanese society, "prince" meant "patriarch." the same is true in Western societies--there was a time when a prince would be an heir to a royal line. by 1997, this meaning had died out of large parts of the world. even the association between princes and traditional masculinity was fading. Saionji, the weakest, most pathetic man in the show, is a parody of historical Japanese masculinity, with his kendo and his blatantly regressive beliefs about women.

in RGU, prince may still mean patriarch, but in a far more subtle fashion. Ikuhara and Kotani discussed the changing expectations for men in the latter half of the 20th century--it became gauche to fight over a woman with one's brawn, so instead, power struggles were played out in the arena of looks and sex appeal. one can see this reflected in the character Akio, whose power as a prince arises from his ability to turn "easy sensual pleasure based on dependency" "into a selling point with which to control people."

Akio has his moments of showboating masculinity, but when preying on Utena, he operates by making himself seem non-threatening and soft.

not only that, but he purports to want to allow students to express their individuality and thus approves of Utena's masculine form of dress. this is a front--by the end of the show, he's telling Utena that girls shouldn't wield swords. thus, through Akio's character, the show argues that traditionalist patriarchy in Japan isn't gone, but instead has only been papered over with false progressivism.

with all that said, there seems to be more to the character. he's taken the family name of his fiance, Kanae, and whatever material power he has in the school is dependent upon her family. in Japanese society, this is considered a humiliating position to be in, something that only a shameless man would do. the show never gives the audience any insight into how Akio feels about this--is he unbothered entirely, or are his actions against the Ohtori family an expression of his repressed anger? does he harm the children under his care to compensate for his humiliation?

this aspect of Akio's character may seem irrelevant in light of the larger, immaterial social forces at work in the show. however, I would argue that it was included for a reason. Akio, despite his status as ultimate patriarch of Ohtori, is in fact a highly emasculated character, to the point where lead writer Enokido even said that he is driven by an infantile mother complex.

to explain why Akio was portrayed this way, we have to discuss Japanese history. the nation suffered a major defeat in WWII and was forced to accept whatever terms the United States laid out for it. for an examination of how the Japanese have never truly processed those events and have plunged into modernity with reckless abandon, I recommend Satoshi Kon's Paranoia Agent. to sum it up briefly, in a very short period, the nation regained its economic footing, and by the 1980s had the largest gross national product in the world. this economic boom may have allowed Japan to maintain a sense of sovereignty, dignity, and power, but it was inherently fragile.

the infamous "bubble economy" lasted from 1986 to 1991. during this time, anything seemed possible; financial struggles appeared to be a thing of the past, and capitalist excess reached new heights. the ghosts of this period can be felt across Japanese media; for instance, think of the final shot of Grave of the Fireflies (1998), where the two dead children look down on Kobe, glowing an eerie green to imply its impermanence. the abandoned theme park from Spirited Away (2001) is explicitly referred to as a leftover from the previous century, when many attractions were built and then tossed aside in a few short years.

the bubble popped in 1992, leaving an entire generation feeling cheated. the bright futures they'd been promised, which had actually materialized for their parents and older siblings, had been lost to them overnight. economic crises are often accompanied by gender panics. to quote from Masculinities in Japan, "The recession brought with itself worsening employment conditions, undermining the system of lifelong employment and men’s status of breadwinners in general. The unemployment rate was rising, and although it never reached crisis levels, men could no longer feel safe in their salaryman status. Their situation was further complicated by the rising number of (married) women entering the workforce."

with this in mind, Akio's character can be taken as a representation of masculinity in crisis in 90s Japan. he's forced to rely on women for his position in life and has failed to save his only relative, Anthy. he tries to escape his misery through hedonism, perhaps an allegorical representation of how men tried to maintain their old standard of living after the economic bubble burst.

but of course, Akio is not the main character of RGU--the story is about girls. mangaka Yamada Reiji discussed the series in the context of the 90s, stating the following:

while I opened this essay by discussing the prince, the same points could be made about the princess. despite the increasing irrelevance of royalty, princess is still an important concept. how does it relate to the socioeconomic landscape of the 90s?

in Yamada's view, RGU is full of relics of the 80s; for instance, the figure of the ojou-sama, an entitled young woman who never lifts a finger for herself. during the economic bubble, it was increasingly common for women to be entirely taken care of by the men in their lives. Yamada names Nanami as a clear ojou-sama type character: she weaponizes her femininity, demanding to be rescued, doted on, and served.

however, by 1997, the ojou-sama could no longer expect to get what she wanted. from the 80s to the 90s, the percentage of women in the workforce increased around 15%; it was no longer viable for most women to be "kept" by their families. as the men experienced the humiliation of not being able to provide for their wives and children, women were undergoing a disillusionment of their own.

Yamada blames Disney for creating the ideological structure which led women astray. obviously, the company is known for its films about princes rescuing princesses. in Yamada's recounting, during the 80s, the company was infiltrating Japan through its theme parks as well; across the country, Disneylands were opening up, and people were buying into the escapism the corporation offered. Japan, as America, became a country of eternal children. its people were waiting for a prince to appear and save them.

but fairy tales can't stave off reality forever. Yamada claims that RGU embodies the rage of young women who woke up one day and realized that they had been raised on a lie. this anger pervades the work from beginning to end.

though RGU was created in a particular social context, its lessons can be extrapolated to any time and place. as the first ending tells us:

I hope this essay helped provide more context for the series. thanks for reading!

[yawnderu]

MORE!! NEET!READER!! I’m obsessed with this it’s so silly and cute <33 I love your writing I can scroll through your page for hours 🍒

“Y'wanna what?” Simon almost chokes on his water at the request, looking down at you with raised eyebrows. He's always been an expressive man, even more so underneath the heavy layers of his balaclava— even more so with his best friend.

“Wank you.” You repeat quietly, slightly nervous hands fidgeting with the edge of your notebook while your head rests on Simon's meaty thigh, shamelessly resting on your knees in front of him the same way you used to do when you were much younger.

Simon's fingers drum against the plastic of his water bottle, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries his best not to laugh at the blunt request, not a single social cue in that little head of yours.

“An' what do I get in return?” Your scrunched up face makes it almost impossible to hold back his laugh, forcing Simon to take a deep breath before his rough, calloused hand goes to caress the length of your hair, subtly pulling you in closer.

“Well, you get wanked...” Simon's hand drifts down to your face, gently cupping your cheek and forcing you to make eye contact, your fingers running along the length of the notebook in your hands as you look up at him expectantly.

Simon's stare isn't half as intimidating when you know how much of a cry baby he used to be as a kid. The corners of your lips tilt up into a small smile as you think about a much younger and innocent version of him— only for the bastard to take the chance to sneak two of his fingers into your mouth, making you recoil back out of pure instinct.

“Tosser.” You try to slap his hand away only for him to grab your wrist out of reflex, shooting a cheeky smirk your way when you look up at him with disbelief. For someone as big as Simon, he's surprisingly gentle, giving you time to protest as he makes your hand run up his thigh, slowly inching towards his already hard cock.

“Go on, then. Give me a proper wank.” Seeing how you don't pull away, Simon wastes no time on lowering the band of his sweatpants, hooking it under his balls to keep in place. You scramble for the notepad on your lap with your free hand, finding a blank page to write about his body's reactions, much to his amusement. Simon doesn't mind being used as an experiment— not when his best friend keeps making him cum.

Your soft hand wraps around his length, feeling it throb beneath your palm as you take notes with your free hand. Simon's dick is as pretty as they come; 21 centimeters of thick meat, green veins running along the shaft, the head of it always seeming to be leaking like a pathetic, broken faucet.

Simon groans the moment your hand starts to move up and down agonizingly slow, a small grin pulling at the corners of your lips the moment his legs part, giving you more room to do whatever you want to him. Your hand goes up to the tip of his cock, rubbing it with your fingers and palm, gathering the precum leaking down only to use it as lube to be able to jerk him off better.

“Fuck.” Simon's head is thrown back, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down the moment your now sticky hand goes back to his shaft, muffled deep grunts and moans leaving his lips. Discipline, precision, and control are what Simon built his entire life on, all broken down by you the moment he can feel your warm breath hitting his cock, your flat tongue licking his tip with curiosity that, if it wasn't for how pent-up Simon is, he wouldn't have minded.

Simon's hand joins yours, guiding the rhythm of the handjob to something he needs— hard and fast, your soft digits caressing the thickening veins every once in a while until he can't take it anymore. Without a warning, Simon shoots ropes of thick, hot cum all over your face and tongue, making you let out a surprised yelp at the sensation and taste, already busy taking new notes as you absentmindedly make him ride off his orgasm, feeling new ropes of more watery cum fill your mouth and overwhelm your senses.

Half-lidded brown eyes focus on what you're writing, resisting the urge to roll his eyes despite his intense orgasm, his hand now softly caressing your cheek, making sure to spread his warm cum all over your cheek.

Slightly salty and too thick, doesn't taste that bad.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Brittle is Devotion

♡ featuring: ex-husband!toji x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been a while since you've seen your ex-husband, and on a drunken night, buried feelings emerge. wc: 12.2k+ (bruhhh)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of violence/blood, angst/comfort, rekindled feelings, rough sex, missionary, prone bone, full-nelson, overstimulation, cervix fucking, creampie, m/f receiving, throat fucking, sadism/masochism, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, praise/degredation kink, dumbification, edging, breeding kink, feral toji mmm, pet names (angel, sweetie, baby)

notes: good morning!! hope everyone is having a lovely day, i am so so so so sorry i haven't posted in so long i didnt abandon the account!! i've just been getting it together before the semester starts, and i didnt expect for it to be this long :(( im very tired but ill try to get some stuff out in the next couple of weeks, most likely long fics too. ty so much, and srry for any spelling mistakes. art by ilameys_ on ig! &lt;;3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Picking up the pieces after Toji is rough. The divorce was bad enough, and you currently have an aching pain stilling in your chest that makes it hard to take the shallowest breaths. It hammers in the tight confines of your ribcage, and as you sob into your pillow the only relief you desire is sleep, so that you may have temporary solace from the grief wrecking your brain. Your new apartment feels entirely too shallow. There’s no crumby television to use because you were too broke to afford the higher-end appliances, or that creaking mattress you both squeezed into until you could thrift a reasonable headboard. You missed the 60s style tiles painted a horrific green in your kitchen, and the shower that ran out of hot water every other day. It was terrible, downright unlivable for most, but you had each other.  

It hurts more because you love him. So much. Unbearably, to the point where you screamed at the top of your lungs until your throat scratched through angry hot tears, begging him to care for a moment, to give you a reason to stay. Countless times, threatening to walk out if he didn’t endeavor to change. But he never believed you. He thought you’d never leave, because all you had was him.  

And it was true, for years it was. Toji was your dream man; funny and thoughtful. It wasn’t conventional kindness, but it was his. Money didn’t matter—even as you enjoyed a frozen meal on the floor of your empty apartment in the first couple months of moving in with him, you had a smile on your face. Even when your friends and family begged you not to marry him, because they couldn’t stand the sight of him and his arrogant, sometimes aggressive candor, you went on with it anyway. You knew who he really was at heart.  

He was your first everything, you felt if he left, you’d melt to nothing and become a shell of who you once were, because Toji had become an extension of you. You waited for him to get home, had dinner, and slept through the outside commotion of cars and bar fights; his securing arm locked around you, hand cradling your head and legs intertwined. There was no one like him.  

He knew that and got greedy.  

To you, the change was fast, but it’d been spreading like a nasty mold for years. You’d sunk so deep you hadn’t noticed the drought until you reached the bottom. He taught you love, then pulled away; separated himself with additional shifts and pathetic excuses. In turn you punished yourself, showered him with heavier instances of love and endearment, and convinced yourself you needed to try harder. If the sex wasn’t daily, you gave him more. If he didn’t like the food, you learned how to be a better chef. If the house wasn’t clean, you scrubbed top to bottom. Wringing a tired towel, dry of sacrifice. Chasing after him until the soles of your feet blistered. Still, not a smidge of praise or approval came to fruition. When he did—which was rare—those peppered spaces ignited a lasting burn in your heart, keeping withering fire alive.  

Soon, those fleeting kisses and distant pauses weren’t enough, and he didn’t care enough to change. You’d plead and cry at his feet, and he’d scoff and walk past you.  

“We’ll talk about it later”, he’d say more often than not. You didn’t have the confidence to leave, and he consumed himself with whatever underground work he participated in, while you decayed in a declining marriage.  

A grimace on his face, laid back on the couch and looking at you expectingly, as if you would drop to your knees and service him in a heartbeat—but you did exactly that. And you were tired, utterly tired of pulling the emotional and mental leaden baggage on your own. It was heavy, and you were crushing yourself underneath it. You still loved him with every inch of your being, and you’d do it all for him, but it couldn’t be just you anymore. He came home one fateful night to you sitting at the dining table, spotlighted under the stark glass pendant lamp in your dark apartment, dejection that foreshadowed the unfortunate end.  

“Do you love me?” He gazed at your solemn face and scratched his head.  

“Mhm.”  

“Will you change?”  

“No.”  

That’s what you needed to hear. The next week, while he was at work, you gathered your clothes and measly possessions to leave. You sobbed the entire way through, shaking with uncertainty and fear of the unknown—unsure about a future without him. As you slid the dissolution of your marriage on the counter, the sudden reality made you unable to control your knees as you dropped to the floor, and tears spilled down your cheeks and freckled the papers. Luckily, Shoko was there to comfort you and help pack your things. The corners of that confinement spared a gentle, loving memory, and vitriol was left in its wake. Turning back to its hollowness for the last time, you imagined Toji, plopping onto the couch as he’d usually do to watch some late-night television show or going to bed. Like you weren’t there.  

Maybe you never mattered in the first place. 

It’s been a year since, and things are looking up for you. An opportunity surfaced in a field you were interested in applying for, and you miraculously got the job. Moving over a city helped you adjust to your new life—that, and a bottle of dark burning liquor. No matter how much you mindlessly typed at your computer or partied with coworkers, you couldn’t stomach the pit gorging through you, a hole that surfaced everything you’d been burying. 

You’re not prepared to face the forlorn mock of your bleached walls today. As you pry your eyes open, the flickering shimmers through your sheer curtain cast across unattended sheets, soothed by stuffed animals strung along the comforter. You reach for something that isn’t there in your groggy state—a gentle reminder that your morning would be just as empty as yesterday. 

Today isn’t any other; it’s what would’ve been your five-year anniversary. One year, of new beginnings and new friends. A year of solitude.  

You don’t bother slinking out of bed. The accumulation of tasks awaiting you is more daunting than the actual execution. In an attempt to regain control of your life, you established a healthy routine. It entails waking up at early hours to exercise and work on projects and meal prep, and ending your night early with extra exercise and skincare. It was amazing at first and quelled your sadness. What they didn’t inform you of, was the spectacle; the appearance and perception of perfection, and not the struggles or gradual burnout of maintaining that lifestyle. When the distraction died down, and work and social activities became a congealed, monstrous chore, you quickly resented those limp salads and vomit-inducing runs. 

You expel a loaded sigh and pull the covers over. 

The vibration of the phone buzzing on your stomach peels your eyes awake. You allow it to pass, but it rings again. From a frustrated exhale, your languid hands muster the strength to flip to its notification; Shoko’s calling.  

“Hello?” you mutter, fatigue caught in your throat. 

“Fuck, you sound like hell!” she replies. The repetitive clack of office keyboards and analog phones being slammed by stressed out coworkers distorts the background. Thank God I used my paid time off. 

“I love you too, Shoko.” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that…you ok?” It’s much sweeter. Shoko has always been a supportive friend, perhaps bordering on too supportive. You cherish her motherly concern, and rather vulgar honesty. 

“Mm, I’ll manage.” 

“I can come over after work.” You flip onto your back, soaking in the mild sunlight. 

“S’alright, I’m sure you’re busy, and I might sleep in. Wallow in sorrow for a few hours.” Shoko drawls a dramatic groan and creaks back in her chair. 

“Nothing good comes out of feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the club or somethin’.” 

“‘N how’s that gonna help?” 

“Better than whining at home. Wear something sexy, look pretty and get laid. That’s how I get over shit.” 

“Mm, right. I don’t know if that’s gonna work” you giggle, toying with one of the ears on your stuffed bunny. 

“Oh yeah, forgot you’re the born-again Virgin Mary now. You know… if you want to get over ‘him’, you have to take the first step.” You can envision her air quotations. She treats his name as forbidden speech, and regularly refers to it in conversation as “he who shall not be named.” 

“Ugh, mother Shoko’s speaking.” 

“Listen, it may or may not work. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it is all I’m saying.” 

“Yea? Well, if he has a tiny dick, I’m blaming you.” 

“Nothing wrong with shellfish.” 

The last curl falls in place, and you follow it up with copious amounts of hairspray. Fanning your bathroom after a drawn out coughing fit, you get a good look at your figure in the mirror. The backless lacy black dress you’re wearing hugs you in all the right places and guides the detail sitting tight under your butt. It’s undoubtedly revealing, coupled with strappy heels and a dark cat eye.  

You walk past your vanity and pause at the messy jewelry box, riddled with remnants of Toji’s adoration. Sparkling varieties of heavy necklaces and rings and precious diamonds; ninety percent of your jewels were because of him. You’d asked if he stole the items he gifted you, and he’d come up with an elaborate sarcastic story about a jewelry heist he carried out, and how appreciative you should be. Buried underneath rested your engagement ring, a sparkling cut that crowded your entire finger. You couldn’t bring yourself to pawn it, opting to occasionally revel in its beauty before shoving it in a far corner with your feelings. 

Shoko wasn’t lying about how sexy you’d feel dolled up, and it shows in your confidence as you modeled around your bedroom, striking poses to no one. Your plushies weren’t very appreciative of the full-blown fashion show, but you hadn’t felt like this for a long while. Maybe it was about time you entered the dating scene. 

The entrance to Infinity appears as a run-down tacky club from an outdated era, and it’s easy to miss the multicolored flashes dotting the black tinted glass on each side. A few steps past the black and white checkered vestibule, and you get to experience the scale of a roaring, clashing club. It’s not half as lively on the outside; sweat dripping under twinkling lights of multicolor, bodies colliding and moving to the melodic sway of erratic music vibrating through the floor, freely drowning and expelling their insecurities, deepest struggles. It’s both welcoming and hopeless.  

A woman balances her shot glass as she gyrates against a stranger while another stumbles off the dance floor in a drunken stupor. The heat and screams are overstimulating, circulating around you. You consider withdrawing, especially since you held some reservations about partying solo. However, this is what you need, to get comfortable with doing things by yourself. 

So you down shots, two, three, burning of different varieties that heighten your body temperature and nerve. You throw back a mix of dark and white liquor, a dangerous combo that dizzies your vision and runs up an unfathomable tab you can't afford. The strangers accompanying you at the counter encourage you. No rational thoughts, let alone decision making, register in your alcohol-sodden mind. Like strings being fielded by a puppeteer, your legs move on their own to the dance floor.  

It’s hot. The blurring iridescence bends to produce shapes that make your fuzzy brain giggle for some odd reason. You’re moving in slow motion, and the world’s continuing at max speed. You don’t care either way. You’re light on your feet, and the music goads you to dance. Spinning, hands tangled between your locks traveling down the curve of your thighs, hearing the lyrics inside and out as if no one is watching. 

You dance with women and men alike, anyone willing to help you overlook your heartache. It’s floaty, an airiness that spills sober thoughts from cotton mouth and makes every touch electrifying. It’s in your legs and arms, your restless feet and fingers. You laugh hysterically, incomprehensibly, and switch to sadness in a heartbeat. These aimless bodies, just as lost as you, drinking to your despair. Was it worth the abyss tomorrow held, or the agonizing headache as a result? 

After those dances, mainly flailing efforts at rhythm, your head is barreling. You’re suffering from a heavy case of vertigo at the slightest turn, and your stomach’s riddled with knots. It hits you like a car crash, and you strive to stabilize yourself as bile fills your throat, cringing when you reluctantly swallow. A disorienting slurry of words and faces ask you things you cannot hear or see, and it suddenly becomes too real. 

In few sparse moments, your life plays before you in stop motion. From heaving over the toilet while a lady with long nails held your hair back, to knocking the drink out of someone’s hand on your way out. Now you’re walking on one heel and holding the other. You might’ve popped a nail if not for security holding the door open. They attempt to flag you, but you reply with a curt slurred “‘M fine.”  

You push your knees together, sitting on the corner of a curb. This isn’t how you expected the night to end. It’s pitch black beside street lamps, and awfully quiet in contrast to inside. Shivers ripple through you despite the persistent warmth pooling in your ears. You lean on a street lamp in the calm cold as people leave, probably running to participate in intimate affairs with their acquaintances. The gentle hand on a waist or shoulder forms a subconscious smile; young, passionate love blooming on a random night. 

And you burst into tears.  

Ugly tears streaming down your face in blobs that don’t stop no matter how much you wipe them, followed by deep sniffles. They smear across your phone while you search for a taxi app, and your cloudy eyes deceive you. 

You jolt when a hand brushes against your arm and turn to meet the foggy face of a man with stubble. You wipe your wet cheeks and lean further from him.  

“Hey baby, you alright?” The pet-name makes you shudder. You definitely don’t know him, and at this point there’s no one outside. 

“Wh’re you?” you garble. 

“Kusakabe. Where ya off to?” 

“Waitin’ for uh frien’” Your eyelids waver, failing to stay alert under the frightening stare burning holes through your skull.  

“A friend, huh…you gotta man?” he asks, stepping closer to you. You back away to the side of the light. 

“Go away.” You’re definitive, but he laughs as if it were the ridiculous request of a child. 

“I like that dress. You look hot.” His hand drags along the strap of your dress, but you nudge his hand.  

“Mm’get off me. N’don’ need your help.” He scoffs with offense, and as you go to leave, he grabs your wrist firm. 

“Relax. Tryna go home with someone tonight?” You’re trembling, tugging with as much force as you can muster in your punch-drunk state, but he doesn’t budge. 

“L’ve me alone” 

“Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll call a cab-” 

Whack! Your wrist goes limp, and the crunch and crack of flesh hitting concrete echoes. You sluggishly pan to him, knocked out cold beyond the spotlight. The influence takes you, however, and you nearly find yourself joining him on the sidewalk. Before you can fall, a broad, rough hand supports your lower back. Their deep gritty tone is inches away from you. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” 

You rise from an unusually sweet slumber. The light shines through your eyelids, unavoidable even when you maneuver the velvety warm blanket for shade. Your eyeballs shift across thin skin being prodded by intrusive sun, and as they crack open, you catch a glimpse of the glass coffee table in front of you, arranged with perfection resembling a furniture showroom. You smile to yourself half-asleep, wondering when you bought such an expensive item, and how an abundance of sunlight made its way through your average window. You’re drifting off anew. 

Then, you shoot up. 

You start to really take in the surroundings, and when you do, a pit drops in your stomach. An ultra-wide flat screen television faces you, decorated with plants on either side. Craning your neck, the long windows of this penthouse line the adjacent wall up to the ceiling, which hangs a glass geometric chandelier. This isn’t your bedroom, nor your apartment.  

 Instantly you switch to sitting, and recoil just as fast. Pain envelops the wrinkles of your brain, and you wince from abrupt tension. You palm the bridge of your nose. 

“Fuck�� you whisper. Last night replays in your head through staccato bursts, though you couldn’t remember the minutes before you passed out. Embarrassment creeps onto your ears at the freak show you performed hours ago. You’d made a fool of yourself, puked and tripped like a sloppy drunk college girl. You can’t be more ashamed, and to top it off, you’re in the house of a stranger you possibly slept with. You look down from the smooth sectional sofa, and notice your heels arranged neatly beneath you with your phone and bag. At the very least, the man you engaged with seems to be accommodating.  

You scurry to put your heels on, and hopefully sneak out in silence before you face further humiliation. Something about this blanket smells familiar; musk and oakmoss and man, grazing across your nose like the aroma in an intimate embrace, the earthy dew of calm before a storm, a trace only you can understand. 

“Finally up?”  

It’s that gravelly smoky voice you lived in for five years, and some before that. The voice you fell asleep to, mumbling nonsense in your ear through boorish snores. The voice you fell in love with, easily saying “I do” when you wedded at the courthouse. The voice you resent, saying nothing at all when you cried. 

You look behind you, and there he is, walking down the staircase. He’s wearing boxers, settled under the tufts of hair running down his belly button. His rugged muscles peek out from the untied black robe dangling to his strong calves. His hair grew out a bit since you’ve last seen him, shaggy bedhead running across his eyes and covering his ears. 

He smirks the same, though, sweet and soft for such a dour man, like nothing ever happened, approaching you while you sneer at the cruel joke bestowed upon you. 

“Toji.” You haven’t said it in forever. It’s abashing how quickly your regularly tense shoulders relax in his proximity.  

“How ya feelin’? Hope the couch was comfortable enough, figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in my bed” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched his sturdy back.  

“It was fine.”  

There's an awkward quiet afterwards. The air’s thick, glass straining under pressure, threatening to give way at the smallest disturbance. 

Toji clears his throat. “So, um...you need somethin’? Water?” 

“No” you bark, folding your arms across your chest. You can’t look at him, not without feeling enraged. You’re the afterthought, the chaser, rushing after a man who wouldn’t dare look twice. “How’d you even know I was there?” 

“Coincidence” he replies, and you scoff. He couldn’t get away with lying to you; playing games with moves you’ve lost to countless times. 

“Like hell it was a coincidence. I’m in a completely different city now, what were you doing there?” You have to physically bite back the words begging to spill from your mouth as his head wanders in thought, possibly concocting another fabrication. 

“Had business” 

“Oh, I’m supposed to believe the man who hates keeping a job had ‘business’. Okay.” You don’t acknowledge the extravagance of the apartment he must be paying for monthly. That, or a chain of illegal activities—whatever assumption suited your irritation in the moment. 

“Well, ya wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said, anyway” he chides. You’re a shaken bottle ready to explode, and his nonchalant demeanor only eggs you on. Toji’s perpetually dismissive, looking down on you like a pitiful puppy. 

“Because you’re always full of shit” you snap. He exerts a loaded sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he had any right to be tired of the situation. 

“’M not lyin’.” 

“Right.” You observe your surroundings more. It’s too opulent, pricey vases you wouldn’t expect from the ex-husband that once thought hanging jackets in the doorway was “decoration.” Definitely not fit for a single guy. You’re separated, and you know it's not your responsibility to keep tabs on his sex life, but that caviling thought won’t stop taunting you. How could he get over it so soon?  

“If you were just gonna bring me back to your fuck pad, I should’ve slept on the curb. Who knows how many girls you’ve had here.” 

He gets eye-level, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together like a drained salaryman, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with me? You can’t be serious. Like you never do anything wrong, like everything that’s happened until now is somehow my fault and you did nothing, nothing, to contribute to the bullshit. Stop acting like a fucking victim.” 

“Little lady, you got shitfaced, and some guy was tryna take your drunk ass home. You’re lucky you went home with me instead.” 

“I could’ve handled it; I don’t need you for anything-” 

“You could barely keep your eyes op-” 

“I would’ve handled it! Just like I handle everything else. Alone. Every time. It gets done, I’m not incompetent, Toji!” 

You could hear a pin drop in the stillness. Those forested eyes are gazing into your soul. It’s said and done, and you’ve got it off your chest, yet it hurts like a freshly sliced gash. The arguing doesn’t change, married or not. It sucks when you shout, uncontrollable like a blazing fire, only to be snubbed out by his calm, condescending tone. 

“...I know.”  

You can’t take it, it’s stifling being near him. Wounds loosely covered by band aids seem to peel at his presence, and you’re stuck at his mercy again. You can’t give him the satisfaction of crying in addition to the drunk, poor decisions you made, hardening your expression as you fumble for your phone. 

“Take me home” you demand. Toji stands with an exaggerated stretch on both arms, painfully slow. Before you can hurl your phone at him from the dramatics, he looks down on you with that intoxicating gaze. 

“Are ya hungry?” 

You furrow your brows, and hastily put on the other shoe. Turning on your heels, you go to leave, and are immediately stopped by Toji's calloused hand holding your wrist. You don’t watch, but his palm is gentle. You could smoothly slip out and exit his apartment, forget this engagement and continue a peaceful, isolated life. You’d move on eventually—perhaps to bigger, happier jobs and romances. 

 Despite that hopeful outcome, you remain.  

“I don’t wanna eat. If you don’t take me home, I'll call a cab.” 

“I’ll take ya home, just...look, I know you’re hungry, and I’m down to eat at a diner down the block. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll pay for it.” Toji isn’t known for being docile, but with his curved posture almost leaning into you and dejection in his eyes, you swear he’s searching for pity. 

“I said I’m not-,” The untimely arrival of your dinning, rumbling stomach cuts off any excuse. A corner of his mouth upturns, and your face contorts to scorned pride. 

“...Fine. Let’s make it quick.” 

“Great. Can’t have ya walkin’ around like that, though.” He pans to your chest. You haven’t thought to give your outfit a glance, but when you do, your eyes grow wide. The entirety of your conversation with Toji, your chest was spilling out the dress, and now part of your areolas is exposed. You cover up the top, but he stares with an x-ray's invasiveness. You reprimand him, swatting his chest; 

“Pervert!” 

There was an added benefit to being around Toji; the way people cleared a path for him and treated him with frightened kindness, afraid that pissing off the physically intimidating man would land them a one-way ticket to the nearest hospital.  

They weren’t exactly wrong, and you have a satisfied pep in your step as people scoot aside. He strides in front of you to get the door, and you mutter a small “thank you.”  

Sweet fluffy pancakes and charred grills mingle with faint notes of bleach. At least he knew better than to take you to a fancy establishment, especially since you were wearing a baggy t-shirt from him, and basketball shorts you had to tie around the waistband. His massive slides had you flopping across the dining aisle as you got to your booth. He’s not particularly dressed either, wearing matching shorts and a compression top. 

It’s hard not to perceive the way women ogle him, drooling at the way his biceps flex when he raises the menu, and his chiseled jaw tensing while he ponders the food options. It was a notable problem when you were married. They’d glare at you, shower him with compliments in front of you, and you’d shrink yourself. Occasionally the waiter would pretend you don’t exist as she swayed her hips at every little thing Toji said. If they want him, they can have him. It’s not your business, right? It’s no different with this waiter, twirling the curl of her hair as Toji reiterates his order, shifting from one leg to the other to highlight her curves.  

Not my business. You're nauseous.  

Not my business. Your fists clench underneath the table. 

Your head’s swimming in thoughts, uncertainty crashing down like a wave upon your increasingly loud intrusions. You drown within yourself, until you’re pulled out by a thumb travelling up your hand, and other fingers clasping around it. 

“Watcha wanna order, angel?” You regain composure, and when you blink, Toji is waiting for you. The waiter side-eyes you and the joining of your hands.  

“You lost? Take her order” he spat. 

The food's steaming hot and fresh, and you salivate at the plate in front of you. Toji snatches your bacon before you can, and you begrudgingly watch as he breaks the strips into two pieces, the way you like it. He winks, and you groan. You coat your strawberry pancakes with maple syrup, trespassing territory around the scrambled eggs and bacon, and he laughs across from you. 

“What’s funny?” 

“Never stopped drowning your breakfast in syrup” he ribs. You pout and swirl your bacon, “It makes it taste better.” 

Soon, food in your belly aided your dialogue, and the old banter returned; an easygoing flow, similar to a lifelong friend you hadn’t spoken to in decades. You giggle between bites and gossip about mutual rumors. 

"What you been doin’ since..." Toji trails off, falling short of “divorce”—a word he never wants to say. 

"Shoko recommended me to her boss, so I'm working uptown now. Pay's okay, nothing to write home about."  

"S'good. Livin comfortable?"  

"As comfortable as I can be"  

"Real humble. Guessin’ it's better than before" he jokes, though you sense a displace in his bearing at the nervous grin he flashes. You reach onto to his side and grab one of the grapes off his plate. You pop one in your mouth, "So, what drug ring got you that house?"  

"The cartel. Good vacation time, too" he jests. 

"Nice. at least it's not that shitty garbage gig you had for a while."  

"It did pay well."  

"Yeah? Couldn't get rid of the rotten milk and vomit smell for weeks after. Remember I made you shower at Geto’s apartment?" 

“Heh, yeah, he was fuckin’ pissed” he laughs, stealing a piece of sugary bacon from the syrup pool. "I'm a CEO, run a company downtown."  

"Ooo, look at you. Can't be little if it did this much for you" you say as you gesture at the empty dishes on the table. Restaurants were a luxury in your household. 

"I guess. I had a vision, and some people believed in me”, he pokes at the leftover blueberries, “I finally made it happen, that counts for something, right?"  

You pick another off his plate, smile stretching, "You're a natural born leader. People will follow you regardless, even if it's not the right choice."  

His eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's the first good thing you said about me today."  

"Don't get used to it." 

You wait for Toji to retrieve his car after walking back to his apartment. You’re awestruck in many ways; he paid for the whole meal with a black card and showed undying manners. He bowed to your requests. You’re smarter than this, though. This is his opportunity to get on your good side, and he’s showing the best version of himself. However, it fills your heart with want—like the initial dating phase, those butterfly stricken, heart-numbing, sappy gestures that made you melt.  

He wraps around the car to open your door, and you plant yourself in the sleek beige interior. Your eyes flick to the veins in his forearm straining as he steers, his deadpan focused expression and the composed R&B music low in the background. It starts to drizzle, and raindrops plink the car roof. 

You feel complete; And that alone is a dreadful reality. 

The scar on his lip twists to a smile, “Did’ya like the food?”  

You turn your nose up, “it was satisfactory.” He snickers, and navigates to the street your apartment is on. “Shit, I gotta give you your clothes back.” 

“Forget it, bring it when you get the chance.” Chance. He expected to see you again. You hang your head as he approaches the complex. You didn’t want today to end, but this is it. You’ll leave this car and go your separate ways. This is how it should be.  

You place an earnest hand on his shoulder and cast a smile. The corners quiver and your first syllable wobbles, but you finally speak, “I’m proud of you, Toji. I mean it. You’re going to do great things, and I’m always rooting for you.”  

He swallows stiff, and suddenly he’s sickly pale. Something within you is pleased at that reaction; if he wants redemption, he should beg and drop to his knees and crawl for forgiveness, he should lock himself up for your eyes only and cut off everyone else in his life. You’re walking away a second time, rightfully so, but you struggle to decipher what you want in this moment. He palms your hand, staring at you, “I’m all for praise, but tell me when we meet again” 

“Toji, there can’t be a next- “ 

“Give me your phone.” 

“Huh?” His urgency throws you off guard, “Don’t think, just give me your phone.” It’s impossible to kill the complicated slurry that is your mind, and a new bundle of thoughts emerges from his request, but for a heartbeat, you allow yourself to wander. Pitter patter and muted music, heated seats, the cologne radiating from Toji—all that exists. 

 You moved on instinct, and now your phone is in Toji’s hands. He's adding his contact information. He hands it back to you, fingers brushing against your soft skin.  

“I won’t text or call you. ’S there whenever you need me. Move at your own pace and call me when you’re ready.” With that, you exit his car. No hug or gratitude, skipping goodbyes as you rush out the car. It’s bittersweet when he pulls off, and you’re left with the ghost of him.  

The familiar click of your convoluted keys in the apartment door could bring you to tears. You’ve officially reverted to your mundane, boring lifestyle. The walls look duller today. 

You curiously click on his contact, and giggle at the name he assigned himself: 

dumbass ex 

tick, tock, tick, tock 

The blue light beaming through your office computer is an eyesore, but you have little say in the matter. There's an upcoming deadline for these reports, you can’t waste precious skill complaining about circumstances out of your control. It’s tiresome, and you rove to the cobweb missing a string in the corner of the room, or the single drop of water roaming outside those wide sterile windows. The balls of your feet carry your flats as you absentmindedly push a pen against your lip. 

Your concentration has been out of commission since meeting Toji. He kept his word and hadn’t called you whatsoever. A month passed, and still nothing. Be glad, you told yourself, get your goals back on track. Your exercises get vicious, from jogging to a full sprint, hoping that those buckets of sweat will shed off the extra weight of Toji’s abidance. The fruit bowl on your break offends you with mocking displays of strawberries and grapes. You’ve pondered deleting the contact entirely to repel enticement, but you can’t do it. It’s painfully clear that you miss him. 

He’s horrible, callous and selfish. Of course, Toji had a way of showing up at your lowest to fill your head with empty promises and gestures of affection, that charming grin shooting daggers at your weakness. In his gaze, you’re defenseless, and in his arms, you’re exposed.  

Albeit late, a pestering thought carves into you, unfortunate and disgraceful to the healing you strive to accomplish; message Toji. 

A set of wheels rolls above the carpet, and you see Shoko, lifeless arms hanging beyond the armrests. The bags under her eyes signify stress from finalizing late papers.  

“Unnghhhh, (Y/N), I can’t do it” she laments, drooping her head to the side. You pat the top of her hair, “I believe in you.” 

“What are you working on?” She quirks a brow, and you stare at the screen with her. You’ve typed an entire page of straight gibberish. “I’m getting distracted too...” 

“Let’s quit and tell her to shove it.” 

“You know I can’t do that” you fuss as you backspace the document. “Mm, me neither. What’s got you zoned out?” 

“Nothing in particular.” You’re afraid to tell Shoko of your rendezvous, she might become volcanic and fire magma at the sound of any “-oji”. 

“I know it’s not nothing. New boyfriend, hm?” 

“S-something like that” you chuckle. She shapes an ‘O’ with her mouth, and wheels closer. Her bangs touch your eyebrows, and she rests her chin on her hand. Her usual dead eyes have a malicious twinkle in them. 

“What’s he like? Is he tall or short?” she gasps, “did you meet him at the club? I told you it was a good idea; I really am the best advisor.” 

You sigh, “It’s no one new.” 

“Ooo, an old flame. Spicy. What’s his name?” You turn slowly, a nervous bite on your lips. She studies your face, and slowly hers drops. 

“Do not fucking say it.” 

“Shokoooo” you whine, searching for sympathy from her. Instead of that, your body is shaken violently as she whisper-yells, “Are you kidding? Get a grip! What’s gotten into you, you were fine!” 

“But I wasn’t. It sucks, I feel lonely all the time.” 

“You felt lonelier with him than without him!” 

“I know, but...” You ball your lips in with furrowed brows, and she holds her breath. 

“I wanna go see him” you squeak. Instantly, she squishes your cheeks with both hands to hold you in place. 

“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.” 

At home, you pace back and forth in front of the phone resting on your bed. Toji’s contact is open, and nausea is brewing in your stomach. You’re giddy and ill, working up the courage to press “call”. You really should be practicing Shoko’s advice, but you’ve long surpassed common sense. You leave and come back, spying on it from a distance. Eventually, you forgo the theatrics and grab the phone to hit the messenger app. 

Three dots vanish and resurface. You can’t get it right:

'Hey stranger I got custody of ur clothes rn' 

'Hey haha I missed u can I come over?' 

'Yo what’s up? Still have ur clothes do u want them?' 

'I’m coming to give u ur stinky clothes' 

This shouldn’t be complicated, and you don’t usually perform the process of elimination for simple responses, but it’s Toji. You’re scrambling and overanalyzing, reiterating your choice of slang only to delete it all over again. You settle for a simple message. “Hey Toji, I wanted to return your clothes. Let me know when you’re available. Thanks”  

Once you hit send, you run a marathon around your bedroom, tippy tapping to expel your anticipation. The churning grows as seconds pass, and so does your doubt. You tiptoe to the phone as if a displaced floorboard would activate the alarm. You’re about to tap the screen, and then your ringtone plays.   

Oh god. 

You take a deep breath and swipe right on the faceless profile picture labeled “dumbass ex”.  

“…Hello?” 

“Hey, angel.” You avoid a dull pound in your chest at the memorable pet name. “So, um-“  

“I wanna see you. I’m available now, and I’ll be home by the time you get here” he states, direct and confident. His conviction validates yours, you bend to his direction. 

“Okay then. I’ll start getting ready.” 

“I’ll send a cab to your address. See you soon.” When he hangs up, you dive into the pile of plushies. Squeezing them for emotional support, kicking your feet in the air as you scream into your ruffled pillows like a girl’s first crush. You have a long night ahead of you. 

You access Toji’s building. He must’ve notified them you were coming, as the doors were open upon arrival, and a bellhop was sent to guide you to his floor. You’re standing outside of it, clothes and a bottle of champagne in hand. Your stretchy maxi dress clings to your figure, complimenting the juicy shade of lip gloss you’re wearing—the shade he loved most on you during your marriage. You ring the bell, and it doesn’t take long before he opens the door. The scene you’re exposed to swells heat between your legs. 

Toji has nothing but a towel shimmied low on his hips, v-line adorned with veins and biceps corded with muscle. He’s trimmed his hair since your last encounter, and it’s dripping wet along with the rest of his soaked body. You’ve interrupted his shower apparently, but he didn’t hesitate to rush to the door, water cascading from the raven veil, sluicing down his sculpted chest. He had to have done this on purpose, but you weren’t complaining at this point; he looked damn good doing it. You can’t disengage from the beads branching amid his pecs and through his happy trail. God, you wish you were water personified right no- 

“You’re staring, dollface” he teases with a smirk. Your eyes snap to his, and you remember to breathe. You clumsily hold up the liquid peace offering, “Brought a little something.” 

“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get dressed.” You nod, and he marches upstairs. You don’t need comfortability; you need to be in and out of here before you do something you’ll regret.  

But...is that cedarwood and vanilla? The interior gives off romantic energy at night, attractive dim lighting throughout and dull flickering pops of his fireplace in the living room. You find the source of that heavenly scent sitting on his kitchen island, and awkwardly place the bottle down. You don’t know what to do with yourself, more so you don’t know what to say. It’s hard to recite a script when things aren’t going according to plan. Did you want to apologize, or force him to apologize? Maybe you should’ve cursed him out, rehashed his asshole behavior from the past until he drowned in guilt. You want to kiss and slap him, cry in his arms until your voice gives out and disappear all at once.  

There’s a beautiful clear vase in the center, crammed with your favorite flowers, and your fingers dance across the petals. “You like ‘em?” he asks stepping into the kitchen. His hair’s still saturated, but he’s sporting grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top. “They’re very pretty.” 

“They’re for you.” 

You switch between his playful expression and the burst of colors, “You don’t have to do that.” The bouquet evokes recollections of heated arguments—anytime he’d angered you to tears, and you slammed that bedroom door in his face, you always woke up to similar flowers on the floor. They were cheap, but it meant more than money; because despite the fights and disagreements, it let you know that he’d love you regardless. 

“I wanted to. As thanks for bringing my clothes.” He’s pacing towards you, and you’re bound to the floor like melting wax. His gaze is captivating, and you’re entranced by the verdurous ardor that won’t deter from you. 

“Thank you”, you say as he looms above you and inspects the scripture on the pale bottle. His large thumb blocks the intricate lettering he’s trying to read, “I should be thanking you. Didn’t think you’d ever message me.” 

You can feel the body heat radiating off him, the airy words as he mouths the contents. His eyebrows furrow to follow his focus, while you lose yours.   

“I-I should probably get going-” Without delay, Toji blocks your side with an iron grip on the island, trapping you in the confines of his broad wingspan. 

“Leaving so soon? You got plans tonight?” Saying and doing are completely different stories, and from the way your feet haven’t moved, you aren’t in a rush to go anywhere. 

“Not really, but I worked today and I’m kinda tired-”  

“Then what better way to unwind than with a bottle? I can’t drink this by myself, might as well keep me company” he suggests, persuasion to a greater extent when your lower back hits the bar. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, right? 

“I guess I can stay for a few minutes.” Toji flashes a victorious toothy grin and retrieves cups from the sink cupboard. He gives you a rounded glass, and his muscles flex below candlelight as he maneuvers the cork at an angle. 

“Let’s crack this open” he says, popping the cap off and pouring a substantial amount of golden fizz into both cups. 

Toji raises his glass, “A toast.” 

You tilt your head but raise yours as well. “To what?” 

“Us.”  

Us is a funny thing—with enough effort, it becomes you and I just as quickly as it formed. You don’t know if you’re willing to accept the responsibility of eternity. The devastation of commitment could damage you forever. There’s no us, but there’s you and him. So, you clink your glass, “To us,” and his eyes never leave yours as he takes a swig. It lasts a lifetime among longing breaths and unsaid words. 

He brings the champagne to the living room, “I’ll turn on a movie. You know that cheesy romcom shit you used to watch? They made a sequel.” You fall flat on containing your excitement. He grabs the remote and lays back with his thighs spread apart.  

Toji pats the couch, “Come sit. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You hardly believe that, but you remove your heels and relax upon overstuffed cushions. You opt to sit farther on the couch, and there’s an annoyed twitch on his lip at your display of boundaries. Nevertheless, he starts the movie. 

Toji’s not particularly sneaky. He announces multiple bathroom breaks, returning to a spot on the couch that’s inconspicuous, but inching closer to you. The intent becomes clear when the ghost of his shoulder knocks against you, spreading his thighs wider to brush against the softness huddled into your snug figure. You’re half paying attention to the cliché performance, and half observing Toji. It’s hard not to smile when he behaves like a disobedient dog obligated to sit.  

It’s cute that he arced himself to be eye-level with you. His tank rode up to expose his lower abdomen, and he adjusts himself in his sweats, jaw occasionally clenching. It could be the drink talking, perhaps you’ve had too many.  

The movie ends, and you exhale a sigh of relief. “I forgot how corny this shit is.” 

Toji shrugs, “I didn’t think it was too bad.” 

“No way, you actually liked it?” you gasp. He huffs out his nose, smiling, “People change.” 

“I’m shocked” you quip. Dusk creeps into a descending sunset, and you steal a glance at your phone screen. Bright as day, a notification from Shoko emerges. “NO TOJI >:(" 

You’re stumped thinking of a reply, one that doesn’t compromise your less-than-ideal situation, when Toji puts his hand over the screen. “Hope I’m not gettin’ ya in trouble.” 

“Like you care.” He chuckles and slides it to the far side of the couch. “You’re right. Let’s watch another.” 

This next movie's decent; a flat racing plot with excessive sequels. He unleashes an exaggerated yawn, extending his triceps to land behind your head. You quirk a brow at him, and he plays innocent. “You look cold” he says. You don’t care as much as you pretend. His pads trace the shell of your burning ear down to the lobe, to fine hair at the end of your neck. His rough hand massages the back of your head, and you lull to his chest. Be it the champagne or his actions, it’s too hot for comfort. Clamping your thighs shut spurs the intensity. His other hand languidly tests the limits of your skin, gossamer touches from your knee to your thigh. It's asking, and when you don’t object, he invites the entire palm to your knee, rubbing delicately. He brings it to your upper thigh, and retreats to the outside, getting dangerously close to your rear. The worst part is it’s not that bad. It’s intimate. Warm. 

Loving. 

It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re tearing up, but Toji recognizes that hushed sniffle. Airy and choked, quiet as to not be a burden. He circles a hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He tilts your chin to his gaze, soft and deceptively gentle when he asks. 

“What’s wrong pretty, hm?” You say nothing through the constrains in your throat, streaking the tears that fall faster than you can wipe them. This man alone can reduce you to mush with a wave of his hand. He bares your rawest state and sculpts you back together with such purity, such devotion, that you’d plead for him to sink his clay sodden fingers into your nothing, and make you everything. 

“Tell me, and I’ll fix it.” 

You say just above a whisper, “You’re selfish, you know that?”  

“Mhm, I know” he nods, grazing his thumb across your lip. 

“This isn’t healthy for us; we can’t heal like this.” He angles your head with his half lidded gaze, polishing your damp undereyes.  

“I don’t need healing. I need you.” 

You find passage in his hair, and surrender to temptation. 

You test with a smooch. Then another. Then a series of tender, sugary kisses are pushed upon his pliant lips, and he responds in kind. You curl your fingers through his tresses as you explore the contours of his lips for what feels like the first time. Toji isn’t known for patience, but the sensation of his mildly dry lips getting smoother from your supple kisses gives him the will to savor this moment. You push and pull from each other, indulging in the messy smacks and caresses. You stop amid shared breaths to skim and nudge his yearning lips, diving into more hungry kisses. Toji abruptly lifts you over him, and you deepen its bruising passion.  

You lick his bottom lip, and he groans, parting his mouth to allow your entry. You traverse the pink mass, interlacing in a wet feverish exchange. Your mind is numb, and the heartbeat in your core strikes stronger when your tongues intertwine. Toji hikes your dress up and slinks his massive hands over the plush fat of your rear. He earns a muffled moan from you as he kneads and gropes, and you feel his smirk against your lips. He grips your ass and starts to grind your hips on the bulge in his pants, a silent beg for any amount of friction. You wind with his movements, consuming him, and you hear a whimper get lost in the back of his throat.  

You drag your teeth along his neck. You lick and suck in a few spots and decide to draw harshly on a responsive patch of skin while circling the fat of your pussy over his sensitive cock, taut in his boxers. His breath hitches, and he slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby please.” It’s rare to witness him begging like this, and you’re drinking it in. You lick up his Adam’s apple and pepper his jaw with kisses. “You like it?” 

“Need more.” You bite his bottom lip for what seems like an exchange, but break away once he leans in. “Mm, be patient Toji.”  

Your hands traverse the rugged muscle under his tank top. He aids in taking it off, and you rake over his breathless torso. You kiss along his pecs and lick the groove of his abs, delighting in the parts you missed during your separation. Toji has a tinge of red soaking his chest and ears, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing cock when you bat your eyes as you slope to the floor. You slip a finger under his waistband, playfully running over its span, and snapping it from a peak. He hisses. You palm his erection, and he grinds into it.  

“Wait” he husks. He reaches for a pillow and shuffles it under your knees. “Oh, thank you” you say, but it doesn’t look like he hears you in the chaos of tugging his sweatpants down to expose his boxers. The anticipation’s killing you, so you free his dick from its confinement. 

You can’t forget the mouthwatering size. His girth meets his length with equal satisfaction. The base is tan, fading to a rosy tip and a faint curve. You committed his veins to memory, small ones embossing the sides and a prominent one meandering to his tip. 

You maintain eye contact with him, hand steady on the base as you deliver taunting little licks to his frenulum. You precisely ring around his urethra and trace the veins, pulsating from the flick of your wrist. Toji hisses shaky curses and bucks, beefy thighs stiffening when you roll a flat strip to his leaking head and pump the base of his cock. He didn’t want to push you, but his whole body twitched in desire. “Your mouth” he groans. You react a coy ‘huh?’, tapping the head on your tongue and slathering it in saliva with cutesy doe eyes. He’s homed in on the strings of saliva connecting him to your tongue. 

An undertone of desperation in his gravelly voice, “Whole thing. In your mouth,” he expends another shaky breath, “please.” 

He bites his lip and stifles a moan, watching you engulf the cockhead in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks while the underside of your tongue holds firm, and cautiously accommodate his size. It’s too big for comfort and it stretches the capacity of your plump spit-covered lips, but you work through the daunting pressure poking your reflex. You gradually relax, periodically gagging from an unprepared increase, and he twitches at your tightening throat. Your nose finally touches the hilt, flooded in his musk, and you start to suck. You bob leisurely, adjusting to the sense, and he subtly squirms in your touch.  

Toji crinkles his brows when you release a pleasant pop on his tip, purely to observe his eyes rolling back when you wreck him in a noisy suction. Noise was no longer a factor—sounds of spit and dry retching overpowered the volume of the movie regardless. He holds your hair away from you to get a better view of your face, smothered with tears and mascara, drool ceaseless down your chin. “F-fuck, you’re so good, so, so good to me” he groans. 

Your tongue swirls around him as you’re bobbing, and you accompany it with a tender massage to his balls. You cup and fondle them, using the lubrication from your spit to glide your fingers across. He sighs and grabs a handful of your hair. “Need to come. Keep that pretty throat open for me, yeah?” 

He rapidly shoves you down to the hilt, and you wince before he continues at a relentless pace. You anchor his thigh for stability, and he throws his head back, fucking your throat raw. There's a sheen of sweat where his bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans the closer he gets. Rambling about nonsense, yes’s and curses as he stiffens. He treats your mouth like a flesh light, evident by the throat bulge disappearing and reappearing. You happily accept the searing jaw, swaying your ass from thrumming in your saturated panties damp to your inner thighs.  

You can tell he’s about to climax because he goes completely quiet minus the panting, open mouthed with his head back. You resume massaging his balls, and he shoves you to the base, “C-coming” he moans. You grab onto him, and a squeak dies in your throat when he paints it white. He shakes, groans for each spurt coating your mouth, pumping the last of his semen as you swallow. 

Toji shudders when he pulls out, and his panting returns to a soft huff. You expected him to be spent, or at least sit in the aftershocks for a while until he calmed down. But he tightens the grip on your hair and forces you to look up. “Show me” he husks. You stick your tongue out, proof you swallowed every bit. “Now c’mere”, he guides you into a filthy French kiss, devouring you with much more dominance than before. It’s as though your nearness restored him. You can hardly stand your feeble knees and sopping core, but Toji takes care of it for you. With unnatural vigor, he lifts you over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs. “Ah, Toji, maybe you should take a sec-” 

He swats your butt harsh, and you yelp from the sting. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. You’ve been so mouthy, a damn tease, too. You’re gonna regret it.” 

You’re ferried into the rather plain bedroom lined with dim hues, and a wide ceiling length mirror opposite the bed. He tosses you on the dark gray bedding and climbs over you. Your heart’s racing with thrill. Toji yanks the dress over your head, uncovering the sheer white lacey bra, similar to your underwear.  

He stares like you’re a piece of meat, feasting on your flawlessness not yet smothered in hickeys and bruises, your nipples at attention under the fabric. “It’s all for me, huh?” he whispers, lust rolling off his tongue. You nod, because it’s always been for him, whether he was here or not. He buries himself in your cleavage and hums in satisfaction. His touch sends goosebumps to your skin and keeps your back arched when he drags a pad along your spine. Then your bra unclasps, and he removes it carefully, as if he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by unwrapping his gift too early. He gawks at them for an embarrassingly long pause, enough to make your cheeks hot, and you chide, “Stop staring.” 

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.” Toji submerges the bud, whirling around it while he roughly squeezes both breasts. He molds the dough of your breasts with strong palms, nips and tugs your nipple before soothing it with fierce tongue kisses. Consistent teeth grazing hikes your sensitivity before he trades it for sucking. When he switches to the other, he pinches the maltreated peak, eliciting a whimper. You merely bind your thighs and embrace the disarray being caused on your spit-soaked nipples. The cold air your abused tits receive as he withdrawals from suckling is nullified by the hickeys he leaves. You quiver from constellations of splotchy purplish red, delicious pain tingling throughout your torso. “Not so much, I have to go back to work soon” you moan, not very convincing.  

“Even better; everyone’ll know who fucks you” Toji winks, and your heart skips. He dumps a nice vibrant bruise on your sternum, and advances to the dainty hem. He parts your thighs with ease, throwing them on his shoulder. Then he develops a haughty smirk.  

You’re monitoring his face, until he presses a pad against your aching clit, and the subsequent juices overflowing from a huge wet patch. He plays with the spiderweb of slick between his digits, “Mm. Y’still my girl.” You blush as he sucks on them and licks his lips afterwards. Hooking under the panties, he pulls them taut, projecting the swell of your pudgy vulva in tightening lace. It sinks past your outer lips and cages your clit—you want to writhe from friction, but it makes it worse. He ghosts against you and kisses the print, and you want to scream. “Tell me what you want, or I won’t do it.” 

“P-please...” you whine. You lock eyes, and you can hardly manage a word in the foreground of his intensity. How can he expect you to form coherent sentences when he sees through you like this? He gives a disappointed tut and puppeteers the strings, shifting them back and forth upon your neglected vulva. You cry out, and he cinches it together, isolating the part that pulses incessantly. He has an evil grin on his face, the bastard. “Details, baby.” 

“Toji...please t-touch me alre-eady so I can come, m’sorry I won’t tease you again!” you promise, willing to do whatever it takes to reduce your sentence. 

“And what else?” 

“Your mouth on m-my pussy...please lick it.” You’re humiliated at the request that tumbles from your bottommost desires, but he’s satisfied. He’s never been one to shy away from dirty talk. 

“Good girl.” Toji slithers your panties off, and you sigh from a loss of pressure just as his bangs tickle your pubic area. He interlocks your hands, a breath from eating you. 

“You don’t look at me, I’ll stop. Think you can do that f’me?”  

“Mhm!”  

He hums in agreement and submerses into you. Toji’s a messy eater, especially when he’s desperate. He ovals the outer lips and precisely stirs your clit, and your stomach turns in knots from simple motions. He frames it and carefully winds around his capable tongue, really focusing on the spots that make your back curve; really focusing on your entry, as he teasingly digs in.  

Toji cajoles a groan from his nose caressing your bud, then laps a level tongue over your wetness, truly tasting you. It isn’t long before his teasing farce began to crumble, and he obliged his ravenous appetite. He eats you starving, insatiable as he absorbs your twitching cunt and perfumed essence spilling down his chin. You clasp your hands, desire building in a trembling quake, but he doesn’t falter. He slurps your inner lips, and finally delivers proper care to your neglected clit. He hums a low vibration when he sucks, his pursed lips moving from a steady tongue to full on slobbering like some savage animal.  

You appreciate the support his steady hands give your shaky ones. “Toji, hahhh coming” you whine, a familiar sensation flipping in your core. He lets his words fan onto you, “You know better” he husks. Your hips are bucking frantically, and so you whine, “Please, can I come sir, please please please please!”  

“Hmm, I don’t know, you were ready to disobey me just now.” He says that, however the look in his eye is unrelated; it craves you, the want to make you squeal repeatedly until you’re on the verge of collapse. “’M can’t take it anymore, please let me come!” You urge your hips to his mouth, and meld into his warmth. 

“Come on my face, pretty girl” he groans, just as hankering as you. He laps at your clit, and you sooner fall apart underneath him. Your whimpered plea forms an innocent sob as you spasm from overstimulation. Toji just doesn’t stop. His head careens against you, tasting everything your body has to offer. You’re suddenly regretting how badly you wanted to come. 

“Toji- I-it’s too much” you protest, but it receives no response. Your release dribbles down his chin and he persists, ultimately unbinding when you lose a hold on his hands from the tremors. He diverges your lips and admires the way your mess clenches around air. 

“Heh, you’re shaking. Cute.” He rubs the back of your legs, reassuring you in spite of his previous cruelty. You make a sad attempt at wiggling away, but he grabs you firm. 

No running. Be good and hold your legs back.” He folds your legs to your shoulders, and you mewl, reluctantly wrapping your hands around them. ‘No’ isn’t a valid response at present.  

Toji’s thumbs spread your wrinkling opening, and you feel a draft on its expanse before he spits directly into your hole. You jerk, startled, and he shushes you. He slathers his thick digits in your glistening strip, and smoothly sinks one inside. “Pussy so slippery for me. Miss this...miss you” he sighs, starting to pump. He prepares you for the main course, scrapes your walls and curls his finger to hit a spot you can’t reach. The nasty squelching sounds you echo from a mere finger casts heat on your cheeks, and he seems to enjoy your responsiveness as he adds another finger to the commotion. He twines a ‘come hither’ motion that makes your back arch from every delightful swipe against your velvety walls. Then his pink muscle undulates along your swollen bud, and you dissolve to a puddle. Your hips stutter, and surge after surge of torturous pleasure strikes you with no end in sight. 

“Toji, f-fuck wait- hng s’feels too good” you whimper, and he gruffs a chuckle. He expands his fingers with precision, then chooses to slide a thumb in your butthole. The combination of both hands intruding your being, coiling into your soul jams your head with intoxicating dizziness and fictitious futures. Static pools in your stomach and circulates like the goading flickers of a raging inferno. He contacts your g-spot, and you moan, “Ah- can I, I’m close” 

“I know, I know. Let go for me,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like when he’s face-deep. Your eyes are screwed shut, white noise before you crash and shatter around his fingers. Fortunately, you’re deaf to your own lewd wailing, clutching for dear life through contractions. It gushes past his wrist. Tears reside in your lashes, croaked sob from the slap he gives your puffy pussy. “That’s it, baby, there we go.” 

Toji shows mercy and slips out. You’re still registering sultry bliss, untangling your limbs to lay slack. Empathy isn’t forever, though, because he forces your butt rearwards as he hops off the bed. Precum seeps from his tip, sheeting his shaft and heavy brimming sack. He propels your thighs to your chest, and your expression switches to fear for a second at the angry red tip sitting at your entrance. It's as if it grew since the blowjob, and you’re sure you’ll die if he stuffs that monster inside you.  

He slides up and down the entrance, seizing the sore bud, “Mmm, pretty thing making a mess all over my cock.”  

“Just go slow, okay?” you meek. 

“Of course, ‘m not tryna kill you.” Toji doesn’t disrupt the yearning gaze between you, giving your entry several threatening caresses. He groans from the sensation of your puffy lips snuggling his length. Then he plunges the bulbous tip, encased in your passion. He’s unhurried for the most part, besides the instants he stops himself from ramming into you, cock begging to feel the fervor. He’s plugging you to capacity, and you’re only halfway in. Soreness whirrs in your walls being outstretched beyond belief, yet you’re milking what remains, dragging the rest of him in. His breath hitches, a spiderweb of veins pulses in your tight embrace and he rocks his hips further. “Look at the way you’re gripping me. Fuck” he shudders. His tip presses on your cervix, and you feel the weight of his balls on your rear. 

Toji drives into you nice and slow. In this position you feel each vast stroke massaging your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. There’s almost a gloss film on his eyes as he indulges in the sweet addiction swamping his thoughts with unfiltered lust. “When you left it hurt real bad, y’know? I even cried.” You’re a bit stunned at his spur of honesty, but it’s short-lived as his thrusts get wilder and brutal. Your mouth hangs open, drool shameless out your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. You throb frenetically, chest heaving from the way his sack smacks against your ass and the creamy translucent ring forming at the base of his cock. His swinging strokes graze your g-spot and you sob, but he doesn’t check for your mitigation, encompassing your numb clit in the heat of his mean smacks.  

“Heh, dunno if you remember, but you left a pair of panties when you moved”, Toji regresses to the tip and bottoms out repeatedly, “I’ve jerked off in them so many times, imagining you backing up this juicy pussy on my dick.” You’re hysterical, flushed from head to toe and struggling to take breaths. Toji has you locked slamming into your cervix. It coaxes a mix of pleasure and pain burning through you, and your toes curl. “You love me?” he asks. It’s unfair to ask you now, scatter-brained and drooling like a stupefied slut. But you nod, and he plasters a cocky grin. “Good. ‘S long as I have that, I’m okay.”  

The unexpected flood of your orgasm quakes you, unable to warn Toji, or even ask for permission. How disappointed he’d be in you, as your juices sluice and soak, fluttering where you come undone. It’s a trail of fire, and it hurts to come. His hips sputter and he mutters a string of curses, flicking your nub faster to heighten the intensity of the earlier mess. You paw at his chest, back arched and fresh tears clustering in the haze. “Please, please!” you babble to an unresponsive Toji, stuck in a feral trance.  

Toji pulls out, palpitating at the precipice of his own climax. You take this opportunity to flip on your stomach and creep to a farther part of the bed. He’s in no rush. You can’t go far like that, a net of arousal at the apex of your thighs. He climbs onto the bed and grapples your hips, thighs capturing yours. He curves your back and slips into your gummy walls anew. You grip him like a vice notwithstanding the complaints. You hate to say it, but Toji’s length bullying its way to your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. He snares your hair and holds the underside of your chin. “Hah- c’mon baby, you can take a little more”, he groans at a savage pace, “be a good girl.” Your ass ripples against the brawny man, hoarse voice in your ear, scrotum pummeling the overworked bundle of nerves. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets. All you should do is let him use you, that’s all you need to do, right?   

Toji pans your head to the mirror, “Look how good you’re taking me, angel. You’re doing well.” His honeyed praises make you throb, attended by the bestial snap of his hips. “See that?”, he references your release slugging both legs, air heavy with sweat, “you’re such a f-fucking slut, what man could satisfy you besides me?” You sniffle and muster a pathetic babble, and he laughs. “You’re my perfect slut, though, fuck- ‘nd I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again.” There’s a tinge of regret swimming in the sea that is Toji’s confidence, and you feel it. It’s a subtle confession; please don’t go. 

Then he stops. Toji lets go, and you’re impulsively manhandled in front of him while he’s behind you. He lays back, and in doing so, ferries your knees to the sides of your face and hooks his hands to the rear of your head. You’re unveiled in the reflection of the mirror, a panel that bounces back the thin sheen of sweat on your bodies, your disheveled hair and makeup, wrinkled sheets, and the sticky lacings attaching you to Toji. You want to shy from the humiliating sight. “Don’t hide your face” he coos. You glimpse a portion of his face in the mirror, a glint in his eye, “I like this view more.”  

He bends his knees and pounds your chubby cunt with reckless abandon. He’s fucking your cervix, heedless grunts and panting groans as you swallow him up. Toji sputters, throbbing along your abused body and reverberating vicious staggering plap’s that could be heard on the lowest floor. You can’t breathe, let alone think, and the asphyxiation goes straight to your pussy. “O-oh fuck, heh, feel s’good. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Shit- have a mini me crawling around. Y-you'd like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Wanna carry my baby?” The headboard thuds against the wall, and in your fog, you call out for him, chanting his name like a mantra. The emotion is overwhelming, you claw at his bicep as shockwaves burst and fizzle out on your skin. “You’re dripping down my balls, sweetie, you close again?” Tougher, nastier strikes allure your orgasm, and you bleat a scream as a stream of liquid surges from you that drenches the sheets and Toji’s shaft. It’s a blinding white light, and you go limp through the violent spasms.  

“Ohhh shit, that’s it baby, take everything I give you” he rasps. Toji shoulders your dead weight with ease, going silent, then plummeting you to the hilt. His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy pumps before he comes. He spurts thick, hot globs that paint and crowd your walls with greed. You milk him dry as he bucks. It overflows to trickling down his length, and his muscles quiver as he comes down from his high. His staggering pants reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted limbs. 

Toji drives out and turns you around. You’re edging unconsciousness, sporadic jolts and innocent sobs carrying in your scratched throat. “I know. Breathe, baby.” He brings you flush with his chest, and you absorb his gentle puffs, the methodical beat of his heart. “You okay?” You’re unresponsive, gathering yourself in an incomplete collage of thoughts. You want to talk but it dissipates on your tongue. He rubs your back and kisses your forehead.  

Then it’s muted; solely the dwindling rate at which your heart races, and the tender smooches Toji dots on your face as you cuddle. When you open your eyes, the sheets are changed, and you’re cleaned. Clearly some time has passed. You sit, and Toji comes out the bathroom, running water in the background. “How ya feelin’?” 

You wince at the blunt thrum in your vulva, “Okay. How long was I out?” 

“Like half an hour. Up for a bath?” You don’t have the energy to move your body. Toji scoops you bridal style and leads you to the bathroom. You found it amusing how considerate he was after wrecking your brain. 

Toji spoons a generous quantity of Epson salt into the corner jet tub. He helps you in and joins once you’re stable. It’s a lavish proportion, but you decide to be next to him. Your head situates on your forearms over the tub rim while Toji sloshes water onto your back. The steam and serene jets below ship you to a luxury vacation on a tropical island, its quality comparable to spas with extensive dollar signs. You study each other. 

“I’ll let you get whatever you need from your place.” You knit your brows, “For what?” 

“You live with me.” You simper at his audacity.  

“So, you’re the decision maker now?” 

“For this, yes. Can’t risk you runnin’ off again.” 

“It’s your fault I left.” He pauses, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

A piece of you becomes whole at his acknowledgement. There are no petty jabs to be had where lingering truths wade in the mist. “Never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”  

“It’s overdue. I was a dick, and I should’ve never treated you like that. Was tryna sort out my shit, but I didn’t have to take it out on ya.” 

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry...but not sorry enough to let me go?” 

 “No. You need nobody but me.” 

You chortle, and he cracks a smirk. “Arrogant asshole.”   

“I love you, too.” 

[elysiaheaven]

𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬- 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐱 𝐅.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭)

Words:10000 Contains Sunday leaks of joining.

Genre: Smut

Summary: The new astral member joins, Sunday, The man who tried to kill you all, He doesn't try to get along yet closes himself in his room, You decided to 'educate' him locking himself up is a shit. He began to change and tries to befriend you. He tries to help you with a experiment and sadly aphrodisiac is spilled

( Reader is a female) Reader's clothing is inspired from Mobius. Reader is a scientist!

CW: Mentions of Hickey, Aphrodisiac usage (Accident), Use of nickname (Sunday calls y/n as Angel), Switch Sunday, Vanilla, Slight use of Collar .

Reader is slightly cruel to Sunday at first. Because he was being alone all the time

Sunday was once the revered leader of Penacony. Now, he's just another member of the Astral Express, exiled and alone, thanks to a deal his sister made with Lady Bonajade. In exchange for his freedom, Sunday lost his home and the chance to return to his sister. This left him a quiet, withdrawn man.

The Astral Express crew wasn't thrilled about his presence. March and Dan Heng were constantly on edge around him, although he never caused trouble. He mostly kept to himself, a figure of quiet pain. Only Himeko, Welt, and Stelle were friendly, but you kept your distance. After all, he once tried to kill all of you. Talking to him was out of the question.

You, a scientist with a distinct appearance, wore a sleeveless tight black dress adorned with green and gold. A loose semi-transparent sleeve covered your left arm, complemented by a black glove, while your right arm sported a long black glove with three green claws on your thumb, index, and middle fingers. A gold earring dangled from your right ear.

March and Dan Heng had their opinions about you, describing you as a pure being, a seeker of truth, yet tinged with an air of malevolence. This was more a reflection of your creator than yourself. You wanted to be different but struggled with how to achieve that, often feeling like a mere extension of someone else's design, much like Sunday.

Despite the kindness from Himeko and Stelle, and Welt's occasional different yet kind glances, you remained detached. Dan Heng warmed up to you after you helped him in Luofu, while March tried to act strong but was clearly unsettled by your appearance. In truth, you were simply sleep-deprived, not the malevolent figure they imagined.

Sunday's solitude mirrored your own. You often noticed his sadness but never approached him. One day, you decided to confront him, unable to bear his passive suffering. Cruelly, you told him that sitting in his room and crying wouldn't change anything. His cleanliness and meticulousness only fueled your frustration. Yet, instead of anger, he seemed to find hope in your harsh words.

Sunday started spending more time outside his room, often in the archives, studying. Dan Heng began to bond with him, and it was heartening to see them grow closer. Meanwhile, you locked yourself away, working tirelessly on a liquid to control enemies, hoping to make life easier and reduce the need for constant fighting.

Despite your cold demeanor, Sunday persisted in trying to reach out to you. He would bring you coffee, offer help, and ask to spend time with you. His respectful, orderly nature clashed with your chaotic and isolated existence. You feared that getting close to him might lead to using him as a lab rat, a fate you wished to avoid for him.

You confronted Sunday with cruel words, calling him pathetic for isolating himself, yet it was in these moments that he found a glimmer of hope. He began emerging from his solitude, engaging more with others and spending time in the archive, studying and bonding with Dan Heng. Watching them grow close was heartening, even as you buried yourself in your work, seeking a way to control your enemies without constant battle.

Sunday, however, was undeterred. He continued trying to connect with you, offering coffee, help, and companionship. His respectful persistence and talk of order and harmony were at odds with your chaotic existence. Your fear of dragging him into your world of experiments kept you distant, but his genuine attempts to reach out began to wear down your defenses.

One quiet evening, you found yourself alone with Sunday in the archive. The room was dimly lit, filled with the soft hum of machinery and the rustle of old documents. Sunday was engrossed in a book, but you could see the weight of his exile still pressing down on him. His eyes, once sharp and commanding, now held a distant sadness.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to break the silence. "Sunday," you called out, your voice unexpectedly soft. He looked up, surprised to hear you speak. "I know it's not easy for you, being here, away from your sister and everything you've known."

Sunday's expression softened, a mixture of surprise and gratitude flickering in his golden eyes. He nodded silently, unable to find the words to respond.

"You may not be able to talk to her, but..." You hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. This was uncharted territory for you, showing kindness to someone who once posed a threat. "But I can show you how she's doing," you continued, your tone firmer now. "I have ways to access information, even from afar."

Sunday's eyes widened slightly, a glimmer of hope breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. "You would do that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, pulling out a small device from your pocket. "Just this once," you warned, your voice tinged with a hint of your usual coolness. You tapped a few buttons, and a holographic image appeared, displaying his sister engaged in her media life She looked well, strong, and composed, a stark contrast to Sunday's current state. Tho, he could tell it might be a facade.

Sunday watched the image in silence, his eyes glistening with unspoken emotions. After a few moments, he turned to you, his voice thick with gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely holding together.

You quickly deactivated the device and stepped back, your expression hardening. "Don't get the wrong idea," you snapped, trying to maintain your distance. "This doesn't change anything between us. I'm not your friend, and I'm not doing this out of kindness."

Sunday's face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding your boundaries. "I know," he said, his voice steady despite the rejection. "But still, thank you. It means more than you know."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Just... don't make it a habit," you muttered, turning to leave. But before you walked out, you paused at the door, glancing back at him. "And don't let this make you soft. You still have a long way to go."

Sunday nodded, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "Understood," he replied, watching as you disappeared into the corridor, leaving him alone with the lingering warmth of your unexpected kindness.

Several days had passed since the night in the archive, and you continued your work in isolation. You avoided Sunday, keeping yourself busy with your research and experiments. However, the memory of his grateful eyes lingered in your mind, making it difficult to maintain your usual distance.

He was standing by a window, gazing out at the stars. The soft glow of the celestial bodies illuminated his face, highlighting the sadness in his golden eyes. Seeing him like that, a pang of frustration and concern hit you.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before approaching him. "Sunday," you called out, your voice sharper than intended. He turned to look at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"Why do you always look so lost?" you demanded, your frustration spilling over. "You can't just stand around, wallowing in your own misery."

Sunday blinked, taken aback by your sudden outburst. He stepped closer, his expression softening. "I know," he said quietly. "But... it's hard. Being here, away from everything I knew, from my sister..."

Before you could respond, Sunday reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly warm, and you felt a strange mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite place.

"You've been there for me," Sunday said, his voice steady and sincere. "Even if it's only been a few weeks, even if it was just tough love... you've shown me more kindness than I deserve. And for that, you're now one of my dear people."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. The sincerity in his eyes, the way he looked at you—it was disarming. You felt your resolve wavering, but you couldn't let your guard down.

With a soft sigh, you reached up and gently removed his hands from your face. "Don't be ridiculous," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent. "I only did what anyone would do. Besides, seeing you all sad and moping around just makes me angry. It's not like I care or anything."

Sunday chuckled softly, a warm, gentle sound that made your heart skip a beat. "I understand," he said, smiling softly. "But still, thank you. Your words, even if harsh, pushed me to try and move forward."

You looked away, feeling a mix of emotions. It was strange, being thanked for something you hadn't meant as a kindness. But there was a part of you that was glad—glad that he was starting to find his way, glad that your harshness had somehow helped him.

"Just... don't make it a habit to get all sentimental," you said, trying to sound stern. "I'm not good with that kind of stuff."

Sunday nodded, a small smile still on his lips. "I won't," he promised. "But know that I appreciate it, even if you don't want to admit you care."

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Whatever. Just... try to keep your chin up, okay? It's annoying when you're all downcast."

He nodded again, the smile on his face growing. "I'll do my best," he said, his voice warm and genuine. "And... thank you, again. For everything."

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, your heart racing. You didn't know what to make of these new feelings, this strange connection that was forming between you and Sunday. All you knew was that, despite your best efforts to keep your distance, something had shifted. And you weren't sure how to handle it.

 You threw yourself even deeper into your work, trying to drown out the confusing feelings that had begun to stir inside you. The project you were working on—a chemical solution to control enemies—became an obsession. You worked tirelessly, barely stopping to eat or sleep, driven by an intense need to prove something to yourself, though you weren't entirely sure what that was.

One night, as you were in the lab, your hands trembled from exhaustion and stress. You had been working for hours, your mind a blur of formulas and calculations. The rows of bottles filled with iodine solutions on the lab bench seemed to dance in front of your eyes, the chemicals inside them catching the light in a mesmerizing, yet nauseating, display.

You reached for a beaker, but your vision swam, and your hand slipped. The beaker tipped over, sending a cascade of glass and liquid toward the carefully arranged bottles of iodine. Instinctively, you lunged to catch the falling bottles, but your tired body wasn't fast enough. The sound of shattering glass filled the room, the sharp smell of iodine stinging your nostrils.

Panic surged through you. The thought of losing all your work, of having to start over, was too much to bear. You screamed, a raw, frustrated sound that echoed off the sterile walls of the lab. The noise seemed to vibrate in your bones, shaking loose the tears you had been holding back for what felt like forever.

As the adrenaline faded, you slumped to the floor, the chaos around you a stark contrast to the cold, clinical order you usually maintained. The crash had knocked over more than just bottles—it had broken through the walls you'd built around yourself, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

You stayed on the floor for what felt like an eternity, the coolness of the tiles seeping through your clothes, grounding you. Eventually, the exhaustion became too much, and you closed your eyes, unable to fight the overwhelming need for sleep any longer. But even in sleep, you found no peace. Your dreams were plagued by the image of Sunday, his sad eyes and gentle hands haunting you, mingling with the guilt of pushing him away and the fear of losing control.

You woke up several times that night, each time more exhausted than before, your body aching from the uncomfortable position and the relentless stress. When morning finally came, you felt like a shadow of yourself, the weight of your own expectations crushing down on you.

As you slowly cleaned up the broken glass and iodine, you couldn't help but think about how fragile everything seemed—your work, your emotions, your relationships. The image of Sunday holding your face, his words about you being one of his dear people, replayed in your mind. It felt like a paradox: how could you be dear to anyone when you couldn't even keep yourself together?

Sunday, noticing your increasingly frazzled state, couldn't shake the concern he felt. He remembered the few moments when you'd shown a glimpse of vulnerability, and he knew you were pushing yourself too hard. Determined to do something for you, he sought advice from Himeko, one of the few people on the Astral Express who seemed to understand you.

One quiet morning, while most of the crew was occupied with their own tasks, Sunday found Himeko in the lounge, sipping her morning coffee. He approached her hesitantly, unsure of how to start the conversation.

"Himeko," he began, catching her attention. She looked up, smiling warmly.

"Sunday, " she greeted him. "What brings you here so early?"

He shifted nervously, glancing around to make sure no one else was within earshot. "I wanted to ask you something... about her," he said, referring to you. "I want to do something nice, but I'm not sure what she'd appreciate."

Himeko raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "That's very thoughtful of you," she said, setting her coffee down. "She doesn't often show what she likes, but from what I've seen, she has a soft spot for cute things. Especially sweets, like strawberry cake."

Sunday nodded, absorbing the information. "Strawberry cake," he repeated, as if committing it to memory. "Any other tips?"

Himeko chuckled. "Just be genuine. She might not show it, but small gestures can mean a lot to her. And knowing you, I'm sure whatever you do will be perfectly in order."

"Order-"

"It's a habit you couldn't control, Don't worry You are perfectly fine the way you are."

With a grateful smile, Sunday thanked Himeko and set off to prepare his plan. He wasn't particularly skilled in the kitchen, but he was determined to make something special for you. He meticulously researched recipes for strawberry cake, wanting to ensure everything was perfect.

The next day, Sunday took over the small kitchen area of the Astral Express. He donned an apron and got to work, his movements precise and careful. He measured each ingredient with exacting precision, making sure everything was just right. The way he handled everything was almost surgical—clean, orderly, and deliberate.

He prepared the batter, mixing it until it was smooth and lump-free. Then he carefully poured it into a baking pan, making sure it was evenly spread. As the cake baked, he prepared the frosting, whipping cream until it was light and fluffy, then adding a touch of pink coloring and fresh strawberries for that perfect touch of sweetness.

When the cake was ready, he let it cool before applying the frosting. He decorated it with a neat arrangement of strawberry slices on top, the vibrant red standing out against the soft pink frosting. The final product was immaculate, each detail carefully considered and executed.

Sunday stood back, admiring his work. He felt a sense of pride and anticipation, hoping that this small gesture would bring a smile to your face, or at the very least, a moment of peace amidst your chaotic life. He carefully packed the cake, making sure it would remain perfect until he presented it to you.

Later, he found you in your lab, still surrounded by your experiments. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, but there was a determined set to your jaw that Sunday couldn't help but admire.

"Hey," he called softly, catching your attention. You looked up, surprised to see him standing there with a box in his hands.

"What is it?" you asked, trying to mask your curiosity with indifference.

Sunday smiled gently, holding out the box. "I noticed you've been working hard, and I thought you could use a break. So... I made something for you."

You hesitated, then took the box, opening it to reveal the beautifully decorated strawberry cake. Your eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of something softening your usually guarded expression.

"You made this?" you asked, looking up at him with a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

He nodded, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah. I hope you like it. I know it's not much, but... I wanted to do something nice for you."

You stared at the cake, the neatness and care evident in every detail. It was unlike anything you'd expected, and it stirred something inside you—a warmth you hadn't felt in a long time.

"It's... really nice," you admitted, your voice softer than usual. "Thank you, Sunday."

He smiled, relief and happiness clear in his eyes. "I'm glad you like it. Just... take a break, okay? You can't keep going like this."

As the initial surprise wore off, you felt a surge of conflicting emotions. You weren't used to people doing things like this for you, and the vulnerability it stirred made you uncomfortable. Trying to regain your composure, you quickly bowed your head in a gesture of thanks.

"Thank you, Sunday," you said, your voice steady but with an edge of formality. "I'll... enjoy this."

Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel and quickly made your way to your room, shutting the door behind you with more force than you intended. The sound echoed down the corridor, and Sunday flinched slightly, concern etching his features. He stood there, staring at the closed door, a pang of worry gnawing at him. Had he overstepped? Misread the situation? The abruptness of your exit made him think he might have upset you.

However, just as he was about to turn away, he heard a muffled sound coming from behind your door. He paused, straining to listen. The walls were surprisingly thin, and after a moment, he clearly heard your voice, raised in an uncharacteristic shout.

"Oh my god, this is amazing!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with genuine excitement and delight. "It's so good! I can't believe he made this!"

Sunday's eyes widened in surprise, and then a slow, relieved smile spread across his face. The tension in his shoulders eased as he realized that your abrupt departure wasn't out of anger but rather a reaction to your own overwhelming emotions. The smile deepened into one of genuine happiness as he listened to your enthusiastic exclamations.

He couldn't help but chuckle softly, shaking his head. It was a rare sight, hearing you so openly expressive, and it filled him with a quiet joy. For once, he'd managed to do something right, to bring a bit of happiness into your world.

As he walked away from your door, Sunday's heart felt lighter. He knew you weren't the type to openly express gratitude or affection, but your reaction told him everything he needed to know. It was enough to hear your joy, even if it was through the walls. He was pleased—more than pleased, actually—knowing that his gesture had been well-received and that, even if just for a moment, he'd managed to make you happy.

Inside your room, you sat down with the cake Sunday had made, a fork in hand. The first bite melted in your mouth, the sweetness of the strawberries and the light, fluffy texture of the cake taking you by surprise. It was perfect—so much so that tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of joy and overwhelming emotion.

"This is so good," you murmured between bites, unable to stop yourself. "How did he even do this? It's amazing..."

Unbeknownst to you, March had been passing by your door when she overheard your exclamations. Curious, she stopped to listen, her eyes widening in surprise as she realized what you were saying. A wide grin spread across her face, and she immediately ran off to find Sunday, eager to share the news.

She found him in the common area, quietly reading a book. "Sunday!" she called out, her voice filled with excitement. He looked up, startled by her enthusiasm.

"What's going on?" he asked, closing his book.

March practically bounced on her feet. "I just heard her in her room! She was saying how amazing the cake was! You really made her day, you know that?" She then clasped her hands together, her eyes wide and pleading. "Could you make something for me too? Please? Pretty please? I promise I'll be your best friend forever!"

Sunday chuckled, genuinely amused by her excitement. "Sure, March," he agreed easily. "I'd be happy to make something for you. What would you like?"

March's eyes sparkled with delight. "Surprise me! I trust your cooking skills completely after hearing how much she liked the cake."

As they talked, Dan Heng and Stelle happened to walk by. Catching the conversation, Stelle grinned and leaned in. "Did I hear something about food?" she asked, her tone playful. "If there's a chance for some free food, count me in!"

Dan Heng, standing beside her, was quieter but curious. He glanced at Sunday, then nodded slightly. "I'm interested too," he admitted, though more reservedly. "It's not every day we get to try something special."

Sunday smiled warmly at the group. "Alright, then," he said. "I'll make something special for everyone. How about a small dinner? It'll be a good chance for us all to sit down and enjoy a meal together."

The idea was met with enthusiastic approval, especially from March and Stelle. Dan Heng, though more subdued, seemed pleased by the prospect as well. They all agreed to meet later that evening in the dining area.

As they left to prepare for the impromptu gathering, Sunday felt a deep sense of contentment. He was grateful for the chance to bring a bit of joy to the team, especially to you. The thought of you enjoying the cake, even crying over it, brought a warm feeling to his heart. It was a simple act, but it seemed to have bridged a small gap between him and the rest of the crew, making him feel more at home on the Astral Express.

That evening, as Sunday worked in the kitchen, preparing a meal with the same care and precision he had put into the cake, he couldn't help but look forward to the dinner. It wasn't just about the food

The dinner Sunday prepared was a quiet but pleasant affair. The crew gathered around the table, enjoying the food he'd painstakingly made. March, in particular, was ecstatic as she dug into the strawberry cake he had baked again, savoring every bite. Her eyes sparkled with delight, and she couldn't help but express her joy aloud.

"Sunday, this cake is amazing!" she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "I think I can forgive you for everything—even for trying to kill us all." She laughed, though there was a hint of seriousness behind her words.

Sunday's expression grew more somber as he set down his fork. He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each of his companions. There was a moment of silence, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight of the past. He knew he couldn't ignore it or brush it aside with a few kind gestures.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I need to say something," he began, his voice steady but laced with a deep sincerity. "I know I haven't been the most welcomed presence on the Astral Express. And I understand why. My actions before... they were inexcusable. I was following a path that I believed was right, a path guided by my devotion to the Aeon of Order."

Sunday paused, choosing his words carefully. "All my life, I was made to follow that path, to uphold order and protect those who couldn't protect themselves. It was my purpose, my reason for existing. But in doing so, I lost sight of what was truly important. I caused harm, and for that, I am deeply, terribly sorry."

He looked directly at March, then at the others, his eyes earnest. "I know an apology can't erase the past, but I want you all to know that I'm trying to find a new path. My conversation with her"—he glanced toward your direction—"made me realize that I can't cling to my old beliefs if they're causing harm. I need to search for my own meaning, beyond what I was made to believe."

Sunday's voice softened, a note of vulnerability creeping in. "I'm committed to moving forward, to finding a way to live that doesn't hurt others. I want to be better, to be someone you can trust. I understand if forgiveness takes time, or if it's something you can't give. But I want to try, to be a friend, and to support all of you as best I can."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over everyone. March, who had been listening intently, set her fork down and leaned forward, her expression softening. "Sunday," she said gently, "we all make mistakes. It's part of being human—or whatever we are." She smiled wryly. "The fact that you're trying to change, that you're aware of the impact you've had, it means a lot."

She glanced at Dan Heng and Stelle, who both nodded in agreement. Dan Heng spoke up next, his tone calm and measured. "We appreciate your honesty. It's not easy to confront one's past, especially when it involves such difficult choices. But the fact that you're willing to take responsibility and seek a new path... it's a good start."

The next day.

You brewed yourself a cup of coffee and made your way to the common seating area, seeking a moment of quiet. As you entered, you noticed Sunday sitting by the window, seemingly lost in thought. The early morning light cast a gentle glow around him, highlighting his contemplative expression.

When he spotted you, his face brightened with a slight smile. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he greeted you, his tone warm and teasing.

Caught off guard by the unexpected familiarity, you felt a flutter of flustered embarrassment but quickly masked it with a composed expression. "Good morning," you replied, keeping your voice steady as you settled into a nearby seat.

As you sipped your coffee and began to settle into your seat, Sunday glanced over with genuine curiosity. "How's the work going?" he asked, his tone casual but attentive.

You sighed, the fatigue and stress of your ongoing projects bubbling up despite your best efforts to stay composed. "It's been a lot," you admitted, rubbing your eyes. "There's so much to manage, and I feel like I'm barely keeping it together. The more I try to get ahead, the more it seems like everything's falling apart."

Sunday's gaze softened with concern. "That sounds really tough. If you don't mind me asking, what's been the biggest challenge?"

You leaned back, your frustration giving way to a need to vent. "It's the constant pressure to get everything perfect. The experiments, the calculations, everything has to be precise. But when something goes wrong, it feels like it's the end of the world. And it's just me—no one to really help or share the load."

Sunday nodded, absorbing your words with empathy. "I understand. It sounds overwhelming. But, if you'd like, I could help you out. I'm not exactly a scientist, but I can assist with the tasks and take on some of the less critical parts of the work. I've been told I'm good at keeping things organized."

You looked at him, surprised but appreciative. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on you."

He smiled reassuringly. "Not at all. I'd actually like to help. I've been trying to find ways to contribute more and be useful. And if I can ease some of your stress, that would be worth it."

You hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. The idea of having someone to share the workload with was tempting, and Sunday's genuine offer seemed sincere. Finally, you nodded, a hint of relief in your eyes. "Alright, if you're sure you don't mind, I'd really appreciate it."

"Great," Sunday said, standing up and heading toward a nearby workbench. "I'll get started by organizing your workspace and sorting through some of the data. That should free you up to focus on the more critical tasks. And don't worry about feeling stressed—I'm here to help you, not add to the pressure."

You watched as he began to sort through the scattered papers and equipment, his movements methodical and precise. A sense of calm began to settle over you, knowing that you had support. The thought of someone taking care of the more mundane aspects of your work was a welcome relief.

As Sunday worked alongside you, helping to organize your cluttered workspace, he noticed a peculiar object among the scattered papers and equipment. It was a collar-like item, adorned with intricate designs but clearly out of place amidst the scientific apparatus.

He picked it up, examining it with curiosity. "What's this?" he asked, holding the collar up for you to see.

You glanced over, momentarily distracted from your tasks. A small frown crossed your face as you recognized the collar. "Oh, that. It's something I picked up a while ago. A scammer in Belobog, a planet we traveled to, sold it to me. He claimed it was an ancient artifact with special properties."

Sunday raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "And did it turn out to be...?"

You let out a small, incredulous laugh. "A scam. It's basically a dog collar—probably for some sort of pet or even a decorative piece. Definitely not the ancient relic he made it out to be. It's just an overpriced piece of junk."

Sunday examined it more closely, still skeptical. "It looks pretty elaborate for a simple dog collar. Did the scammer give any other details about its supposed origins?"

You shook your head, shrugging. "Not really. Just that it was from some ancient civilization, but it was clear he was just trying to make a quick buck. We were too eager to find something interesting at the time and didn't question it enough."

He placed the collar back on the desk, his expression thoughtful. "It's impressive how convincing some people can be. But it's good you realized it in time. At least it didn't cost you more than it's worth."

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. "Yeah, it was a lesson learned. I guess sometimes it's easy to get caught up in the excitement of something that seems unique or valuable."

As Sunday continued to help you with your tasks, you couldn't resist teasing him a bit about the collar. You picked it up again, examining it with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"You know," you said, holding the collar up with a smirk, "if you ever want to use this on me, you should let me know. It might be... interesting."

Sunday's eyes widened in surprise, and a deep blush spread across his face. His wings, which were normally relaxed, flared out slightly as he turned his head, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment. "W-What? No, that's not... I mean, I wouldn't..."

You laughed, finding his reaction both endearing and amusing. "Oh, come on, Sunday. You do know what I mean. You're not fooling anyone with that blush."

He stammered, struggling to find the right words. "I-I didn't mean—It's just a collar, and I—"

Your laughter grew, light and genuine. "Relax, Sunday. I'm just teasing. But seeing you so flustered is pretty entertaining."

He finally managed to compose himself, though a faint red hue still lingered on his cheeks. He shook his head, trying to regain his usual calm demeanor. "I guess you got me there," he said, his voice a bit steadier now but still tinged with embarrassment. "I didn't expect that kind of joke."

You continued to chuckle, appreciating the lighter moment amidst the stress. "Well, you did make my day a bit brighter with that reaction. Thanks for being such a good sport."

Sunday managed a sheepish smile, the tension easing. "Glad to hear that. I suppose I should be prepared for all kinds of teasing now."

You grinned, enjoying the playful banter. "Just a fair warning—don't be surprised if I find more ways to make you blush."

Sunday took his new role as your assistant seriously, diligently organizing and tidying your workspace. His meticulous nature ensured that everything was in its place, which was a welcome change from the clutter that had previously overwhelmed you.

However, his relentless focus on maintaining order did come with a downside. He frequently interrupted your work to adjust things or make small improvements. At first, you appreciated the help, but after a while, his constant presence became a bit of a distraction.

You sighed, pausing your work as he appeared once again to rearrange a stack of papers. "Sunday, you're doing a great job with the cleaning, but you're kind of interrupting my flow. Can you just... give me a few minutes to focus? I'll call you if I need anything."

Sunday looked momentarily taken aback, but he nodded. "Oh, right. I didn't mean to be a distraction. I'll just—"

Before he could finish, you playfully cut him off. "Here, take a seat for a moment. I need you to be a good boy and let me work without constantly hovering."

With a mix of amusement and mild exasperation, you guided him to a nearby chair and gently but firmly encouraged him to sit down. He complied, though the weight of his wings made him look slightly awkward as he settled into the chair.

"Just sit here for a bit," you said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Be a good boy and stay put. I'll let you know if I need any more help."

Sunday, still slightly flustered from earlier, couldn't help but smile at your playful tone. He adjusted himself in the chair, trying to look comfortable despite his slightly heavy frame. "Alright, I'll stay here. I promise to behave."

You nodded and turned back to your work, finding it easier to concentrate now that he was no longer hovering over you. After a few minutes of quiet focus, you heard him shift in the chair behind you.

"You know," he said, trying to keep his voice casual, "if there's anything specific you need help with later, just let me know. I'm here to help, but I also don't want to be a bother."

You glanced over your shoulder and saw his sincere expression. "Thanks, Sunday. I appreciate it. I'll definitely let you know if there's anything I need."

As you worked on your experiments, you asked Sunday to bring over a specific mixture you had prepared. He promptly handed it to you, his hands steady despite his earlier embarrassment.

"Here you go," he said, carefully passing you the container.

"Thanks, Sunday," you replied, taking the mixture with a smile. You began to carefully mix the substances, excited to see the final result. The process had been challenging, but you were hopeful that this batch would be a breakthrough.

However, as you stirred the mixture, something seemed off. The concoction started to bubble and emit a strange, intense aroma. You frowned, recognizing the signs of an imminent reaction. Before you could react, the mixture began to froth and hiss ominously.

"Uh-oh," you said, your eyes widening. "I think something's wrong—"

In a split second, the mixture erupted in a small explosion of vapor and liquid. Sunday, who had been standing close by, reacted instinctively. He grabbed you and pushed you down onto the floor to protect you from the spray, his wings flaring out to shield you both.

The two of you landed in a tangled heap, Sunday ending up on top of you. The explosion released a potent, unfamiliar scent that filled the air—a fragrance that seemed to be unusually intoxicating. The smell was faintly sweet and seductive, carrying an almost aphrodisiac-like quality.

As the aroma enveloped the room, Sunday's breathing grew heavier. He seemed disoriented by the combination of the explosion and the overpowering scent. His face was flushed, and he collapsed forward, his head resting against your neck.

You were taken aback by the sudden turn of events, but you instinctively wrapped your arms around him, trying to offer comfort and reassurance. The closeness of his body against yours was intense, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"Sunday," you said softly, trying to steady him. "Are you alright? Just breathe—"

He mumbled something incoherent, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His face was pressed against your neck, and you could feel his warm breath against your skin. Despite the situation, there was a tender, vulnerable quality to the moment.

You held him closer, your heart racing as you tried to keep calm. The mixture's aroma had created an unexpected intimacy, amplifying the closeness between you. You felt a mix of concern and something more intense as you cradled him in your arms.

"Hang in there," you murmured, gently stroking his hair. "We'll get through this. Just focus on calming down."

As Sunday's hot breath tickled your neck, you felt his lips pressing against your sensitive skin. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, making you acutely aware of how close he was to you. You could hear his labored breathing, the sound growing louder and more erratic with each passing second.

His hands moved instinctively, gripping your waist tightly. His fingers dug into your flesh, a sign of his mounting arousal. It wasn't just the explosion that had left him disoriented—it was the powerful aroma that seemed to have clouded his senses.

Despite the chaos surrounding them, you found yourself being drawn deeper into the moment. Your own breathing became shallower, matching the rhythm of his. You could feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, a wild drumbeat that echoed the throbbing pulse between your thighs.

With a soft moan, you turned your head slightly, allowing Sunday's lips to find their way to yours. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he was starving for your taste. His mouth moved over yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth.

The aphrodisiac in the air amplified the intensity of the moment, making every touch, every kiss, feel like it was infused with pure, unadulterated lust. You could feel the heat building between your legs, a burning need that threatened to consume you whole.

Sunday's hands roamed your body, sliding under your shirt to caress your bare skin. His touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You arched into his touch, craving more of the sensations he was evoking within you.

Sunday looked deeply into your eyes, apology written all over his features. But before he could speak, you silenced him with another passionate kiss. You pulled him even closer, wrapping your legs around his waist to anchor yourself to him.

"I've got you," he whispered against your lips, a promise that resonated with sincerity. His words soothed the fluttering butterflies in your stomach, filling you with a warmth that spread from your chest down to your very core.

His hands wandered lower, exploring the curves of your hips and the swell of your buttocks. Each stroke of his fingers against your skin made you gasp into his mouth, the sensation driving you further into madness.

Sunday broke away from the kiss only to trail a path of fiery kisses down your neck, his tongue laving at the sensitive skin beneath your earlobe.

With a soft growl, Sunday's hand dipped lower, slipping underneath your panties to tease the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. His fingers traced the outline of your slit, causing you to arch into his touch with a low whimper.

"You're so wet," he groaned against your ear, his voice thick with desire. His thumb grazed over your clit, circling the swollen nub with tantalizing slowness. The pleasure was almost unbearable, making your entire body tremble with anticipation.

Sunday continued to tease you mercilessly, his fingers dipping into your folds before pulling back again. Each time he touched you, he coaxed a gasp from your lips, your body writhing beneath him in search of more contact.

Feeling your pleas for more, Sunday obliged without hesitation. His fingers plunged deeper into your slick heat, curling upward to stroke the spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The sensation was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"You like that?" he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Without waiting for an answer, he increased the pressure on your clit, rubbing it in tight circles that had your hips bucking against his hand.

"Please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don't stop."

Sunday chuckled darkly, his grip tightening around your waist as he pinned you beneath him. His movements became rougher, more urgent, each thrust of his fingers designed to bring you to climax.

With a soft sigh, you leaned up, capturing Sunday's lips in another searing kiss. This time, however, it was you who initiated the contact, taking control of the situation. You tasted yourself on his lips, the combination of your combined arousal making your head spin.

Your hands roamed across his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. You tugged at the fabric, eager to get to his skin. Breaking away from the kiss, you trailed your lips down his neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in your wake.

As you teased him mercilessly, you felt something large and warm cupping your face. Startled, you glanced up to see Sunday's wings enveloping you, creating a private sanctuary amidst the chaos of the room. The feathers were soft against your skin, providing a stark contrast to the hardness of his body pressed against yours.

With a sudden movement, Sunday lifted you off your feet, carrying you effortlessly to the nearby table. He laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he towered over you. His hands reached out, grasping the edges of your shirt to pull it over your head, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

He wasted no time in claiming your lips once again, his kiss demanding and possessive. His hands explored your body, tracing the curves of your breasts before pinching your nipples, coaxing a sharp cry from your throat.

As Sunday began to work the collar around your neck, you made a lewd face, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and excitement. The sight of you squirming beneath him only fueled his desire, making his member twitch with anticipation.

As Sunday worked the collar into place, you couldn't help but tease him, running your hands over his chest and abdomen, avoiding his aching erection. Your touch was maddening, driving him to the brink of insanity as you toyed with him.

"Please, just a little more," Sunday pleaded, his voice strained with desperation. His hands gripped your wrists, trying to guide them where he needed them most. But you held firm, continuing to deny him the relief he craved.

Finally, unable to take anymore, Sunday tried to assert his dominance. He pushed you down onto the table, his body covering yours as he pinned your arms above your head. His hips ground against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through both of you.

"I'm going to make you cum," he growled, his hot breath fanning over your face.

Feeling your tug on his sensitive wings, Sunday let out a deep moan, pressing himself harder against you. The sensation was intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his veins. His hips gyrated against yours, seeking friction while his member throbbed with need.

Sunday leaned down, planting a series of kisses along your neck. Each press of his lips sent shockwaves of delight through your body, making you writhe beneath him. His teeth grazed over your skin, marking you as his own.

The pleasure built within you, coiling tighter and tighter until it threatened to explode. And then, suddenly, it did. A loud cry escaped your lips as your orgasm washed over you, your inner walls clenching around nothing.

With a soft chuckle, Sunday allowed himself to indulge in the pleasure of your touch on his wings. The sensation was unlike anything else, adding a new layer of delight to their already intense encounter.

His hands moved between your legs, resuming their teasing of your clit. His fingers danced over the sensitive bud, coaxing another wave of pleasure from your trembling body. Your cries filled the room, echoing off the walls and spurring him on.

Sunday's member throbbed with need, desperate for release. But he refused to give in just yet, determined to draw out every last bit of pleasure from this moment. His hips rocked against yours, grinding his length against your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

Both of you moaned loudly, lost in the throes of lust. The sound of your combined pleasure was music to his ears, fueling his desire even further.

Feeling your teasing words, Sunday couldn't help but smirk. Despite his gruff exterior, he was indeed quite sensitive - especially when it came to you. He loved the way you called him 'cute birdy guy', finding it endearing rather than insulting.

But as much as he wanted to stay with you, he knew it wouldn't be easy. After all, he was a demon, born and bred to live a solitary life. But something about you made him want to defy his nature, to take responsibility for someone other than himself.

With a gentle caress, he traced his fingers along your cheek, gazing deeply into your eyes. "I do want to try," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "To be with you...as lovers."

Surprised by Sunday's declaration, you stared at him, your heart racing with a mix of emotions. Could it really be true?

Before you could respond, Sunday closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His mouth moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, conveying the depth of his feelings without needing words.

Breaking away, he looked at you intently, his eyes burning with a fire that mirrored the passion in your own soul. "I'll show you just how serious I am," he vowed, his voice low and husky with promise. "We'll explore every inch of each other, and you'll know beyond a doubt that I'm committed to this."

Sunday's eyes glowed with an intensity that matched the heat radiating from his body. He slid his hands down your sides, his fingertips grazing over the curves of your waist and hips before traveling lower still. His touch was electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

He leaned in closer, his warm breath tickling your earlobe as he whispered, "Let me taste you." Without waiting for your response, he dipped his head down, his tongue tracing a path along your collarbone before settling between your breasts.

His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking and nibbling on it with an eagerness that had you writhing beneath him. Every flick of his tongue sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, building towards an inevitable climax.

Feeling Sunday's hand venture lower, you gasped as his fingers found your swollen clit. His touch was deft and deliberate, applying just the right amount of pressure to send ripples of pleasure through your entire being.

As he played with you, his thumb circled your clit in slow, tantalizing motions. The sensation was overwhelming, causing your body to arch up towards him in search of more contact. His fingers continued their ministrations, coaxing moans and whimpers from your lips as they grew louder and more frequent.

Sunday's member twitched in anticipation, throbbing with need. But for now, he focused solely on pleasuring you, wanting to ensure that you reached your peak first.

With a deep groan, Sunday positioned himself between your thighs, aligning his rigid member with your entrance. He paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of your warmth so close to him, before slowly pushing inside.

Your tightness enveloped him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. Sunday's eyes rolled back in his head as he savored the sensation, his pace slow and deliberate as he gave your body time to adjust to his size.

Once he was fully sheathed, he began to move, withdrawing almost completely before thrusting back in. The motion was deep and powerful, hitting spots within you that made your vision blur and your mind go blank.

Sunday set a relentless pace, his hips snapping forward with each stroke. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, punctuated by your moans and his grunts of effort.

Sunday's movements were a perfect blend of tenderness and ferocity, his strokes designed to elicit the most pleasure possible from your body. Each thrust hit deeper than the last, driving you closer to the edge of blissful obliviation.

Despite his rough exterior, Sunday took care not to make things too messy. His hands steadied your hips, guiding them to meet his every thrust perfectly. His member slid in and out of you with ease, thanks to his skilled maneuverings.

Between thrusts, he would lean down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, silencing your loud moans with his own. His mouth traveled down your neck, planting hot kisses along the sensitive skin there. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, encouraging you to let go and surrender yourself to the waves of pleasure washing over you.

Feeling your gaze fixed on him, Sunday pulled your collar aside, blocking your view of him. It was a strange gesture, but it only served to heighten your arousal further. The lack of visual stimulation pushed you even deeper into the throes of pleasure, leaving you utterly defenseless against the onslaught of sensations coursing through your body.

With your attention focused solely on him, Sunday increased his tempo, his thrusts becoming more erratic and forceful. He buried himself deeper within you, seeking out those hidden places that seemed to trigger the most intense reactions from your body.

Each stroke brought forth new waves of pleasure, threatening to overwhelm you entirely. Your breathing became ragged, your moans growing louder and less controlled. Sunday's own breathing echoed yours, punctuated by guttural growls of satisfaction as he felt your walls clench around his member.

The mounting pleasure finally became too much to bear, and you felt your climax approaching rapidly. As if sensing your impending release, Sunday's movements became even more urgent, his thrusts becoming shorter and more shallow as he sought to reach his own climax simultaneously.

With a few final, deep thrusts, Sunday felt his control slipping. A low growl escaped his throat as he came, his seed spilling into you in hot, pulsing jets. The feeling of him filling you up was overwhelming, triggering your orgasm instantly.

As your bodies trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure, Sunday held you tightly against him, murmuring words of affection and praise. "You're my angel," he breathed, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks. "I'll take care of you...always."

Feeling your weight shift atop him, Sunday allowed himself to be pushed down onto the ground. As you straddled him, he looked up at you with lust-filled eyes, his member still throbbing inside you.

The change in position allowed you to take control, and you wasted no time in starting to ride him. Your hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding down onto his length as you adjusted to his girth.

Sunday's hands found your hips, guiding you with a firm yet gentle grip. He assisted your movements, helping to set a steady pace that had both of you panting with desire.

Each downward movement of your hips elicited a low groan from Sunday, his pleasure evident in the way his eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted.

Feeling your movements become more erratic, Sunday knew that another climax was imminent. His hands tightened on your hips, urging you to continue riding him as he fought to maintain his composure.

He continued to murmur endearments, his voice a soothing lullaby that helped calm your racing thoughts. His kisses peppered your scalp, each press of his lips sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

But it was a losing battle. With a final, powerful thrust upward, Sunday succumbed to the pleasure, his body tensing beneath you as he came. His seed spilled into you once again, this time in a series of smaller pulses that seemed to go on forever.

Your inner walls clenched around his member, milking him for all he was worth. The intensity of your orgasm left you breathless and spent, collapsing onto his chest as you rode out the waves of pleasure.Sunday held you close, his hands gently stroking your back as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

Waking up in the comfort of a familiar bed, you stretched lazily, the sheets sliding off your bare skin. You noticed immediately that you weren't sticky, and realized Sunday must have taken care of everything while you slept.

Glancing around, you spotted Sunday standing by the window, his silhouette outlined against the morning sunlight. You stood up, your muscles protesting softly at the sudden movement. You felt flustered but smiled nonetheless, drawn to the man who'd given you such pleasure the night before.

As you approached him, the cool air kissed your heated skin, causing goosebumps to rise on your flesh. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Hello," you said, your voice soft and husky from sleep.

Sunday nodded, his gaze drifting down to where your hand rested on his arm. "Hey," he replied quietly. After a brief pause, he continued, "I, uh, took care of everything while you slept. The room's cleaned up, and... well, I didn't want you to wake up to any mess."

You glanced around, noticing that everything was indeed spotless. The remnants of the previous night had been carefully tidied away, leaving no trace of the chaos that had ensued. It was clear that Sunday had gone to great lengths to ensure everything was in order.

"Thank you," you said, touched by his thoughtfulness. "You didn't have to do all this."

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "I just wanted to help. After everything that happened, it seemed like the least I could do."

There was a brief, charged silence between you. Sunday's expression grew more serious as he hesitated, then gently took your hand in his. His touch was warm, yet there was a nervous energy to it.

"I'm... sorry," he began, his voice tinged with guilt. "About last night. I didn't mean for things to go that far. It was my responsibility to protect you, not... not let things happen like that."

You felt a pang of emotion at his words, recognizing the weight he placed on himself. Stepping closer, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a comforting hug. Sunday stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed, leaning into the embrace.

"You don't have to apologize," you murmured against his shoulder. "We were both caught off guard. And... well, I don't regret it. But I understand if you're feeling conflicted."

His wings covered up his face.

"Hm? Don't get all shy on me....Also thank you for..taking care...I'm too lazy for bathing anyway.."

You turned to Sunday, resting your head on his chest, and decided to share more about your work.

"So," you began, your voice soft, "my research... it's about finding a way to control our enemies. Not in a harmful way, but to influence their actions, maybe even change their minds or make them more cooperative. It's about creating order, really."

Sunday's eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows raising. He looked at you with a mixture of intrigue and concern. "Control your enemies?" he echoed, clearly processing the information. "That's... ambitious. And a bit scary, if I'm being honest."

You smiled, appreciating his honesty. "Yeah, Wait! Aren't you a follower of !!!!"

He chuckled softly, a playful glint in his eyes. "It's useless trick, After that incident I know even using that I could be fooled easily. In fact I'm not a know it all. But you don't have to overwork yourself on that...I think I can use it for you. " he teased, giving you a gentle squeeze as he hugged you closer.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. "You don't have to-" you said, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch. "Besides, I like you just the way you are."

Sunday's expression softened, and he looked at you with a deep affection. "I'm glad to hear that," he murmured. He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words, before continuing. "You know, if you ever need someone to support you or help you figure things out, I'm here. And... if it's okay, I'd like to be with you. More than just friends, I mean."

His words hung in the air, and you felt your heart skip a beat. You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and hope in them. Without a word, you nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"It's more than okay," you whispered, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. "I'd like that too."

Sunday's face lit up with a joyful smile, and he pulled you into a tender embrace. The two of you stayed like that, holding each other close, feeling the connection that had deepened between you. It was a moment of quiet understanding and mutual affection, a promise of what was to come.

you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms.

"It's okay if you don't love me as much as I love you," Sunday said softly, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You reached out, touching his cheek gently. "I want us to fall in love together," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

He looked at you, surprise and hope mingling in his eyes. "Wait, are you really choosing me?" he asked, his tone incredulous. "I'll be with you forever. I won't leave you, even if I'm ordered to. Maybe... maybe for a new purpose, I'll make you happier than anyone else in the world."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at his earnest declaration. "Haha, considering you just unconsciously removed my clothing, what? Want another round?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Sunday's face flushed a deep red, and he quickly ducked under the sheets, his wings wrapping around him as if to hide his embarrassment.

"Huh? Why are you hiding under the sheets?" you asked, amused by his sudden shyness.

"...Because I'm embarrassed," he mumbled from under the covers. "That was my first time. I'm sure I did something wrong..."

You couldn't help but smile, touched by his vulnerability. You gently patted his head, comforting him. "You were fine. I don't have any experience in that department either, so you did great!" you assured him, your voice full of encouragement.

He peeked out from under the sheets, looking a bit more reassured. "I can only hope... Tell me if there's anything I can do better. I'll work hard to improve," he said, his voice firm with determination.

You chuckled, finding his earnestness endearing. "You're so earnest," you said affectionately, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "And that's one of the things I like about you."

Sunday smiled, his wings slowly unfolding as he relaxed.

"It's okay if you don't love me as much as I love you," Sunday said softly, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You reached out, touching his cheek gently. "I want us to fall in love together," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

He looked at you, surprise and hope mingling in his eyes. "Wait, are you really choosing me?" he asked, his tone incredulous. "I'll be with you forever. I won't leave you, even if I'm ordered to. Maybe�� maybe for a new purpose, I'll make you happier than anyone else in the world."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at his earnest declaration. "Haha, considering you just unconsciously removed my clothing, what? Want another round?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Sunday's face flushed a deep red, and he quickly ducked under the sheets, his wings wrapping around him as if to hide his embarrassment.

"Huh? Why are you hiding under the sheets?" you asked, amused by his sudden shyness.

"…Because I'm embarrassed," he mumbled from under the covers. "That was my first time. I'm sure I did something wrong…"

You couldn't help but smile, touched by his vulnerability. You gently patted his head, comforting him. "You were fine. I don't have any experience in that department either, so you did great!" you assured him, your voice full of encouragement.

He peeked out from under the sheets, looking a bit more reassured. "I can only hope… Tell me if there's anything I can do better. I'll work hard to improve," he said, his voice firm with determination.

You chuckled, finding his earnestness endearing. "You're so earnest," you said affectionately, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "And that's one of the things I like about you."

Sunday smiled, his wings slowly unfolding as he relaxed

You snuggled closer to him, feeling his warmth and the soft texture of his wings against your skin. The comfort of his presence, combined with the lingering sense of safety and peace, lulled you into a state of deep relaxation. You felt your eyelids grow heavy, the weight of the morning's emotions and the previous night's events pulling you towards sleep.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you drifted off. "For existing.."

Sunday gently wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "Thank you too." he murmured back, his voice a soft promise.

With that reassurance, you let yourself sink into the comforting darkness of sleep. The last thing you felt was the steady rhythm of Sunday's heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was a peaceful, comforting sensation, and it carried you away into a restful slumber.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

🎃 Good doggy

Begging CW: Stepping, Dom!Reader with whiny, sub!male

(Reader) looked down at the man on his hands and knees before them with mock disgust. They had to bite the inside of their cheek to prevent themselves from smiling at the pitiful little man kissing their foot while crying. They had known for a long time that their neighbor had been watching them, breaking into their apartment to steal their underwear and play with himself on their bed, but they never said anything. It was cute, the way he smiled so shyly at them, pulling at his pants to try to hide his boner from them.

They had waited in hiding, deciding it was finally time to catch him in the act. But it was so difficult pretending to be angry with him when seeing him whine on the floor was turning (Reader) on.

"What did you think was going to happen, Jackson?" (Reader) snarled, praying that they weren't blushing. He flinched, accidentally squeezing (Reader's) foot.

"I-I just-" He stuttered through his weeping, rubbing the foot on his cheek. "I'm so sorry!"

This was better than (Reader) could have hoped for. "Hmmm... I don't think you are." They heaved a deep sigh, turning their head away from him.

"What?" Large teary green eyes looked up at (Reader) pleading. "I am! I am sorry!"

"Sorry for what?" They kicked him back lightly, watching with glee as he fell onto his ass, exposing the tent in his pants. Jackson yelped, trying to cover himself in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry for breaking into your apartment!"

(Reader) fought to hold back a smirk as they pressed their bare foot past his hands and onto his erection. "Is that all you're sorry for? You're not sorry for being a pathetic little pervert?"

His thighs jolted under (Reader's) sole, bucking ever so slightly into their touch. "I'm- I'm sorry for being a pervert!"

The pressure grew heavier as (Reader) leaned more of their weight forward, rubbing his shaft through his pants. "I don't think you are... I think you like this."

(Reader) removed their foot, making the wreck cry harder. "I'm sorry! Please forgive me!" They ignored him, sitting on their bed as he crawled over towards them, eyes continuously flickering towards (Reader's) crotch. "Please forgive me!"

From their new position, (Reader) couldn't hold back their joy any longer, touching his dick so softly with their toes that he whimpered, shuffling even closer to grind (Reader's) foot into his pants. "Do you like this? You perv?"

"Yes!" His words were almost unintelligible through his panting.

"Hmmm." (Reader) pretending to think while stroking his cock. "You know, I've always wanted a dog.. maybe if you ask me really nicely, I'll consider taking you in."

Jackson gasped, smiling stupidly up at (Reader) "Please! Please make me your dog! I'll be a good boy for you, please I'll do such a good job!"

(Reader) added pressure, rubbing faster as Jackson's panting became uneven. "I don't know... doesn't sound like you really want it."

"No! I want it, please, please make me your dog, I want to be your dog, please!" He grabbed their leg with both hands, licking their knee as he grew closer to his climax.

"Pfft! Ew! Are you about to cum? Are you going to jizz on my foot, just from me stepping on your dick?" (Reader) loudly teased, raising their voice as he shrunk in shame, but they still kept their foot moving against his cock.

"I'm sorry! Yes, I'm gonna- I'm gonna-!" He couldn't finish, eyes fluttering shut as he came. (Reader) revelled in feeling his warm fluid through his pants, dampening their foot.

Jackson looked worried, sad that he came so quickly. He finally got (Reader's) attention but he ruined it by climaxing too early! But when he finally got the courage to look up at (Reader's) face, he was shocked to see a deep blush across their content smile, causing his love stricken heart to hammer in his chest so hard he thought it was going to burst.

"Good doggy..."

[froggiewrites]

A Deal You Can't Refuse

Pairing: Demon!Zoro x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You’re tired. Of coming home to an empty apartment from a shitty job you can’t stand, of every day being the same. Tired of simply surviving and not living. So when a handsome stranger comes along, offering you the deal of a lifetime, who could blame you for considering it? Even if said stranger has curling horns and a sharp toothed smile that show he’s a bit more than just your ordinary man? Warnings: AFAB!Reader (no pronouns or gendered language used), Smut, Mild Dubcon, Demonic Contracts, Possession, Masturbation (while possessed), Edging, Marking, Fingering, Vaginal Sex Word Count: 3.6k Notes: I'm honestly pretty excited this one won the poll, I think this is a really strong start 😊This is the longest piece in the entire event! Halloween Special 2024

Another day of shitty work for shitty pay.

Another day of coming back to an empty, crumbling apartment to fall onto a lumpy uncomfortable mattress for a restless night of sleep just so you can wake up and do it all over again.

It’s temporary, you tell yourself. Just until you save enough for a better apartment, just until you save enough that you can quit your job and survive until you find a better one. You just have to wait, and wait, and wait. And sure, you waited for freedom before, and it got you here. But this time will be different. This time it will pay off.

It has to.

It isn’t a particularly bad day when your routine finally breaks, nor is it particularly good. Up until this very moment, it was the kind of perfect mundanity that blurs one day into the rest to create a smothering tapestry of wasted time in your memory. None of them particularly distinct from the rest, none of them worth recalling.

But today there is a man in your bed when you get home.

He’s massive, built like a tank, and he hardly fits in your pathetic twin bed. You can hardly make out any of his features, with his arm covering his face and your blanket covering most of the rest, but for a moment you could swear that his hands seemed to blacken as they reached the tips of his fingers, turning to long black nails with sharpened points.

Your shoulders tense, ready to run, to scream for help (which your neighbors surely won’t provide), to do absolutely anything other than walk through that door.

But then he starts snoring.

It’s so ridiculous you can’t help but laugh. There’s a stranger sleeping in your bed. Of course there is. Why the hell not? At least it’s something new. You close and lock the door behind you as always, throwing your bag to the ground and flopping down on your creaky couch. The stranger continues snoring away, even as you put on the TV and try to drown him out. You should probably call the cops, or grab something to arm yourself with, or do absolutely anything about the situation, but you’re so tired you can hardly bring yourself to care. 

It takes an hour for him to wake up.

“What time is it?” His voice is gruff, deep, and thick with sleep.

You look over the back of the couch at him. “It’s about seven.”

“Hm.” He stays still for a moment, before his eyes shoot open and he stands in an instant. He’s tall, towering over you easily, and you can finally see the entirety of him. He has ram’s horns curling out of his green hair, decorated in beautiful gold that matches the earrings hanging from his left ear. He isn’t wearing a shirt, giving you a good look at his muscles, and the transition of his body from man to beast at his hips, where he starts to resemble a ram. He has cloven hooves, which make a loud clop against the floor when he lands. You realize that you didn’t just let a stranger sleep in your bed, but some kind of monster. A demon, perhaps. One of his hands goes to rub his temple, and he grimaces, showing off his incredibly, incredibly sharp teeth, which you instantly imagine sinking into your skin. “Oh, shit!”

You startle, trying to stop thinking about what his teeth might feel like on your neck. “Um. Ah. Good morning?”

“Good morni–What the fuck? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I don’t…know.”

“What?”

“It was just, um. I had a really long day at work, and you were clearly sleeping so deep, and I just…couldn’t really bring myself to care.”

“Oh my god.”

You furrow your brows. “Can you say that?”

“What?”

“God. Are you supposed to like, talk about him? Is that not frowned upon?”

“Is that what you’re worried about right now?”

“For once in my life, I don’t think I’m worried about anything right now. This is too insane for me to process.”

He stares at you for a moment, before he lets out a loud, bellowing laugh. “God. What the hell, sweetheart? I was right to pick you, clearly you need the help.”

“Help?”

He gives you a sharp, dangerous grin. Some part of you, the part that has kept you alive and safe this long despite the monotony slowing you down and dulling your edges, is screaming for you to run. To leave. This thing in front of you, this creature, is far more dangerous than he appears, than he feels. But you can’t bring yourself to listen. “Yeah, help. Name's Zoro. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He reaches out to touch your cheek, and you don’t even flinch when you feel his claws trace down your face. “You’re working so hard, and for what? To do it all again tomorrow?”

You find yourself leaning in, even as your brain screams for you to stop. “For a better future. I’m thinking beyond tomorrow.”

He’s dripping with sympathy. “Are you? Do you even have the energy to dream anymore?”

You can’t remember the last time you could actually picture your future, picture a life outside of this room. When did you stop dreaming? “Of course I do.” The lie leaves easily, but the bitterness it leaves on your tongue lingers.

“Oh, sweetheart, you can’t lie to me. But that’s okay, I know you’re just scared.” He’s bearing down on you, invading your space, and you can feel heat radiating off of him. “But I can fix that, if you let me.”

God, wouldn’t that be nice? To just let go, and have it all work out for once? But you’re not stupid enough to believe a demon, despite everything. No matter how handsome the smile, how saccharine the words, no matter how much you want to melt into him and just let it all happen. “No way in hell.”

His eyes soften with pity. “I thought you’d say that. Didn’t even want to hear my offer. Because you know if you do you’ll want it, and you can’t handle holding yourself back any longer. I understand, really.  And I’m really not supposed to do this, but I just can’t stand letting you waste away here, letting this opportunity slip through your fingers. So I’ll give you a little sneak peek, to help you make your decision.”

“What?”

In an instant, his lips are on yours, and you’re filled with a warmth to your very core. It spreads through your limbs, fills your lungs, the sensation pleasant.

Until you realize you’re speaking.

“Now, sweetheart, I would really prefer to show you the real deal, but I can work with this. Just remember how much better it would be if it were me.”

That was your voice, your mouth moving. “What?”

“Don’t worry, honey. It’ll be good.”

Your hands move toward your chest, and you don’t stop them. You don’t know if you want to. They undo your buttons slowly, as though waiting for a protest that doesn’t come. You don’t say a word until your shirt and bra are fully off, and your hands find your nipples, tweaking them lightly. You shiver, and your mouth smirks. It makes your shoulders tense, makes you defensive. “So proud of yourself for something so small.”

“Is it so wrong to want to please you, sweet thing? To know I was right, and that this was what you needed?”

“What I need, huh? You really think that?”

“I know it.”

Your hands pull off your pants and panties in one smooth motion, no fanfare. Your body sits on the bed, legs spread and ready. Your hands trace delicately up your legs, up to your thighs, and to his final destination. He inserts your fingers into you, not at all delicately, and your body lets out a soft moan. You can’t tell which of you did it. You know it’s him who whispers to the air, tauntingly, “My fingers are longer than this, y’know. And thicker. Imagine how they’d feel, so deep inside of you like this. And god, my tongue? It’s not just for sweet talking poor little mortals like you into deals. I’d have you falling apart already.”

Once he’s done puppeting your head, you feel control fall back to you for a moment. “I think you’re all talk. You can’t even make me cum on fingers I already know can do the job. All size, no skill, huh?”

Your finger finds a spot you know very well, and you can’t help the noise that comes from you. Your mouth smirks against your will. “Is that what you think? You can talk big all you want, sweetheart, but you can’t fool me. I can feel everything you can. And when I do this—” he curls your fingers just right, “—I can feel you clench your teeth trying to hold back. Who are you holding out for? It’s just you here. Would it be so bad to let it all go? Let me take care of you, sweet thing. I can give you all the pleasure you could ever want. You just need to say yes.”

“Eat shit,” you mutter through clenched teeth.

You hear your own laugh, far deeper in your chest than you can normally feel it. “Aw, don’t be like that. This could all be so easy. The only one you’re hurting here is yourself.” The hand he kept idle reaches up, slowly rolling your nipples through your fingers. Your eyes flutter closed despite yourself, as both hands work in unison. 

You hear your voice again, thick with want. “Imagine how much more I could do if you let me. Even just a simple kiss could unravel you. And my teeth—and I saw how you looked at them, sweetheart, there’s no fooling me—I could leave you covered in marks. I could make sure everyone you met would know you were mine, ensure they wouldn’t fade for weeks. Imagine them against your neck, right on your pulse. Imagine how easily I could bite through—but I wouldn’t, of course. No to you. But I could—that’s what matters to you, isn’t it?”

“No,” you murmur weakly, clenching around your fingers. “I don’t give a shit about how you look, demon.”

“Well that’s not very nice, is it? You know my name, you can use it.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m trying, sweetheart. I’m not the one standing in the way of that.” You’ve never heard yourself purr before. It would be rather jarring if your head wasn’t so fuzzy. “I know you want to be strong, to listen to that little voice in your head begging you not to give in, but you know where that little voice is going to get you in life?”

“It’s going to keep me from trapping myself in hell, I think.”

Another laugh. “Well, it could. But really, it’s going to keep you here. Alone. In this sad little room, in your sad little life, safe and sound and so very, very bored. And what use is a life if you don’t use it to live? Where’s the thrill?”

“I can get my thrills somewhere other than fucking a demon, thanks.”

“But you won’t. Sure, you could get into a fight. Do some drugs. Fuck a stranger—one not as handsome as me, but someone. But you won’t do it. Because it wouldn’t be safe. Because you’d be risking something, no matter how small, and you’re terrified of losing control.” Your fingers pick up speed as his rant continues. “But you don’t need control, really. You don’t even want it. You just don’t know how to let go. I promise you, sweetheart, you’ll never regret letting go of the reins. Hand ‘em to me, and I promise you you’ll enjoy every second of the rest of your life, and eternity after that. Imagine it—a life where you don’t have to agonize over every little choice. A life where you’re warm, and safe, and happy, and never, ever alone. Cockdrunk and lost in pleasure, wrapped up in my arms. Can you really, really tell me you don’t want that? Not even a little?”

You imagine it for a moment. A warm bed. Someone to come home to. Never another night spent curled up in this little apartment, dreading tomorrow, knowing it will be more of the same. Never again having to agonize over every little thing, terrified of something bringing your house of cards tumbling down. Never spending the night having to talk yourself down from fear of an unknown, unnamed threat, some unearned terror your brain has forced upon you. It would be sweet. God, would it be sweet. But that feeling sinks in again, that familiar tightness in your chest, and your mouth says the word you always knew it would. “Yes, I could. I don’t want it.”

“God, you’re full of shit.” Your head extends back, giving you a lovely view of your water-stained ceiling, the one that threatens to crumble in on you any day now. You can feel the coil in your stomach tightening, devastatingly close to snapping. “But if you insist.”

Your fingers are gone, and you’re clenching around nothing.

“Wha–?” You sound absolutely pathetic, wanting and needy, and you finally hear a laugh that isn’t your own as he appears in front of you again. 

His smirk is all teeth, demeaning and dripping with faux sympathy. “Oh, poor thing. Never knowing what she wants. But I have no choice but to listen to you, do I? If you say it’s a no, it’s a no. A shame. Maybe you can get off on your own.” He leans forward, his lips so close to brushing against yours, but when you lean forward to meet him, he pulls back. “Oh, no, I don’t think so, sweetheart. If you don’t want me, you don’t want me. No half measures.”

You suddenly feel horribly vulnerable, naked and dripping as he looks down at you. You could have tried to chase your orgasm, demon in your room be damned, but you can’t bring yourself to bring yourself to put your fingers back, let him watch you try and fail to measure up to his performance. It feels like letting him win, showing him he’s gotten to you. You tell yourself that’s why you sit still, thighs still parted, staring at him with hooded eyes. Because movement would show weakness. Not because you enjoy the way he’s looking at you, like he can’t keep his eyes off of you, like you’re something worth coveting. Even if it’s in a demon’s nature to lust, to want, to conquer, it must mean something for you to be what brings about these sins. It has to.

“A shame,” he repeats. “You were so close.”

You can feel yourself twitch. You really were.

“It would have felt so wonderful. Mindblowing, really.”

It would have.

“It would have been so easy to say yes.”

It still could be. You finally look away from his heated eyes, and you find your gaze drifting down, beyond his bare torso, his plethora of scars, his clawed hands crossed over his massive chest. None of that shakes your resolve, or at least you’re going to keep telling yourself that. What gets you is the massive tent in his pants, evidence of his own desire. Evidence this deal isn’t just for your sake, or for your soul, or whatever else he might demand in exchange for your cooperation. On some level, he simply wants this, wants you. 

“Please.” Your voice shakes.

He stiffens, clearly taken aback. “Please?”

“Please. I’ll take the deal. Just…finish this, please.” You spread your legs a little further, opening your arms to reach out to him. “Please take me.”

“Finally!” He dives forward, lips crashing into yours, teeth clacking. His tongue is longer than you imagined as it shoves its way into your mouth, desperate for a taste of you. One of his hands traces along your thigh, claws raising goosebumps in their path, and the other rips off his pants with an enthusiasm usually saved for unwrapping a present. You suppose he is, in a way. You try to break the kiss to see his dick in all its glory, but he refuses to let you leave, lips chasing yours until he’s finally forced to let you go to breathe.

Even as he parts from you, it's only to move down to your neck, lavishing it with the attention he promised earlier. His bites are not at all gentle, all done with the express purpose of marking you as his. You finally get to see his cock, absolutely massive and throbbing, leaking precum as it rests against your thigh, desperate for entrance. You don’t know what he’s waiting for, you’re ready and willing, but he must have his reasons for dragging this out. You reach your hands out, expecting to touch his abs, feel them beneath your fingers, but instead you find your hands wrapping around his cock, feeling its weight in your hands.

He groans into your neck. “Eager, are we?”

“I could say the same thing about you.” You feel him twitch at the sound of your voice. You pump your hand once, twice, and savor the sound of his moan. The bites on your neck turn to open mouthed kisses, leaving plenty of hickies on his way down to your chest. His hand finally finds its destination between your legs, fingers delicately inserting themselves between your folds, carefully so he doesn’t scratch you with his claws. They’re so much better than you imagined earlier as he had taunted you. You can feel the stretch as he slowly begins to pump in unison with your pace on him, both of you working each other up. You can feel yourself tighten around him, and your hand falters, distracted by your own pleasure. He doesn’t seem to mind as he continues, moaning against you.

“Just let go, sweetheart. Let it happen. I’ll be here to catch you.” You let go of him entirely, your hands falling to clutch the bedsheets. Your thighs clench around his hand as you cum on his fingers, crying out. He keeps moving until he’s sure he’s milked all of the pleasure he can from you, before pulling his fingers out and bringing them up to his mouth. His tongue, long and forked, wraps around them, savoring your taste.

Before you have a moment to breathe, his cock is pressing against your entrance. His breath is ragged against your ear. “Time for the main event, sweet thing. After this, no turning back. You’ll be mine, and you’ll never have to worry about a thing ever again. I’ll take good care of you.”

He pushes in in one smooth motion, your body welcoming him like you were his already. He thrusts deep and hard, arms wrapping tightly around you as he hits spots you didn’t even know existed. You can feel your orgasm building again quickly, and you can hear him moaning in your ear at the sensation of finally being inside of you. “Give me another one, sweetheart, just one more, and the contract is sealed. Then you’ll get this every day. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes!”

“An eternity of pleasure, a reward for all of your hard work.”

“Yes!”

“Yes, just like that.” Your hips snap together furiously, heat building between you. “Doing so well.” The heat grows and grows, burning through you and leaving nothing behind. When you finally hit your peak, you’re so lost in it all you can feel nothing but your own orgasm and the hot cum shooting into you. You don’t feel the heat of the air, or notice the bed beneath you and the scenery around you has changed. You don’t even notice the smell of smoke, too busy screaming in pleasure.

He’s panting, head pressed into your shoulder, before he laughs. “Great work, sweetheart.” He pulls out, rolling off of you and onto his back, arms behind his head. “We’re really gonna enjoy this.”

The mattress beneath you is plush, sheets silky. The ceiling above you is inlaid with gold, and doesn’t threaten to cave in for even a second. The scent of incense fills the air. You sit up, head whipping around, confused and tense. You hear a jingling as you do. You look down to see it: a black leather collar, fitted tightly but not suffocatingly around your neck. There’s a small golden bell attached, which gently chimes when you move. “What?”

A dark chuckle sounds from beside you. “Don’t worry about it, sweet thing. You don’t have to worry about anything, anymore.”

You’re about to get up, get away from him, demand answers. Before you can, however, an arm reaches for your waist and pulls you down. Your head is pressed into a warm chest, with no room to move. “Calm down.” he coos. “Just relax.” His hand pats your head, and you melt into him despite yourself. “Good pet, just like that. That’s all you have to do now. Sit here, look pretty, and take what I give you. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll take care of it all.”

You’re practically purring as he rubs your back, whispering about how much you’re going to love this. An easy life, filled with nothing but pleasure and comfort. Everything you’ve ever wanted. All you have to do is let it happen.

“It’ll be easy, sweetheart. Just leave everything to me.”

You can let go. If the collar fits, why not wear it?

And so you do, as you curl into his chest and fall asleep, lulled by the rumbling of his chest and the sound of his voice.

Taglist: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 2

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: mentions of blood

series masterlist │my masterlist

you wake up slowly, blinking sluggishly at the ceiling. your memories of the previous day come rushing in, and you can’t help but wonder if it was all some kind of fever dream. but when you sit up in bed, that thought is immediately thrown away, because logan is curled up on the floor watching you, staring.

“how long have you been awake?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. he just tilts his head, listening but giving you no indication of the answer to your question.

you’d set him up in the guest bedroom last night. he had laid down on top of the covers, the same way he was positioned on your floor now, and though you had wanted to pull the covers over his body, you decided to let him do what was most comfortable, most natural, to him. you had already thrown quite a bit of new his way, best to let him process it all.

you don’t know at what point he’d migrated from the guest room to your floor, but he’s here now. he had been watching you sleep. a wave of anxiety washes over you - what do you look like when you sleep? do you drool? is it unattractive?

(they’re certainly not the thoughts you should be having when a man you hardly know watches you sleep, but he’s hot and oddly endearing.)

he rises up to his feet only seconds after you, and you have to tell him not to follow you into the bathroom, to which he growls.

later, you’re sitting at the table with logan, eating the breakfast you’d cooked up. you had to teach him how to use a fork, which was terribly entertaining, and even now he looks dismayed at not being able to eat with his hands, having to pick up the food with a metal instrument instead. he stabs the fork loudly every time he brings it down, as if to communicate his disapproval, but he doesn’t look truly angry, just pouty.

“are you going to follow me around all day again?” you ask, “because i don’t mind, but i just wanted to let you know that i have quite a few things on my to-do list.”

he stops eating, stares at you for a few seconds, nods, and then continues as if you hadn’t spoken. 

one of your favourite parts of living outside of a city is the nature, the space, the green that surrounds you with your favourite thing: plants. your grandmother had taken care of a gorgeous garden of fruits and vegetables and herbs for as long as you could remember, teaching a starry-eyed child version of you everything she knew. you’re the one left with the responsibility now.

you clean the dishes, humming to yourself, logan behind you, and when you’re done, you lead him outside. you bask in the sunlight of the outdoors, each step in the dewy grass a thrill. there’s a morning chill in the air, the new-day sun having not quite warmed your surroundings yet.

you remind logan to be careful of where he steps, talking him through your long list of things for him not to do, so lost in the one-sided conversation that you don’t even notice when he stops before the garden starts. you look back at him, confused that he’s not trailing you anymore, but he doesn’t leave either, he just sits down on the grass.

a warmth blooms in your chest. you don’t know his thoughts or his intentions, but you want to think he stopped because he could tell how much you didn’t want him messing with the plants, your domain, the happy place of your childhood. 

the best part about assuming these things about logan is that he can’t correct you, so you can create a little version of him in your head that thinks about you and looks at you the way you look at him. it’s been two days - not even, it’s been a day and a half. could you be any more pathetically starved of love and affection?

well, no, you think to yourself.

it doesn’t take you long to finish up the watering and weeding, checking around for any more problems that you might not catch at first glance. you take your time harvesting what you can, placing it all in two cute woven baskets you brought out with you.

you’re already thinking of the food you could make for logan, giddy with excitement at finally getting to feed someone other than yourself. you love taking care of others, it’s one of your love languages, or maybe it’s just a way for you to feel needed in the hopes that people won’t leave you if you do enough for them. either way, you’ve always genuinely enjoyed cooking, but you can’t do it as much when there’s only one person in the house to feed.

and logan had eaten a lot, last night. he’s big, of course, it’s to be expected, but you suppose you haven’t been close enough with anyone to share food in a while, so it’s strange.

when you return to logan’s side, smiling brightly, he smiles back at you. it’s the first smile you’ve seen on his face, the first expression other than a snarl, a look of confusion, or the expressionless stare he directs towards you. and wow, it lights up his features, turns everything soft, like the world has blurred just slightly, the kind of unclear image that tells you you’re in a dream.

“you’re pretty when you smile,” you say without meaning to. but with the way he brightens even more at the praise, purring in contentment, you don’t regret it.

he doesn’t do much the entire day, just follows you as you go through your list of chores. he’s always careful not to get in your way.

by evening, you can feel the pent-up energy and tension inside him, but he’s so good at pretending it isn’t there that you’re sure you wouldn’t have noticed if not for having seen him when he was truly relaxed. you feel guilty, cooping him up inside when there’s clearly some part of him that’s feral, making him act more like an animal than human like you.

you don’t live the most exciting life, it’s not fast-paced and entertaining and it definitely doesn’t keep you on your toes guessing what might happen next. you prefer the quiet, the comfort of a familiar routine, doing domestic chores and reading by the fireplace. it’s monotonous, but it’s something you can rely on, something that won’t change on you.

logan longs for something your life can’t provide.

he’s gazing out the open windows, at the forest from which you’d first seen him emerge, something in his eyes that you can’t decipher. and you realise that maybe you can give him what he needs. you live out in the middle of nowhere, animals roaming free in those woods, far from other people. in between two worlds, just like logan.

“you know you don’t have to follow me all the time,” you say gently, meeting him by the window, “nothing will happen if you go outside for a while. you can go, run free, and i’ll be here when you come back.”

he contemplates for a while and you wait, patient, hoping you come across as reassuring, that he knows you’re being genuine. it’s funny to think that when you first saw him you’d wanted him to leave.

he does go, eventually, after going through the entire house and sniffing around like he was searching for some kind of threat. so you sit on your couch with a book and a cup of tea, reading about silly little characters falling in love.

when logan comes back he’s shirtless, smelling of sweat and musk, chest heaving. he looks the best you’ve ever seen him, and not just because the sweat is making his skin glisten and you can see his perfect abs. something about him has changed, though it's not something physical. he didn’t have to hold back, was able to release all the tension you know must have been clinging to him since yesterday, or even longer. (you still don’t know his backstory.)

he curls up on the other side of the couch to you, and you spend the rest of the night with a hand in his hair, scratching his head occasionally to listen to his pleased purrs.

a week goes by and you fall into somewhat of a routine. logan clings to you less, though he still prefers to be in the same room as you most of the time. he goes out into the forest to run and sometimes to hunt, coming back with blood staining his clothes.

although the first few tries failed miserably, you’ve gotten quite good at removing bloodstains from fabric, which is not a skill you ever imagined yourself perfecting. 

it’s been a while since your last visit to town, and you need to go pick up a few things, not just for yourself but for logan too.

“logan,” you call for him as you’re grabbing a few last things to throw in your bag. he bounds up to you as usual. sometimes he reminds you so much of a cute puppy that you get the urge to pet him and call him “good boy” but you don’t know how he would take that, so you refrain.

“i need to leave for a bit,” you say, “just like how you leave sometimes. i’ll be back soon, just need to get a few things.”

he grumbles and pouts as you leave but doesn’t stop you. he does stare longingly at you from through the window, you catch the sight as you’re driving out.

the closest town to your house is small, but it has all the necessities. you pick up some groceries, things you can’t make or grow yourself. and then you need to get clothes for logan. you had eyed his measurements, taking note of the size of his body, though you didn’t know them exactly. it’s still better than him continuing to wear clothes that don’t fit him. 

although most days he prefers not to wear a shirt. because he wants to torture you, clearly.

it’s a good kind of torture, the kind that produces butterflies in your stomach and brings heat to your face. you try not to ogle him, not wanting to objectify him or make him uncomfortable, but when he catches you staring he only ever comes closer, pressing up against you.

you could have brought him with you, but you weren’t sure it was a good idea. he’s a mutant, you guessed that pretty quickly on the first night, and people aren’t very kind to mutants. especially small-minded, small-town folks. and though logan’s appearance isn’t damning on its own, his behaviours clearly show the animal side of him.

he doesn’t need to deal with awful people and their awful comments. you want to protect him from that as much as you can.

you normally take your time meandering around the town, stopping at your favourite bookstore to pick up some new reads, grabbing a horribly overpriced coffee as a treat, maybe even sitting on a bench in the park, enjoying your drink and novel as you watch children run around and play, parents shouting after them, dogs barking in excitement. 

but today, you itch to return home. there’s a tight feeling in your chest, a loneliness you haven’t felt in a long time, and it calls out logan’s name, pleading for you to return to him. you still stop by the bookstore, and if you’re more attracted towards the romance novels with a supernatural, animalistic love interest this time around, that’s for you and the cashier who rings you up to know.

you’re beaming when you return home, parking the car and grabbing your bags to bring them inside. your smile falters when logan doesn’t greet you at the door. you peak into the living room to find it empty as well.

it saddens you, but you assume he went out into the forest for a while. it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to stay cooped up in the house with nothing to entertain him while you were gone. you had formed a scenario in your mind where logan would rush towards you when you returned, like a puppy who missed his owner.

when you finish putting away your groceries, you head towards your bedroom. pushing the door open, you freeze, mouth parted and eyes going soft at the sight that greets you.

logan is curled up in your bed, fast asleep in the spot where you always sleep, face buried in your pillow. he’s under the blankets for once, and they curl around his shape to wrap him up in soft warmth.

you tip-toe towards the bed, careful not to wake him. you don’t know how long he’s been sleeping, and you wish you had a way to play back the scene of him crawling into your bed, untucking the sheets to slip under them, sniffing the bed to find the spot where he knew you slept, the place that smelled the most like you.

oh, you adore him.

it’s fast, terribly so, but he’s wormed his way into your heart. it’s not love yet, but you think you could grow to love him someday.

you sit on the bed, moving over until you’re by logan’s side. he looks so peaceful like this, and you bring your hand to his head, intending to give him the scratches he loves so much, when he wakes suddenly.

the next thing you know, you’re on your back, logan on top of you, claws at your neck. you blink up at him, everything happening so quickly that your brain hasn’t had time to catch up and tell you to scream or struggle or anything else one would typically do when you have sharp blades pointed at your throat.

it doesn’t matter, because logan’s eyes meet yours, and his claws retract into his knuckles. you relax into the mattress, leftover fear dissipating because you know he won’t hurt you. he was surprised, that’s all, and really you should know better than to sneak up on someone with clear, obvious trauma.

his lips twitch up for barely a second, not quite reaching a smile, and then his expression darkens as he leans forward to sniff you. he growls, a deep rumble in his throat, shoving his face into your neck.

you can feel the vibrations through your body from the proximity between you and logan. it’s different from when he purrs in your ear and you feel as though the sound penetrates your skin, finding its way into your bloodstream, forcing your heartbeat faster.

something’s wrong, you can tell. you’ve never seen him react to you this way. so you bring your arms up to wrap around his midsection, hands on his back, slow movements not to startle him.

“what’s wrong?” you ask in a gentle whisper, “did something happen while i was away.”

there’s another growl as he sniffs you again. he pushes his body closer to yours, chest to chest, one of his legs between yours. 

“mine,” logan says, followed by him pressing his face in your neck and licking and sucking at the skin. you gasp and squirm under him, but you don’t want him to stop, not really.

your mind is reeling. he spoke. a real word, one you recognise, passing through his lips, floating in the air between you. his voice is smooth, nothing like you expected, and yet it suits him.

you laugh. you can’t help it, you’re giddy. he pulls back when you laugh, still frowning, but you don’t care. the word is repeating in your head. “mine”, he’d called you, staking his claim both verbally as well as physically marking you as his. it’s terrible, you’ve known him only a week, yet you feel all warm and fuzzy, the room around you like a mirage. the only things that exist are you and logan and that word.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff

[kyluff]

— ↺ Bewbs

✎ luffy + zoro + sanji x reader !

✦ summary ➠ boob blurbs

✦ warnings ➠ nsfw, boob stuff

✦ note ➠ i 🫶 luffy

✪ Monkey D. Luffy

“Luffy, don’t you think that’s enough already?” You whine out, back arching and fingers clawing at his black hair. You don’t know how much more you could take of this, Luffy has been at for what felt like hours. He’s been licking, sucking and even nibbling at your swollen nipples.

“Mm mm!” He let out a hum in response, a sound of disagreement at your question. You don’t know what has gotten into him, he didn’t even say anything when he got home from his adventure on the new island you arrived at, just shoved his head under your shirt and forced it off soon after.

He’s been going at them ever since.

He let go of the first nipple, leaving a stringy connection of saliva from your flesh to his lips, then attacked your neglected one. You glanced down at him, mouth slightly open from the pants slipping past, you could see his eyes softly shut.

He looked totally content with the situation, his hold around your body tightened. He wished to be closer to you even though he was as close as humanly possibly.

“Luf, starting to get sore.” But he didn’t respond, his suckling only continued on in a steady speed. You sighed, and looked closer at the man between you chest. Drool was leaking from where he was attached to your mound.

“Luffy? Hey, get off.” You shook his head in an attempt to pry him off of you, he didn’t budge quite yet though. Fed up, you gripped the roots of his hair and tugged back hard, only then did he pop off from you. He didn’t move, only let out quiet breaths of snores.

“Hey, are you sleeping?!” This guy could really nap anywhere, anytime. Even while he was going at your boobs like that.

✪ Roronoa Zoro

“Does it feel good?” The green haired man behind you questioned, adding a quick pinch to the nub that was pressed between his strong fingers. “Hm?”

You nodded, you grasped the fluffy sheets from underneath you. He had you sat on his cock as he leaned against the headboard of the bed frame and had you placed between his legs with his arms wrapped around you, poking and prodding at your chest.

“Don’t pinch so hard please!” You pleaded with the man, bringing your hand up to pry at his fingers. He was to strong for you, you could feel the hardness of his muscles under his tanned skin.

“This is your own fault, you know?” He chuckled lightly, he was enjoying this whole thing. “You just had to wear that stupid, slutty bikini, huh?”

You moaned at the mention of your earlier activities and the clothes your were wearing. It was an extra hot day on the ship and a small bathing suit seemed to be the best remedy. Zoro didn’t agree.

“I can’t lie though,” He exhaled on the back of you neck and cupped both of your boobs, starting to squish your tits, the fat of them toppled out of the space between his long fingers. “You look so hot whenever you wear it.”

“But it’s only for my eyes, got that?” He explained, ending his sentence with a quick smack to your meaty breast.

✪ Vinsmoke Sanji

It was supposed to be a punishment, but to Sanji it wasn’t much of one. Because he enjoyed every and anything you did.

You had his hands tied behind his back and his eyes covered with a black cloth.

“Sit,” You demanded your lover who listened carefully to your instructions, you helped guide him, he then nestled into the open space in your legs. “Go.”

As soon as you said that singular word, he eagerly began to search for your nipples, his treasure. His lips slithered messily along your flesh, blindly going in all directions.

“Would you hurry up?” You rolled your eyes, acting as though you didn’t love this. He did too, you could tell by how he let out little cries at your words. “You’re pathetic.”

“Y-You’re so mean!” He mewled, then returning to his previous actions.

“Ya well, that’s what you get for calling other girls pretty!” You were still bitter from Sanji hitting on another woman, right infront of you too!

You and Sanji walked into a new store, it had all these unique cooking tools and ingredients, right up Sanjis alley. The lady working at the till kept going on and on about all of the new items they had in stock, and when you finally got your boyfriend to leave, he said ‘goodbye pretty’.

“I told you I’m sorry!” He tugged harshly against his restraint, relentlessly trying to escape so he could touch you to his satisfaction.

“Sorry, but,” You paused, enclosing his slim build in your plush legs. “You’re just going to have to show me how sorry you are.”

[jarofstyles]

Can you write something about love bites pretty pleaseeeeee like Harry’s obsessed with giving them

Yes 🤭🤭🤭🤭 here is a tiny one!

Check out our Patreon

Warnings- kinda dirty hehe

——

“So pretty.” Fingers brushed over her sensitive skin as she looked in the mirror, trying her best to ignore how the sensation wanted to make her shiver. The large form behind her wasn’t helping her achieve that at all. “You look so gorgeous tonight but… my favorite are these.” The marks on the curve of her neck that he’d sucked into pretty bruises, blooming purple.

It was no secret between them that Harry quite liked the marks on her, but he liked putting them there the most. “Thank you.” She laughed through her nose, blending the makeup on her cheeks before setting the little sponge down. “But you’re very distracting, you know that? How am I supposed to cover them if you’re petting all over them?”

“Don’t!” The whine was nearly comical as she caught his scowl in the mirror. “Don’t cover up the art, precious. Leave ‘em there.” It was a travesty, in his opinion, any time they were covered with makeup. Even if she was quite talented at the magic of making them disappear, he didn’t appreciate his little marks of love being covered up. “S’not like we’re going to the Louvre- which, they’d probably appreciate the art anyways. We’re goin’ for drinks at a dingy club to buy overpriced martinis while we chat shit while I wait for you t’get tired enough for me to bring home and love on you.”

Harry was many things. Blunt was one of them.

“Tell me how you really feel, H.” She snorted, putting powder under her eyes. Her hand stuttered though, when she felt him tuck his face into her neck and a wet, hot swipe licked over the marks. It was a bit pathetic how quickly she felt lax, like a dog rolling over for belly rubs, but she gave a shaky exhale as his teeth found a new patch of skin to nibble on.

“I feel like… you should leave those marks so people know t’fuck off, that you get fucked well, that you’re mine. Let their imaginations run wild about how I gave ‘em to you balls deep, or if I did them just like this. As long as they know that you’re a loved and taken woman, m’a happy man.” The grumbles against her skin were finished with another bite, eliciting a noise blooming from her throat.

It was hard to say no to the man in most capacities, with his soft green eyes and his strawberry pout, but when he ran his hands over the front of her dress and his tongue over her throat as he found a new patch to work on, sucking harshly enough to make her knees weaken and her clit throb between her legs? It was impossible. “Harry…” the sigh of his name was accompanied by the lull of her head back against his shoulders, letting him slip his hands under the front of her dress and the makeup brush fall into the sink.

“Lucky we’re even goin’ out when all I want to do is worship that sweet cunt all night. But I’ll be good, I’ll let you get finished with your makeup and all that if you leave ‘em be. Show ‘em off for me. Please?” The plead was melted into her bones, breathing picking up as his fingers cupped over her lace covered cunt, holding it firmly. The man knew how to get his way and this was a solid example. The sweet and silly vibe of the room transforming into the hot and sensual teasing one that he had mastered the art of. “I’ll let you choose whatever you want me t’do to you tonight. Whatever my girl wants. Jus’ let me give you another one and leave my art alone. Everyone should be able to see it.”

How could she say no to that?

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Vacation: Part Three

PART ONE PART TWO

Pairing :: OPLA!Sanji x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, NSFW/SMUT, Semi-Exhibitionist(under the table deal), Light Fingering, Sex

Word Count ::  3,469

Summary :: Sanji is finally reunited with you

A/N :: A more perverted pathetic Sanji because GODDAMN. That is all and I am sorry if this feels a bit rushed- Thank you all for your support!

“Sanji?” You asked quietly, almost afraid that if you spoke louder, you’d be waking up from some sort of hyper-realistic dream.

His stunned expression quickly shifted into a joyous smile. He ran up to you, scooping you up in his arms and twirling the two of you in the air.

“(Y/N)! I missed you so much!" He cried out. "Your beautiful voice! Your perfect smile! The way your nose scrunches up when I say something annoying! I've missed it all!" He put you down but kept his hands on your arms. "Especially the way your boo-"

WHAMP! A wooden staff came slamming down on his head, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Sanji, how many times have Robin and I told you to quit going around harassing women!" A redhead lady showed up behind him, followed by a black-haired one and a green-haired man. She gave you an apologetic smile as the man stepped forward to pick Sanji up. "I'm sorry about him, miss. He's a flirt and can get carried away when he sees a pretty lady sometimes."

You laughed awkwardly, cheeks flaring up due to memories from the past. "Oh trust me, I know how heart-eyed he can get."

The women each raised their brows, surprised by your comment. The man didn't seem to care, instead being preoccupied by holding Sanji back. He was holding him with one arm and covering his mouth with the other, his voice being muffled by his friend. Sanji was clearly upset; he couldn't explain that you weren't a random stranger he decided to hit on.

"Do you know each other?" The dark-haired woman asked.

You nodded, eyes moving past them and over to the blond. "We know each other quite well actually. I guess you could call us special friends."

The man released him. He walked back up to you, muttering under his breath about how the green man smelled. 

His mood seemed to pick up once his focus was back on you. He reached a hand up to brush your hair behind your ear, the tips of his fingers grazing past your cheeks. He didn't pull his hand away after resting it on your shoulder. He couldn't say it at the moment with his friends around, but he missed how you felt in his hold.

"How are you, darling?" He asked in his usual charming voice.

You smiled warmly up at him. “Happy to see you’ve made yourself some new friends.”

“They’re my crewmates. Don’t get too scared now, but,” He leaned down close to your ear, “I’m a pirate.”

His hot breath hitting your ear sent a familiar tingle down your spine and your fading blush intensified.

He backed away, quickly introducing you to the three before you, all the while rubbing a small circle into your shoulder with his thumb. Nami, the redhead, was their navigator, Robin, the tallest, was their archeologist, and Zoro, the greenhead, was their first mate. Sanji, naturally, was the crew’s cook. They had ported into town for a quick stay, leaving the day after tomorrow.

“So, do you think I could stay at your place tonight?” The question was so sudden, you almost didn’t know how to answer in front of his friends.

“Oh, erm, I wouldn’t mind it. I’ll need to get a few more ingredients then to make sure I have enough for both of us,” You mumbled, attention finally returning to the vegetables you had come to purchase.

“Sanji, it’s rude to suddenly ask someone if you can stay with them, especially if you didn’t give them a heads-up in advance,” Nami scolded.

“I don’t mind!” You were quick to defend him. “It’s no trouble at all, especially since we have so much to catch up on. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having you three over for dinner as well.”

“Really?” All four of the pirates asked in sync.

Sanji seemed to be a bit annoyed, while the other three were genuinely surprised by your hospitality. You reassured the lot that it was fine, especially since you could easily get all the extra ingredients you needed since you were already in the market. Zoro was the only one to decline the offer and instead offered to break the news to their captain that Sanji wouldn’t be cooking dinner for them tonight, so they'd have to find someplace to grab grub.

-

On the walk back to your home with Sanji and the other ladies, you started a small conversation with Robin and Nami.

“So, (Y/N), what do you do for work?” Robin asked.

“I work for Greylock Trading, a merchant company.”

“I’ve heard of Greylock Trading when I was a kid,” Nami said. “They used to come by my hometown to buy tangerines.”

You nodded. “That was in the early days. Greylock started with basic produce eventually moving up to luxury goods like fine silks or rare paints.”

“You must get to see a lot of interesting places working for such an impressive merchant.”

“I did.” Your smile fell a bit at Robin’s comment. “Long story short, a few years ago, Greylock fell ill and the captain of his ship retired so he could take care of him. Ever since, we’ve downsized considerably and just work from here.”

You could feel Sanji’s hand squeeze yours. “Is that why you never came back to Baratie?” 

“Yes. Greylock asked me to stay and help him restructure the business. He and Captain Tommy are father figures to me, so it was near impossible for me to decline, despite how much it saddened me to stop traveling. Now that everything’s settled with the business though I’ve found myself feeling a bit melancholy as of late.”

Greylock and Captain Tommy had tried to convince you to join a different crew so you could travel once more, but you refused. You didn’t want to leave them behind to join a brand new crew full of strangers. It didn’t feel right to you.

“All she ever talked about when we were together was traveling and all the different places she had been to and all the different places she was excited to see,” Sanji explained to his friends. Quickly, he then whispered to you, “At least, that’s when you weren’t a babbling mess.”

You quickly hit his shoulder, embarrassed that he’d make such a comment in front of others.

His teasing behavior didn’t end there.

When you got back to your place, he helped you in the kitchen while the girls made themselves comfortable in your living room. Your kitchen was small, but one would think it was cramped with how Sanji was acting. Whenever you were trying to grab something from one of the cabinets, he’d come up from behind you conveniently also needing to grab something. His body would push against yours, trapping you against the counter with one hand fondling your breast. A scheme so he could grind against your ass for a moment.

When you were chopping up some lettuce, he came up from behind you and placed his hands on top of yours to help you “properly” chop the lettuce. He would lower his head down to your neck, claiming it was easier for him to see if he rested his head there. A ploy so he could kiss your neck.

It didn’t end in the kitchen.

Once dinner was served, you sat next to Sanji and Robin sat with Nami opposite you two. The three of them started to enthrall you with tales of their adventures on the sea, making you a bit envious of their wayfaring.

You didn’t have much time to feel sorry for yourself though, as midway through dinner, Sanji’s hand fell under the table and began petting up and down your thigh. At first, you decided to act normal and ignore it. You two were at a table in front of his friends, there’s no way he would be dumb-

“Hmph-!” Your body tensed, feeling his hand slide up your skirt and in between your thighs.

You clamped your thighs together hoping to halt him in his tracks. Your head snapped to him, but he remained unfazed, acting as if nothing had happened.

Unfortunately for you, he was able to wriggle his hand just enough to get closer to your panties. He pushed his finger against you, pushing your underwear to the side to stroke your growing wet folds. After that, he stuck one long finger in, pumping slowly with just one finger.

You gulped, biting the inside of your bottom lip, hoping to stay silent. You’d be mortified if Robin and Nami found out what you two were doing right now.

Sanji didn’t do much else after he started fingering you. He continued that slow pumping pace, not doing too much so you could act normal and giving you just enough to be excited for when dinner ended. He only pulled because you started to clean up the table while they were still around.

Eventually, it was time for you to say goodbye to your two guests.

“It was nice meeting you, (Y/N).”

“Same here, Robin. I’m glad you two enjoyed the meal.”

“It was delicious, thank you so much for having us.”

“And if Sanji gives you any trouble, just come and find us. We know how he can get.”

You chuckled, walking the two towards the door. “No worries, Nami. I know how to deal with him too. Have a nice night!”

“Bye!”

Almost the second the door shut and you two were alone, Sanji shoved his tongue in your mouth and wrapped his arms around you. His hands roamed your body, jumping from caressing your thighs to your ass to your breasts. He was so needy.

You struggled to keep up with his pace, but you couldn't break away. He was refusing to let you go. His kiss was so messy and rough, that you were sure your lips would be puffy by the time he pulled away.

His hand that was fondling your breast pulled away, hurriedly working on removing your blouse, something he had to stop the kiss for. Your head was dizzy with how he had rushed you, you almost didn't pick up on how eager he was to see your bare chest. His eyes lit up once your bra was removed.

"God, I've missed your boobs."

He reached down past your skirt to grab onto the back of your thighs and they hooked around him instinctually. He carried you over to the table you two had just been having dinner at and placed you down. His face fell straight into your chest, kissing and nipping your flesh. His hands latched onto your nipples to start pinching and rolling the buds in his fingers.

His crotch was directly against yours, allowing you to feel his erection growing. You started to move your hips against his, remembering the tingling pleasure he always gave you. He was eager as well, as he started to grind into you.

"Sanji," You moaned softly, hand reaching out to tug his hair.

He groaned at the action, and the speed of his hips picked up creating more friction. He removed a hand from your breast, reaching around to squeeze your ass and pull your body closer to his.

You were about to beg him to start fucking you, needing more than this to push you to cum, until you noticed the expression on his face. His eyes were tightly shut and he was biting his bottom lip. He was desperate to cum, now.

You had never seen him so worked up before, it turned you on, even more, to know he was being like this for you. If there wasn't a wet patch on his pants before due to your soaked panties, there certainly was one now.

"Fuuuck," He said, a mix between a whine and a moan.

So entranced by the sight before you, you decided to let him finish like this, already coming up with a plan for the aftermath. A bit of revenge for how he acted during the meal if you will.

His speed was getting faster, and his hold on your ass and tit tighter. "I just- I need-" He was struggling with his words, clearly lost in his head.

"Are you close to cumming for me, Sanji?" You asked in a teasing tone.

He completely froze, his face turning red with embarrassment for the first time since you met him all those years ago.

"(Y-Y/N)- I didn't mean to-" He struggled, stammering out a sentence, but his words were silenced when you slid your hands down his pants and cupped his length in your hand.

You could feel him throbbing in your palm, he was so close that he was already twitching in your hand. "It's okay, Sanji. I'll let you finish, but then we play my way. Okay?"

You squeezed your hand around his dick at the end, earning a small shaky breath. After he quickly agreed, you pulled your hand out of his pants, allowing him to continue grinding on you.

You pushed your breasts together for him, to which he happily planted his face in between.

He bit down roughly on your right tit when he finally started to cum in his pants, his hips jerking against your wet clothed cunt. When his peak ended, he raised his head from your breasts, trying to steady his breathing.

You hopped off of the table, grabbed his hand, and led him to your bedroom. "You know, I always remember you making fun of me for being so needy all the time. I guess the tables have turned now, huh?"

"It's… it's been a while okay?"

"I can tell," You said while pushing him down on your bed.

You pulled down your underwear before lifting your skirt to reveal your exposed wet pussy before moving to straddle him. You worked on unclothing him, carefully undoing each button on his shirt while rolling your crotch against his. In no time, you could feel him hardening up again.

Once you got his shirt off, leaving on his tie, you repositioned yourself to sit right below the hem of his pants. You zipped his pants open and pulled them down, along with his underwear, springing free his messy cock. It was smeared in sperm from before, already lubed up when you wrapped a hand around it.

You scooted closer so you were able to bring his tip to your entrance. You moved it up and down your slick folds, humming at the feeling, already ready to be filled up. But you had to be strong, remembering how you wanted to get payback.

He jerked his hips in your hands. "Love, I'm begging you. You've already made me wait such a long time."

You put your hands on his chest, raising your hips so your entrance was right above him. "I said I was sorry." You began to move your wet cunt against his length, not allowing the sweet tightness he desired. "Don't you forgive me, Sanji?"

He let out a shaky moan, feeling your slick folds slide up and down his length. His tip was so close to entering each time you went up his dick, only for you to slowly slide back down.

His hands went up to cup your face, thumbs tracing against your cheeks. He pressed a long deep kiss onto you. It was so unlike the kiss from before, with there being a slow passion to it, he was able to distract you.

You gasped into the kiss, feeling him push his cock into you. He pulled away with a devilish smirk, continuing to push until he was all the way in you. You started to whimper, it had been such a long time since anyone filled you up.

"I do, darling. And that's why I'm so happy you're not going to get upset with me for breaking our little agreement." He pulled out a bit before thrusting up into you, earning a moan.

He wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you closer to him so your chest was flush against his. He continued to thrust into you. He had quickly developed a pattern, he did a few shallow thrusts, not pulling out very much, before pulling out nearly all the way, leaving only his tip in you, then rammed himself back in only to repeat the process.

Each time he pulled out more, he hit hard, and with each thrust your moaning got louder and louder. His moaning grew in volume as well, as your walls tightened with each deep thrust.

This feeling was getting him close, along with watching you on top of him. Since you were flat against him, he could feel your breasts bouncing up and down on him with the thrusts. His favorite part about this though, was that your face was clear for him to see. Your half-lidded eyes, the small 'o' shape your mouth was in got bigger each time you moaned loudly.

Eventually, your entire body tightened and you began to spasm. Your walls clenched, finally hitting your high. Sanji wasn’t far behind, as seconds after you came you could feel his cock twitching inside of you and hot spurts of cum poured into you.

“I hope you don’t have plans tomorrow,” Sanji breathed out.

“Why?” You asked in between pants.

“Because,” He pulled out of you, beginning to reposition you two, “I don’t plan on stopping until you’re exhausted.”

Your palms fell flat against your bed as you found yourself on all fours now. His hands went down to hold your ass, his now hard again dick ramming into you from behind. He was much rougher this time with his thrusting, and his hold on you was tight so you couldn’t pull away.

At this faster pace of his, it didn’t take long until your arms gave out and your top half fell against the bed. You bounced your ass in the air with him, hoping he’d hit deeper with each thrust. So fixated on cumming again, you didn’t notice how his grip had loosened and that he had slowed down again.

“There’s my good girl,” He moaned. “So desperate to cum around my cock.”

-

Your eyes fluttered open, feeling a pair of arms wrapped around you along with a leg thrown over yours. Your vision began to clear and you saw a blond sleeping in your bed. The events of the night before began to play in your head, reminding yourself why your body was so sore.

“Hm… I guess you were telling the truth when you said I’d pass out.”

“Of course I was. I’d never lie to you, love,” His eyes opened.

You narrowed your eyes. “How long have you been up?”

He shrugged. “A while.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I made you do a lot last night. Plus, I enjoyed how peaceful you looked when you were asleep. I was trying to save it in my memory in case…” His voice trailed off, afraid to finish his sentence.

“In case what?”

“In case… you said no to being a pirate with me.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He sat up, and you followed. “I want you to join the Straw Hat Pirates. It’s a really friendly crew, aside from Zoro. Everyone’s nice, aside from Zoro. You’ve already met three of them, and got along great with them, aside from Zoro, but he’s just a grump. And I’m sure Luffy would be fine with it.”

“Who’s Luffy again?”

“He’s the captain. He’s a good kid, and he could use a negotiator.”

You fell silent, contemplating his offer for a bit longer than he’d like.

“Alright, I’ll join.”

Sanji continued to plead with you to join, having not fully processed your answer. “Please, (Y/N). You’ll get to travel again, and sure, we’ll have to deal with occasional bad- Excuse me?”

“I said, I’ll join. I’ve already helped out Greylock and there’s not much left for me here anyway. What I want is to travel on the sea again, going to new distant lands with you.”

“(Y/N)...”

You grabbed his hand, smiling happily up at him, knowing you’d be starting a brand new chapter in your life. Unlike all the other ship crews that had offered you a spot amongst them, you didn’t feel like you would fit in. Joining The Straw Hats felt right somehow, especially since someone you were close with was already a part of the crew.

The sweet moment you two shared ended shortly, as in your peripheral line of sight, you saw a tent rising in the sheets.

“Really?” You asked, throwing the blanket up to expose his erection.

“You’re just so cute when you’re sincere!”

.

.

.

Tags:

@misfits1a, @nuhteyam, @violet-19999, @idkhowtoplayhoyoversegames, @chaixsherlock, @notazul, @simpforseungkwan, @shadowwolf1864, @quixscentsposts

[ameliathornromance]

“It’ll be fine.” You reassured him, holding your Orc Boyfriends hand. You gave it a comforting squeeze. “She doesn’t bite.”

“But she’s a little girl.” Your Orc answered. He’d stopped just before your front door. “Look at me,” your Orc Boyfriend let go of your hand and gestured to his figure. Tall, green and muscular, he pointed at the door. “Your child is going to go running for the hills once she sees me.”

"I've already told her you're an Orc." You tell him.

"Telling someone about an Orc and seeing an Orc are two different things, hun."

At that, you roll your eyes.

Your ex, had gone out to go and chop firewood and never returned. Since you lived very far away from the nearest village, it was rare you heard news. After your ex hadn’t returned the next morning, you went into the village, crying, pleading and begging for people to help look for him.

But unfortunately, no one had seen him. And two days turned into a week… which turned into three weeks… and then a month. Around the two month mark, you got a letter from your ex, saying that he had been having an affair with the milk maid and they had eloped.

Your daughter, who was only a toddler at the time, did not understand what it meant when you cried so much you gagged or when you randomly burst into tears when you saw newly weds passing by in a heavily decorated carriage.

The only thing that held you together, was your child. While you still wondered what you did wrong and conjured up daydreams of keeping your husband here, your daughter made those vanish in an instant. Just hearing even a small giggle, was more than enough to drown out those thoughts… for a little while at least.

Around your daughters sixth birthday, you had met your Orc. You had been in town, looking for cake ingredients when the Orc offered to help you carry your many bags. From that point onwards, the two of you were always in contact… And it became romantic.

Once you told him you had a daughter and told him of the betrayal from your ex, your Orc snorted. “What a pathetic man. You and your daughter are better off without him.” He had let a grin cross his face, “and now you have me. And I won’t leave you.”

When he told you that, you had stared at him, hardly daring to believe it. The internal doubt was blown away by his words, you had to hide your face from him as you wiped your nose and dried your eyes.

“Oh, hun I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he comforted, “c’mere.” You had spent the rest of your date in his arms.

Hearing his reassurance only solidified your resolution: Your daughter would have to meet your Orc Boyfriend.

But your Orc – who was usually so boastful and confident – was now reduced down to a bundle of nerves. It was sweet, how he braided and re-braided his hair over and over again, asking: “does this look alright?”

And now, as your Orc looked down at you, with your pleading eyes and sighed. He knew how important this was to you, your daughter was worth more than gold. “You’re sure she’s not going to be afraid of me?”

You gave a reassuring smile, “one hundred percent.”

Sucking in a deep breath, and exhaling, your Orc Boyfriend nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

The two of you marched forward. As the two of you got closer, you heard a loud giggle come from inside the house.

Your smile only grew wider as you opened the front door and out running, came a flurry of (H/C) locks that headed straight for your Orc.

Your daughter skidded to a halt in front of your Orc and pointed, looking between you and your boyfriend. “Mama, you were right!” She grinned widely. “He’s is super tall!”

“Honey,” You kneeled down to her height, “c’mon, be polite.”

“Oh, right.” Your little girl covered her large grin and stepped back a few paces. She stuck her hand out to your Orc, “I’m (D/N), it’s nice to meet you.”

Your Orc looked between you and the tiny child, who still held her tiny hand out to him, waiting for him to shake it. After your encouraging smile, your Orc uncertainly took her hand in his own and shook it. “Um, it’s nice to meet you too. I’m (O/B).”

“Come inside! I wanna show you the drawing I did of the birds earlier!” Not letting your Orcs hand go, your daughter proceeded to drag him inside the house.

As you watched them pass the threshold, your Orc couldn’t help a smile of relief wash over his face.

“I told you you’d be fine.” You whispered to him as your daughter thundered up the stairs to go and get her drawings.

“Why are you telling me that? I wasn’t nervous at all.” your Orc bluffed. He laid back into your sofa, his old confident smile returning.

The day went smoothly after that, your daughter held your boyfriends undivided attention for hours as she explained the fictional drama between her stuffed animals, Mr Blake, the Shopkeep and Mother Goose.

“No!” Your Orc’s jaw dropped when your daughter announced that the Shopkeep had been giving Mother Goose chicken instead of ham like she asked.

By the end of the day, your daughter was practically falling asleep in your boyfriends arms, eyes flitting closed and snapping open whenever the two of you spoke.

Once you’d put her to bed, you found your Orc sitting on the sofa, grinning. You return his smile, confused. “What?”

“You get up everyday and handle that kid.” He said, not taking his eyes off you. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, crashing next to him on the sofa, “she’s a handful, but I love her.” you yawned. “It is a lot to do on my own, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“She’s got me now too.” Your Orc Boyfriend snuggled closer to you. Heart swelling, you threw your arm across his torso and you let your eyes slide closed. And the two of you fell asleep, basking in the domestic bliss.

Patreon

[slashingdisneypasta]

Imagine: Scar turning human so he can seduce you.

*set in the House of Villains universe. Ursula turned him.

Also don't ask me how this works with Lion vs human lifespans, I don't know. Just ignore it 😅

Scar turns into a very dashing older gentleman, of course. Long pitch-black hair he either leaves down in a fluffy dead mess or even ties up in a high ponytail after some-time in the new human body, sharp green eyes made brighter by gorgeous dark skin, and lanky. -And, being his wicked self, he absolutely notices how the new appearance effects one little... old... you. Even if he doesnt particularly care for the odd look, your reactions to just him standing a little too close to you- make it all too worth it.

Scar starts immediately making your life hell, as soon as he gets used to walking up on two legs. Popping up anywhere you are needing help (somehow he always knows when you're in dire straights?? I mean- of course he does), offering his assistance and a few flirty little comments. First to make you aware what he wanted, and then to convince you. Entice you.

Scar fucking up basic tasks like carrying trays (letting the tray tilt so food and drinks slip off and crash to the ground) and opening clipboards (letting all the paper slip out onto the floor), because he's not used to thumbs. It's endearing as fuck and somehow he manages to make an 'oops' look charming with too-wide, too-pretty green eyes and the ease of an older man who knows a little bit of clumsy can be cute.

Scar gracefully scaring off mean villains who decide to get nasty with you because they're in a bad mood. No, his teeth may not be as sharp as they were but he'll still use them. It'll be a shame to get blood on this shirt but he will. 'Keep that in mind, old woman.'

Scar finally winning you over and guess what? He may look like a man but he's still affectionate like a lion. He does not give a flying fuck who's around, who's watching, when he comes up behind you. When the old man draws your body back against his too-snuggly and licks the flat of his tongue over your shoulder, and neck, your pressure point. He loves to taste your skin and feel your pulse point jump. Why should he care? Your stuffy idea of what he can and cannot do to his mate when he wants are of no consequence to him. So pathetically human. Far too human for him. 'Sc- Scar! Frollo is- ' 'Let the little man shriek. I truly could not care even a slither less, Y/N.'

Scar truly not noticing it if anyone else takes interest in him in his new, Hot, human form. He only has eyes for you. Medusa could be hardcore flirting with him across the table and Scar's busy listening to you talk to Hades and Rourke, and fingering the edge of your top between his fingers. She could throw herself at him and he'd conveniently side step her just in time. Okay. Maybe he notices; he's a smart man. But he absolutely acts like he doesn't XD

Scar paying Ursula back for the transformation by delivering to her poor Edgar, who is now her servant. 'Hmm- I take it this means you won the girl over??' 'Mhmm, take the old butler now. I have a young woman to mate. Sorry, Edgar, business and all that.'

[yandere-romanticaa]

art credit. // I was greatly inspired by this post by the lovely @yanderenightmare so, I'd like to add my own little take on it, but only focusing on Dabi and Hawks because I'm just in that mood.

The good and bad cop routine is something which would take ages getting used to. The sheer amount of whiplash and pressure which is being put on you on a daily basis is too much, it's too fucking much and you have no time to process any of it as you are forced into this new life without any sort warning. On the few rare occasions in which you are graced with the rare bliss of solitude, you sit at your new home and just think. Ponder. Scheme. You allow the luxury of fantasy to take over your mind - you run out of the front door, barefoot, broken and scared. Bruises, cuts, burns and plenty of other injuries litter your body like a stained canvas, old and used. You could already feel the aching of your unused muscles as they would scream at you to stop, lungs heavy with the need to just breathe you but you cannot because if you do they would find you and drag you back however they damned pleased.

In this fantasy, you managed to escape. The soft green grass touched your toes, the warm sun felt hot but incredible against your tired skin. It felt as though it was giving you a Welcome back! greeting as you would make your way towards the train station, with nothing but a few bucks and some pathetic excuse of an outfit on you. You had nothing but you could manage. Anything was better than being forced back into that Hell.

You let out a long sigh as vivid imagery engulfed you, it felt so real. There you were, out of the country and lost to civilization somewhere far, far away. Grunt and manual labor would be beyond difficult to start with but it was the best possible option as it would give you little to no attention. Besides, it would take ages for your abused body to get used to it, which would probably dock your pay a little but you didn't mind. Oh how perfect of a life that would be, with no one around to bother you ever again. Perhaps in a few years if you felt like it, perhaps you could step foot in a crowd without the paranoid fear of someone peeling your skin off with white hot flames of fury and jealousy.

Dabi's touch became like a second nature to you and you hated it. Whenever he could he would grab you and just press you close to him, not caring at all about any personal space. He was tired and bored, behave and he'll be good to you, maybe. Keigo would proceed to reprimand him for his attitude but you knew damn well that he was no better than the villain.

He too would take you if he had the chance. Frankly, you were never sure what you were more keen on - Dabi's devilish honesty or Keigo's sweet suffocation. Neither option was good but Keigo felt like a lesser evil, something you could manage with a kind word or two.

You couldn't help but to grunt as your eyes fluttered open. Looking around, the apartment was still vacant. Damn it all, you couldn't even fantasize without even thinking of the two.

Oh how happy they would be if they knew that fact.

You could already hear Dabi's satisfied grunt as he pulled you close to his chest, his touch rough and unforgiving. That's right you should be thinking about him, you should be worried about what he might do to you because mercy is not in his vocabulary. Despite his constant teasing and bullying, Dabi was in no mood for games. Sure, he was a sadist who took genuine pleasure in watching you squirm and cry, particularly if it was caused by his hand. His awful burns would take forever to heal, he sometimes wouldn't even allow them to heal. That was his own personal way of claiming you, putting his own little stamp of ownership somewhere visible. As stated, mercy is not something he is familiar with.

A kinder touch is more up to Keigo's speed.

Despite the beautiful wings on his back, the man was no angel and he was not guiltless. He was just as bad as Dabi but his own obsession simply manifested in a completely different manner. Instead of hurting you, the pro hero preferred to be doting and kind. Oh how he ached to touch you but whenever you would flinch away hurt him so badly, but he never put the blame on you. Horrible, mean Dabi was the one who messed you up, which meant that it was Keigo's job to fix you. The blonde just loved to bathe you, his fingers gently massaging your scalp as the scent of shampoo would fill his nostrils, a scent he hand picked in hope that you would like it.

They took so much from you. He had to make it up somehow.

It was during these vulnerable moments where he tried to get you to open up to him. There were times when he managed to do just that and have a proper conversation with you. He stored those precious memories deep inside his heart and he would replay them constantly in his head as he was out on patrol.

He couldn't wait to get home. Did you start to see him as desirable? A person of safety? God he hoped so.

There was no way out of this arrangement he made with Dabi, there just wasn't. It was hard to manage but it had to be done. Keigo felt bitter about the fact that Dabi was the one who spent most of the day with you. Keigo was unfortunately tied down by his hero work and public duties, which meant that he had to be extra careful about his activities with you. He couldn't risk the public knowing about you, it was too dangerous.

As for Dabi, he danced on a strange line of being allowed to do whatever he wanted while also somehow being able to do nothing. On paper that makes no sense but Dabi is just that kind of guy. He can have you for himself for the whole entire day but if you were spotted with a nefarious criminal such as him, he would be in deep shit. He was skilled enough to take care of this whole ordeal but still.

The relationship you have with these two is rocky. It's like trying to pick a rose and trying to avoid the thorns, only to end up getting pricked by an even bigger thorn. No matter where you go, run or hide, they are always there. Not even your own mind was safe.