#be but it’s fine it’s fine and the other could be flame point? To get white (hair) and red (another color)

[thatoneluckybee]

Turning your favorite characters into cats is a BAD IDEA because while trying to figure out the most plausible way to make a cat as close to a rainbow as possible genetically (using breed specific traits on breeds they don’t work with too because it’s a doodle screw it) you will discover something genetic that doesn’t make sense in YOUR CATS and then spend an entire day on breeder and veterinarian websites discussing the minute differences between different types of gray and run around aggressively explaining cat genes to people and trying to get their opinion on something and still not get answers and if this becomes a hyperfixation I should be legally allowed to scream

[tired-biscuit]

No joy in giving if you’re never pleased

pairing: rengoku kyojuro/fem!reader

premise: When a certain Hashira proposes to marry you for the sake of conforming to social norms, you find yourself in a spot where you’re unable to refuse the offer. Despite your initial agreement on keeping the union strictly professional, however, his accidental exposure to an incredibly potent form of aphrodisiac causes well-hidden feelings to quickly rise to the surface in a single night.

cw: 18+ MDNI, canon divergence - HE LIVES!!!, arranged marriage, s pollen, loss of virginity (he loses his v-card, not you), creampie x2 (double delight, lol), brief mention of domestic violence from reader’s previous marriage.

wc: 7.3k

———

Rengoku Kyojuro had never planned on getting married. It’s not like the thought didn’t cross his mind occasionally, but how could he, with the life he’s chosen to lead? 

Despite the tendency of coming across as a bit daft because of his rather eccentric nature, Kyojuro is far from stupid. He’s well aware that if a marriage were to successfully prosper, it requires a number of things; one of them being stability. Stability that is, for the most part, expected to be constant. 

So with this very important fact taken into account, how on earth is he, the Flame Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps, expected to provide stability for his partner? Constant stability, at that?

After all, missions often keep him away from home for long periods of time. If it’s not the missions, then it’s certainly the endless training sessions that cause for an incredibly busy schedule. And what about the apprentices that have yet to show up on his doorstep?

At this point, the only time he ever slows down is when he needs to recover and gather his strength back after a particularly nasty fight. And even then, when he’s got nothing else to do but spend his days resting in bed and tending to his injuries, he’s usually completely elsewhere with his thoughts, already strategizing on how to further hone his already sharp skills in order to avoid causing more harm.

However, being the Flame Hashira comes second to being an obedient son. So when his father presses on the matter by the time Kyojuro turns 27 years old, he once again does what is expected of him and dutifully finds himself a wife.

The arranged marriage ends up becoming just that – arranged. It’s a spring wedding: beautiful and sudden just like the season it’s been placed into. You lay eyes on each other only once before the knot is tied, and then you’re whisked away to house Rengoku. 

You’re both in dire need of it, though. Him, because his father demands it, and you, because you’re a widow who’d just recently buried her now-late husband, but who remains to be too young and heirless to be able to safely cling to that title. 

Unlike your first husband, however, Kyojuro treats you exceptionally well. While he may not be present most of the time, leaving you to tend to your shared home more or less on your own terms, he always, always makes sure to treat you with respect. He speaks kindly to you each time your paths do end up crossing, encourages you to spend time with his equally as kind-hearted younger brother Senjuro, and enthusiastically compliments your cooking whenever he gets the chance to eat it.

He’s also never raised his hand against you – a habit your previous husband had often acted upon and that had left you with plenty of scars even long after the ones on your skin had healed and faded away. No, instead, Kyojuro doesn’t touch you at all. 

And by that, it truly means not at all.

You may sleep in the same bed on the nights when he’s around, but it’s like a chasm stretches itself between you and your husband the second you clamber underneath the covers together. It’s not emotional distance, per se – your personalities seem to be getting along just fine, at least from what you’ve gathered so far – so you suspect that it must be a different kind of issue that’s stopping him from consummating the marriage.

When asked, even whilst becoming a bit flustered, he’d openly admitted that he expects nothing from you concerning the matter. That he never really gave much thought about fathering children, since they could easily be seen as a weakness by his enemies and thus potentially used against him, as morbid as that sounds. 

But even with your initial wariness and doubt after the conversation, he’s since made it clear time and time again that he’s perfectly content with keeping your marriage purely platonic, exactly like he’d said. The union keeps both sides of your families happy, while still allowing you the safety and freedom you’ve always desired as a woman. And as for him, the ability to continue his work uninterrupted is seen as only a plus in his eyes.

Some would call his reasonings selfish, but you’ve long since learned that your husband is anything but that. Everything he does, he does for others. Having a wife is already risky enough as a swordsman, and yet he has still chosen to obey orders and take you in, even going as far as to teach you some of the more basic self defense maneuvers for some peace of mind.

Besides, during the first couple of months, the entire thing had sounded like a dream. Having a husband in an arranged marriage who willingly provides, treats you like an equal, and is generally fond of you without the more forceful, unpleasant aspects around it; could you ask for anything more?

Well, yes. You suppose you could. But wait! It’s not that you aren’t appreciative of the things he gives you – in fact, you’ll be forever grateful for them, storing and cherishing them for the rest of your life – it’s more so… about the things he doesn’t.

Because while he may hold lovely conversations with you no matter the time of day, and while he may smile brightly each time you welcome him back home in the courtyard, the crown of his head bathed in sunlight, no matter what kind of ploy you attempt, Kyojuro just doesn’t seem to be picking up on the fact that you don’t see this marriage as strictly transactional anymore.

Over the last year, feelings for the golden-eyed Hashira have blossomed inside your heart. You’ve tried not to succumb to them, heeding his wishes, but have still ended up catching yourself buzzing with pleasant nervousness when in his presence more than a handful of times now. To make matters even worse, you even have trouble falling asleep next to him in bed because of how fast your heartbeat begins to race the moment he enters the room – a treacherous heartbeat which you have no doubt he can hear.

Alas, nothing seems to sway him. The closest you’ve ever gotten is on a couple of occasions when he’d come home bearing wounds that weren’t so severe that they needed to be looked over by Shinobu, but nevertheless required to be tended to. He’d tried to reassure you countless of times that he could handle them on his own just fine when you’d stepped in to help, but you’d stubbornly insisted every single time without fail.

“Of what use am I as a wife if I can’t even patch up my own husband?” you’d said one time, carefully reaching for his arm. The blood had mostly dried up by then, already beginning to flake. “Just let me help you, Kyojuro. I promise it’s no trouble. It’s what life partners are meant for.”

Kyojuro, surprisingly, had kept silent after that, for once allowing you fully to continue your ministrations. Still covered in grime and watching you with visible uncertainty, he’d caught but didn’t vocally acknowledge the small gasp you let out the second your fingertips had made contact with his alarmingly hot skin, and, by the time you’d bandaged him up, had even hesitantly promised you that he’d take it easy for the next couple of days.

You, on the other hand, were incapable of stopping yourself from thinking about the heat his body emanates from that moment onward. It supposedly reaches its peak only during battle, he’s told you this in order to soothe your worries, but even by the time it winds back down, you still find it dangerous. It’s no wonder he’s so quick to warm the bed the second he lies down, the man is practically a walking, breathing furnace!

And just the thought of that heat engulfing you; wrapping you up in its warm, tender embrace, caressing every inch of you, filling you– Well, perhaps it’s enough to drive any spouse just a little bit mad with yearning.

But what can you possibly do? All he ever does is talk to you. Occasionally, he’ll perhaps slip up and ogle at the exposed side of your neck, or the curve of your lips, but it’s often all so fleeting that you don’t even have time to properly reciprocate. Before you can even begin to wonder if he’s actually capable of lusting after you, he’s already back to his friendly, unsuspecting self.

However, that all changes when he comes home one evening after his training session with a certain Love Hashira. Because that night, you come to learn that the sweet, always vehemently respectful Rengoku Kyojuro who you cherish so dearly, is perfectly capable of lusting after his wife. 

He’s just good at concealing it with politeness.

———

“Kyojuro, is that you?”

Looking into the mirror you’re sitting in front of, you briefly pause combing your hair to smile at the reflection of your husband who now stands leaning against the open doorway of your shared bedroom. The lights in the hallway behind him are off, shrouding it in darkness just like the rest of the house for the night, but the soft glow coming from the couple of candles you’ve lit earlier to aid your routine before bed is just enough to define him.

From what you can gather from a single lookover, he seems to be perfectly fine physically-wise. There are no cuts slashing his smooth skin, and no bruises that paint it painfully violet. No sight of blood, chipped teeth or broken bones either. Actually, the only two things that seem to be in a state of disarray are his clothes and hair. 

He’s missing his signature haori and the top three buttons of the black uniform jacket that he wears underneath are undone, revealing his neck and the edges of his collarbones. As for his hair, you’d best describe it as mussed. Like he’d felt the constant need to run his hands through it multiple times, pushing it away from his face over and over again through the course of the day.

For someone who normally looks well put together, these small but otherwise specific changes in his appearance almost strike you as somewhat indecent. Perhaps it might be a bit of an overreaction from your side, however the entire time you’ve known Kyojuro, you’ve never seen him act sloppy or salacious when it comes to his image.

It causes your stomach to sink.

Surely he wouldn’t…?

No. He most certainly would not. A good husband like Kyojuro would surely never stray towards a ghastly thing such as infidelity, right? He’s one of the most loyal and honest people you’ve ever met. You just can’t even begin to imagine him lying and deceiving you about anything of this sort.

Nevertheless, your voice still proceeds to wobble slightly as you pick up the comb again, worrying thoughts rushing through your mind a mile a minute. “How did your training with Miss Kanroji go?”

“Mm, I’m not quite sure to be honest. It was a bit odd,” Kyojuro mutters as he steps into the room. 

You don’t fail to notice how different he sounds. The tone of his voice is uncharacteristically quiet, almost subdued. It only proceeds to worsen the feeling of dread that’s forming in the pit of your stomach now.

“Odd?” you repeat, carefully following his movements in the mirror. He’s aimed straight towards you. “How so?”

“Well, I gained the upper hand on her while sparring and she panicked and threw some kind of powder that Miss Shinobu is helping her perfect right at my face,” he explains, scratching his cheek. “It’s supposedly perfect for her technique. Small doses can stun and disorient enemies, but apparently she threw so much of it at me that she immediately had to send me home.”

You turn your head to the side in one quick movement, concern for your husband causing your eyes to open wide and diminish your earlier worries. It flusters you so much that you abandon all sense of formality, “Shouldn’t you go see Kocho if that's the case, then? If she’s the one who helped develop this powder, surely she can help!”

His mouth curls into a lazy grin when your gazes connect, a mere shadow of the beaming smile he otherwise tends to give you. He’s positioned himself right behind you now, standing so close that you can feel the heat that his body emanates brushing over your back in steady waves. The thin silken robe you’ve donned can barely be considered a barrier, but despite his warmth, you want to shiver instead.

“I thought the same thing, however Mitsuri had made it abundantly clear that I’d find everything I’d need to get better at home. Multiple times actually,” he says thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, she seemed to be in quite a rush to send me back to you.”

“To me? Really?” you mumble, facing the mirror again. Since he’s standing so close to you now, you can’t see his face in the reflection anymore, but for once that just might be a good thing. The wild infatuation you have with him has turned you incapable of having your thoughts in order if you’re stuck looking at his eyes for too long.

“Oh, yes,” he says, nodding even if you can’t see it. “She kept apologizing profusely, rambling that you’ll help me take care of it. I’m still unsure what she meant by ‘it’ exactly, but either way, I have strong faith that you’ll manage just fine.”

Months ago, the fact that he’s willingly allowing himself to be vulnerable with you, letting you nurse him back to health without any sort of fuss that he can do it himself, would make you soar. Now, however, all you feel is the heavy weight of pressure settling down on your shoulders and chest.

With feelings involved, you’ve begun to greatly fear failure. After all, if you fail, you can’t impress him. And if you can’t impress your husband, then you can’t make him fall in love with you. And if you can’t make him fall in love with you, then–

“Darling,” he drawls all of a sudden, sounding even less like himself now. Less clear. “Do you mind if I comb your hair for you? I’ve always wanted to give it a try.”

“Hm?” You blink, momentarily confused from the way he’s disrupted your train of thought with such an unexpected request. “Oh, I, umm… Well, if you’re feeling well enough, then yes, of course you can. Go ahead.”

You haven’t even noticed how tightly you’ve been gripping the comb until you release your hold on it in order to hand it to him. Your fingers brush against each other with the action, the heat of his skin pouring into yours, making you sit up straighter.

You’re still not used to it. How can you be, when there’s rarely any contact?

“Not to worry, I’ll be gentle,” he says, chuckling quietly as he trails his gaze up and down your stiff posture. The smile is apparent in his voice.

“I know. I’m not worried,” you utter, sheepishly avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. Since your hands are empty now, you clasp them together, settling them on your lap while you wait.

Meanwhile, Kyojuro proceeds to begin combing your hair for you. He’s gentle exactly like he promised you he’d be, taking his time with every knot and tangle that had formed during the day. Silence stretches as he works, but you have trouble noticing it because of how loudly your pulse insists on pounding inside your ears, ringing through your entire head.

He’s touching you. Great heavens above, he’s touching you, and it’s outright nerve-racking. His touch is as light as a feather, but you can still feel him dragging his fingers along the length of your hair. It’s sending tingly sensations all over your scalp, all the way down to your spine.

When he reaches underneath your hair to comb it from the bottom up, his fingers briefly brush the side of your neck. It’s only the merest hint of intimacy, a mere sliver of it, but you can’t help but shiver this time, thighs squeezing together.

He pauses and you stare in the mirror with eyes once again open wide like a fawn’s, only this time it’s yourself that you’re worried about, not him. You can see the reflection of his chest and his shoulders. Both seem to heave with the deep breath he takes now. 

A couple of seconds pass before he sinks the comb into your hair again. Still gentle. “Did you bathe?”

The random question takes you aback a bit. Puzzlement laces your tone because of it as you say, “Yes, I did... A little before you returned home.”

“I see,” he murmurs. His chest expands as he inhales another deep breath. “You smell nice.”

“Ah,” you say, looking down at your lap again. Heat creeps up your face at the compliment, slight relief washing over you. “Thank you.”

“You know,” he says eventually, slowly pushing your hair to one side, making use of having you distracted, “I may not have a sense of smell as keen as the one young Kamado possesses, but I’ve learned that your lovely scent grows stronger if you wear your hair on one side like this.” 

“Really?” Your hands itch with the need to cover your burning face. He’s practically showering you with praise and you haven’t got a single clue on how to respond.

“Really.” He carefully fixes a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear. “It grows so strong, actually, that I just want to… Hm. Want to…”

“Kyojuro!” His name leaves your lips in a shrill squeal when he suddenly leans in and presses his nose into the crook of your neck that he’s exposed. Caught by surprise, you push up from the chair in one hasty movement, spinning to face him.

The sight before you makes your skin pull taut. Your husband stares at you with hooded eyelids and pupils so big and dilated that they’ve nearly swallowed the entirety of his irises. They grow even larger when they fixate on you.

His smile grows, revealing teeth. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”

“A little bit,” you admit, soothing yourself.

He’s sweating profusely. You don’t fail to take notice of the obvious sheen of liquid salt that sits on his forehead now, as well as the feverish blush that has overtaken his entire face, neck, and even the tips of his ears.

You frown, taking a step towards him as worry takes over the initial shock for a second time, but he’s quick to raise his hand to stop you. 

“No, it’s better if you stay back for now. I need to think,” he says, voice suddenly profoundly hoarse. Unlike before, his breaths have turned shallow and concerningly fast-paced now, the furrow of his brow prominent. He pants as he bends over, slamming the flat of his palms onto the nearby dresser. “Just-... Let me figure out a way to solve this.”

“Solve what, Kyojuro? What’s gotten into you? Should we go see Kocho?” You say his name again, but this time it comes out as little less than a cry. When you take another step towards him despite him telling you not to, you see how the muscles in his back strain with effort.

You hesitate, weighing your options, but the urge to help your husband is so strong that it prevails in the end. Much to your dismay, however, even with your new goal set in place, you only manage one more step forward before you suddenly find yourself wrapped in a blazing hot embrace, with your back pressing against the dresser – the same dresser he had just been leaning on merely a second ago.

Your body tenses up, clearly startled. This is what it means to experience the strength and speed of a Hashira. The movement, so inhumanly quick that you couldn’t possibly follow it with untrained eyes, had practically swept you off your feet. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Inside your throat, even.

The reason? Instead of slaying you, he’s got his hand on the small of your back, pushing in and arching you in such a way that your bottom halves are basically pressed flush against one another. The other grips the edge of the dresser so harshly that you can hear the wood creaking in protest.

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, only a mere hitch of a breath. The prominent outline in his pants that’s now firmly pressing against your thigh has rendered you speechless. 

He’s aroused. You can tell that even with his clothes getting in the way. So aroused, in fact, that it must be hurting him. And sure enough, when you lift your head to look up at him, the expression on his face can only be described as pained.

His fingers twitch when you make eye contact, slipping lower, down your back. He grabs a fistful of your robe, pulling and straining it tight over your front. Since you’re not wearing anything underneath, your nipples pebble against the silk in response to the rubbing of the fabric.

He involuntarily groans deep from the back of his throat as his pupils dilate even further at the sight; a sound you’ve never heard him make before but have fantasized about hearing on some lonely nights nonetheless. The wood of the dresser that’s behind you struggles to not turn into splinters now. Meanwhile, you struggle to keep yourself from not falling apart just the same.

“Aphrodisiac… A strong one. Need to… let you go,” he croaks out between heavy breaths, jaw flexing as he grits his teeth together. He’s completely stiff and continues to sweat, so much so that there's a droplet cascading down his right temple, gliding along the curve of his handsome face.

You see the effort he’s putting in to keep himself from what you suspect is ravaging you, even if every last cell in his body seems to be screaming at him to do the exact opposite. This thing that he’s experiencing right now – the aftermath of Mitsuri’s new weapon, the aphrodisiac – is cranking up his lust levels to a thousand. It’s no wonder that the Love Hashira had rushed to get him home to his wife as soon as possible the second she’d realised the amount she threw at him.

And who else can he turn to but his wife with this sort of issue?

“You can let me go only if you truly want to, dear. It’s fine, I’m fine,” you find yourself saying, hands trembling as you place them onto his chest. His heartbeat is so fast that you’re worried for his wellbeing. The rush of blood that his heart must be pumping throughout his entire body must be unbearable.

He draws in another breath at the soft coo that’s appeared in your voice, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against your cheek. His exhales fan your skin, creating moisture, sticking you further together. He’s so warm to the touch that you’re beginning to sweat as well.

“Kyojuro.” You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, making him shudder. It’s damp to the touch. “Do you want to let me go? I trust you to be honest with me.”

He stands still for a long moment, just inhaling your scent and keeping you close until he finally makes his decision and slowly shakes his head, rubbing his forehead against your cheek like an affectionate cat would. “No.”

“What do you want, then?” you ask quietly.

“I can’t say,” he whispers. “The things that are running through my head right now… They’re vile. Filthy.”

“I see. Will you let me help? Please,” you utter softly, cautiously reaching down to wrap your fingers around his belt. You tug at the buckle, pulling him forward. He follows obediently, causing your heart to flutter. “Let’s try and find you some release, all right? I’m worried about you.”

“All right,” he says, giving in and hissing lowly through gritted teeth when your fingers delicately trace the protruding bulge in his pants. He’s smart. Deep down, he knows this is the easiest way.

You move your hand away in an instant, but his hips buck forward on their own, pushing further into the already narrow space between you, searching for more friction from your palm. He whines at the foreign way his body reacts now, eyebrows drawing tightly together in embarrassment.

When you look up at him, his face has somehow managed to sear into an even deeper shade of red than before. All he can manage to say to you is a weak, “I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense. I should be the one apologizing,” you say, reaching to untie your robe. You’d ask him to do it, but something tells you that he’d tear it right off of you at this very moment, surely ruining the delicate garment. “You’re in no state to be teased so cruelly right now. It was very foolish of me.”

He parts his lips to say something, but the words fade into nothing from how fast saliva begins to gather inside his mouth as soon as your robe comes undone and reveals the nakedness underneath.

Kyojuro can’t resist ogling openly – it’s his first time seeing a woman completely naked, after all. The curve of your hips, the weight of your breasts, the smooth skin of your stomach, the gentle hairs that gather between your legs... All of it is far too much for him. It’s forcing him to swallow so thickly that it makes his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and yet the drool just keeps on coming.

He hunches his back as he gets ready to pick you up and slam you on top of the dresser to do god knows what, but he stops himself at the very last second. You watch, lips parted, as his hands tremble around you like you’re wrapped in some kind of invisible shield, muscles painfully spasming with the effort. A second groan escapes him, this one brimming with frustration, allowing saliva to dribble down the corner of his mouth.

He’s not an animal, for crying out loud. He’s a man, a husband – a respectable one at that.

So act like one! 

Clinging to his last shred of sanity, he quickly wipes the drool away with the back of his hand, not caring that it’ll surely get into the sleeve of his uniform that way. Even if he usually wears them with pride, he currently holds so much resentment towards the clothes he’s got on his back that it’s making him see red. They’re incredibly stuffy, so he can barely breathe in them, plus they’re also causing him to overheat when he’s already way past burning.

There’s also a third problem with the clothes, however.

They’re keeping him away from you.

Lacking the patience to undo the rest of the buttons on his jacket, he simply rips them apart even as you frantically reach out to stop him from doing so. The crispy white shirt underneath meets a similar fate, causing even smaller buttons to fly everywhere. Something tells you that you’ll both be stumbling upon them for the next year or so. 

Shrugging the now-ruined garments off of his shoulders, Kyojuro at long last exhales a somewhat relieved breath.

This time it’s your turn to unashamedly leer at him. You drag your eyes across the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, across the healed, milky-white scars that cover his body from previous battles. The muscles on his arms, the subtle veins running along his biceps and forearms. His stomach is toned, equipped with a golden trail of hair that disappears below his belt, and his skin is tinted slightly pink at the moment, sweat making it appear dewy there as well. 

He’s beautiful. 

And he’s clearly having a rough time, so you’re quick to take his hand.

“Wait. Before I-” He hesitates, searching for the proper word. “Before I bed you, I just wanted to say that I’ve never done this with anyone before. I’m worried I may not know how to, uh… sate you properly because of it.”

You look up into the flames that dance behind his eyes for a long moment. Even whilst barely keeping it together, he’s still worried about you and your pleasure. It makes you so happy that you can’t help but chuckle.

“Always so formal,” you say, still smiling. “But in all seriousness, I appreciate you telling me and thinking about what I want. Don’t worry, I will do my very best to take good care of you and show you the ropes. We’ll learn the rest as we go. But first things first, let’s try and bring down your temperature back to something a little more… Well, passable.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything as he lets you take his hand again and lead him towards the bed. You turn him so that the back of his knees hit the edge and apply pressure to his shoulders to urge him to sit down. Before you know it, you’re climbing onto his lap, straddling him in such a way that already has him breathing hard through his nose.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you place a kiss onto his forehead, tasting the salt there. Then onto the bridge of his nose. As well as his left cheek and the corner of his mouth. His lips part immediately at that, hands desperately bunching up the covers underneath.

You press your forehead against his. Angle your head slightly to one side so that your noses don’t bump. “Close your eyes.”

As he has done so many times in the past, Kyojuro once again does what he’s told, though this time he does it completely willingly. And almost immediately after he does, he feels it.

The softness of your lips lightly pressing against his own. 

The kiss itself is gentle. Loving. A proper form of affection exchanged between a husband and wife. You guide him, mainly paying attention to his bottom lip, making sure to go slow enough to help him adjust despite the fact that you can tell he wants to go faster. Every so often, you poke the merest hint of your tongue out, testing if he’ll open up to you. He does, of course.

So you venture deeper into his hot mouth. You glide your tongue across his teeth, tangle your fingers into the thick, beautiful mane that is his hair, and you tug at the roots until he’s mindlessly pushing his hips up in response, trying to shove himself into you despite his pants getting in the way. 

You’re well aware that he’s in a hurry, but you can’t help but drag the entire thing out just a little bit. Who knows, this may as well be your only chance to have him like this. So you might as well use it.

“Hold me by my hips, dear,” you mumble, eyeing the thin string of saliva that tears when you dip lower to kiss his neck instead. 

You focus on his Adam’s apple, sucking lightly and surely drawing blood close underneath the skin as you feel his large hands wrap around your hips. Your actions will prove apparent by the time morning comes, but you have a faint inkling that he won’t truly mind. The collar of what is left of his uniform jacket is high anyways.

He sure doesn’t seem to have a problem with it now, as he’s moving you back and forth on his lap, using you to try and get himself off on pure instinct. But even if you’re completely on the same page, the grip he has on you has gotten so tenacious that you have no other choice but to grind against the hard length of him.

“Mind your strength, I’m no Hashira,” you say between deep breaths. His blatant need for you is working you up fast, wetness gathering between your legs, and you don’t need to look down to know that you’ve ruined his pants.

He eases his grip and moans into your mouth when you kiss him again, this time a bit more sloppily than last time. Your bodies work together without you having to plan it, twisting and writhing in unison, maximizing the pleasure you’re both experiencing. 

The hair that frames his face is so damp that it clings to his skin. You push it back and whimper when he presses you down harder, causing the zipper to bump against your most sensitive part.

Hearing it brings his blood to a simmer. He’s so out of it by now that he nearly babbles when he speaks, “You know, I can’t count how many times I’ve thought about making you sound like this over these last couple of months. And now that I’m actually hearing it… Ha-ah… It’s so much better than any of the things I imagined in my head.”

“Oh?” Your heart flutters in your chest once more at his forwardness, goosebumps forming over your skin from the thrill. So it wasn’t all in your head; he’s wanted you, too. “But I thought you said you wanted to keep this union purely platonic.”

“What I want… What I wanted for a long time now,” he says, dragging his fingers up and down your spine and looking you directly in the eyes, truly meaning it, “is to be both inside you and inside your heart. If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you,” you whisper, unable to fight back the smile that’s forcing itself onto your lips. “I mean, you’re my husband, for crying out loud! There’s no need to be so poetic about it!”

The rest of his clothes are tossed aside soon after, and you waste no time straddling him again, now that you’re finally skin to skin. Sitting on top of him, you use both hands to stroke the whole length of him, squeezing it with your fists gently after you spit on it so as to not overstimulate him too fast.

Even his cock is beautiful just like the rest of him is. Big and curved slightly to the right, with a tip that flushes a deep pink when the velvety foreskin that surrounds it is pulled back and played with. You’re wet enough to take him, but after coming face to face with his size, something tells you that you’ll need all the extra help you can get.

Meanwhile, Kyojuro watches you through such heavy eyelids that you can’t possibly notice the hearts that have formed in his eyes. He’s still panting, biting his tongue to stop himself from pleading and moaning, but the way he clenches his thighs underneath you, unable to stop the pearl of pre-cum from forming at the slit, tells on his desires in an instant.

“We’ll go easy at first,” you utter, unsure if you’re trying to comfort yourself or him.

“Yes, easy,” he repeats, voice rough. He’d never rush you, but it’s evident that he’ll start bursting at the seams if you don’t sit on it soon.

“All right,” you say, drumming your fingers and lifting your hips just enough to align yourself with him, heart beating so fast that it’s making you a bit lightheaded.

His upper lip trembles as his cockhead grazes and catches against your entrance with the movement. He clings onto you, stiff and as expectant as he is desperate, chanting the word please, please, please over and over again inside his head like it’s a broken record.

Luckily for him, his prayers are answered. Slowly, you begin to lower yourself onto him. Even with his size, it’s pretty easy because of how you help guide him inside. You both let out sighs of relief and pleasure when your pussy hugs the tip of him, and moan by the time it begins to take more; squeezing and accepting the rest of him until he finally sinks into you down to the hilt.

At long last, he’s in, nestled in nice and deep. Throbbing and hot, stretching your walls. Pressed firmly against that soft, tender spot inside you that makes you want to wiggle your hips on top of him because it’s far too much to handle otherwise. The pressure the fullness provides awakens the butterflies inside your stomach and draws them into a frenzy.

“Gods, Kyojuro, my love,” you breathe out, letting your robe slide down to your elbows. It only exposes you further, but you don’t mind. You’re comfortable with him. “I can barely fit you inside me.”

“Hah. Makes you an admirable wife,” he says, chuckling even if his pupils are still blown way out of proportion, signalling that he’s still going through it. “I’m–I’m very grateful for it.”

You giggle at his odd choice of praise, pressing the flat of your palms on his stomach so that you can begin to move. However, the second you do, he’s back to holding you by your hips, trying to keep you in place.

Your gazes connect and he blushes even harder, features contorting. “W-wait, don’t-”

“It’s okay,” you say, continuing nonetheless. He’s gotten so warm inside you that you’re positive he’s on the brink of climaxing. “There’s nothing wrong if you come fast. It’s your first time.”

Kyojuro sucks in a sharp breath, fighting tooth and nail to focus. He’s already sensitive enough as it is, but the aphrodisiac he’s inhaled is only making it ten times worse. The sensations you’re making him feel at this point are causing his brain to short-circuit. Unlike during battle, his thoughts have turned into a pathetic jumble.

He wants to please you, that much he’s sure about, however he’s so out of it that he doesn’t even know where to start. So he lets you take charge, grunting out his approval, listening to the wet, sloppy sounds as you ride him, and by the time you slam your hips down for the fifth time, he closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and spills everything he’s got, unable to stave off the pleasure any longer.

Your movements stutter when you feel his release begin to fill you steadily, overly warm and most definitely plentiful. You pause midway, causing it to trickle down your thighs, allowing a sticky mess to start forming between you.

“Oh, dear,” you whisper, covering your mouth to suppress a quiet laugh. It’s good-natured and you’re sure he knows it. “We’ll make children like this if you aren’t more careful, you know.”

“Crap,” he mutters, sighing. You can feel him twitch inside you at the idea. When he opens his eyes to look at you again, they’re more mellow than they were before, however they’re still brimming with burning want. “Don’t tempt me.” 

Your eyebrow arches in amusement. You’ve never heard him swear before. Not even when he’d been so tired that he wasn’t watching where he was going and had stubbed his toe once. You’re unsure if you approve of it, but perhaps you’ll let it slide in this particular setting.

But onto more important matters: after taking a moment to breathe, you quickly realise that he’s still completely hard even after coming as strongly as he did. Your best guess is that it’s either because of his unfathomable stamina, or Mitsuri’s little present. Perhaps a mixture of both.

So that must mean that this entire thing is far from over. Tracing your fingers over his happy trail, you lift your hips a little and slide them back down just as gingerly. The seed that he’s spilled inside you just now lubes the movement as you test out the playing field. Somehow, it feels even better than it did before.

His eyelashes flutter as he blinks, zeroing in on the creamy circle that’s gathered at his base now. Once again, a wave of heat flashes over his body, hitting him like the train he’d just barely made it alive from all those years ago. 

“You all right?” you ask, a little breathless now. Your hand reaches between you on instinct, a little moan slipping out the moment it strikes contact exactly where you aimed it.

Kyojuro just nods his head and continues to watch you, studying you carefully and paying attention to the way you rub your fingers and play with yourself. He’s more present in his head now that he’s climaxed, the fog lifting just a bit. It lets him notice that the movement of your hand seems to come naturally to you. 

Is this what you do when he's gone for weeks at a time? Possibly thinking about him and touching yourself between your legs? Arching your back while imagining his hot, calloused hands are pushing you right back down, coaxing you to take more?

The idea excites him, and that excitement urges him to contribute to the pleasure of his spouse. And while he may not be experienced in giving it just yet, he picks up on things impressively fast. Body language, eye contact, he’s able to read what you want. So you’re not even all that surprised when he starts to bend his legs at the knees and then thrusts upward, making you gasp when he suddenly burrows himself even deeper inside of you with the action. 

His cum spurts and dribbles out even more by the time he draws back, but he’s rather quick to push it back in, unable to get enough of how tightly you wrap around him whenever he accidentally hits the spot. So he continues the rhythm, slowly but surely making you start to bounce on his cock; all while trying to rub the same messy little circles over your clit that he’s seen you do. 

He’s able to keep up with you this time.

And he sure as hell keeps up. The heat that he’s unknowingly pouring into the sensitive bundle of nerves is making you tremble. He gently pinches it the exact same way he’s watched you do it, immediately soothing it afterwards with his thumb and by rubbing his other hand up and down your side, sending little jolts of pleasure throughout your entire body.

His gaze is soft. Perhaps even a little expectant. He takes pride in making you feel good. “Like this? Is this how you want it?”

“Yes, oh, yes,” you utter, whimpering. When he smiles, it reminds you of the sun. “You’re perfect.”

Moments flit by, breaths intermingling. You’re unsure how much time has passed, but eventually you begin to squeeze your thighs around him, toes curling, orgasm approaching dangerously close. “D-Don’t stop, okay? I’m close, so don’t change a thing or else it’ll fade away.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says. You throw your head back at this and he feels his heart dance because of it.

With his help, you let yourself go. Fully. Without shame and with zero remorse. And when you finally come for the first time from a man’s touch, no, your husband’s touch, it is so tender and passionate and powerful, that you can’t help but moan his name out in pure bliss and squeeze him so hard that you make him fill you up for a second time, helping him ease his desire even further.

In the end, you spend a small eternity wrapped in each other’s arms. Basking in the afterglow, stealing an occasional kiss, telling each other silly, unimportant things that you’ll think of fondly for years to come.

Only this time, however, your wonderful husband makes sure to touch you everywhere.

[maneskinwh0re]

sevika x brothelfemme!reader — “not your job”

cw: [n]sfw, dom!sevika, soft!sevika, mostly fluff :3

summary: thinking about having a long-term brothel contract with sevika. at the end of a particular booking when she has already made you cum like 3 times, she forgot to leave time for aftercare (actually forgot she was on a time limit, just lost inside you). so when she starts to apologize and frantically clean you up, you just kick her out SKDHAHDJA fic plot begins right afterwards…

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

“come on, i’ll walk you out,” you say as you smooth out your dampened lingerie and throw on a matching robe, shielding your figure from the cold as well as your client’s wandering grey eyes.

“that’s not in your job description,” sevika counters as she zips up the fly of her cargos. you step closer to button her pants as well as buckle her thick belt, a sentiment that means more to her than you know.

whenever sevika asks, you always imply that helping her get dressed is a favor in your contract (you both know it’s not) and then your defense is usually followed by a teasing remark about her missing left arm. in reality, you use the closeness as an excuse to continue the intimacy after sex, a further connection between you two, but the secret remains unspoken.

“you’re right, it’s not in my job description. and neither is changing the sheets, but looks like i’m doing that too since i’m too embarrassed to let poor harley do it.”

“isn’t that their job anyway?”

“can you just quit arguing with me and get your ass out?” you bicker with a laugh, knowing sevika is just stalling at this point.

“thought y’ liked my ass,” she smiles smugly and tilts her head as she looks down to you, her flesh hand teasingly trailing up your curves.

you were gonna really make her feel like shit about not leaving time for aftercare, you just like to rub it in. the two of you know it’s all jokes, and have had a bounded contract for a while now. sevika isn’t a regular for anyone else, and you’ve recently stopped seeing any other clients…

“ha ha. i like it when it’s obedient,” you purr with a giggle, giving her behind a soft swat. “let’s go— the laundry room ‘s at the end of the hall anyway.”

“hmph, alright fine,” she agrees with a pout that is so cute, it almost makes you forget about her dominant nature that made you scream and beg mere minutes ago… almost.

when you get to the door, your trusted head of security opens it for sevika, and only when her flesh hand leaves its place on your lower back did you realize the warmth that was there as you walked the dimly lit hallway. it’s the little things that keep you both so connected, even if you don’t think to control them consciously.

you lean against the doorway, one hand on your hip as you smile up at her. when she leans in for a goodbye kiss, you turn your head away.

“ah ah, y’ know you gotta pay for that,” you say with a smirk.

“i think i just did,” she replies with a quirked brow, a prideful smile revealing the little gap between her two front teeth.

you only stare at each other, a silent competition to see who yields first to give in for a kiss.

“i’ll see you tomorrow,” you finally break the silence with a sly smile and turn away to resume your shift.

“but i’m not booked for tomorrow…?” sevika thinks aloud, her eyebrows furrowing together as if her statement is a question.

you look back to her, your tongue running along the inside of your cheek and huffing as if trying to stifle a laugh. sevika staying away from you? yeah, right. like a moth to a flame.

“i will see you tomorrow, sevika.” you look up at her tall figure and place a hand on her chest to push her out the door.

in a quick motion, sevika shoves your hand to the side and pulls you in by the waist for a deep kiss. you reciprocate immediately— because how could you not? your hands grip her short hair and you feel the coldness of her labret piercing against your bottom lip. you can taste your earlier release on her tongue, recalling the lewd thoughts of when she-

“ahem.” the security guard’s lower pitched voice brings you back to the moment.

gasping for air, you push sevika off and wobbly move clear of the doorway. “alright, get outta here. before i call security.”

“oh, will you? i’m real scared,” she jokes, taking loopy, post-sex drunken steps down the stairs.

“i could kick your ass, sevika!” callum shouts into the cold night, then slams the heavy door shut before your patron could reply. you internally relish the sound of sevika’s deep laugh fading out on the other side of the metal entryway, indicating she’s finally walking home.

“thanks, cal,” you chuckle as you readjust your laced bralette.

“why don’t y’all do all ‘at off the clock?” callum turns to you, his tone is still light but with a tint of seriousness.

“what do you mean?”

“you know what i mean. that stupid smile will stick to your face the rest of y’r shift, hon. and it’s only ever there after your sevika is.”

you scold your coworker, waving him away before he notices your flushed expression. “oh my- s-shut the fuck up!”

‘your sevika’

…you could get used to the sound of that.

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

alexa play casual by chappell roan !

a/n: had the plot idea a few weeks ago, dropping this fluff and running back to hibernate bc kinda been going through it lately lol BUT WE DOING BETTER NOW TEAM DW found some inspo to write :3

harley and callum are two oc’s i might add to an ongoing fic bc i actually ended up kinda liking this :)

- 🐝

taglist: @audr3yyyyy @mirconreadzztuff22 @wizard-pdf @archangeldyke-all @nhaaauyen @inthebrainofalamb <3

[tyrannosaurusray]

this.

minors dni

multiple haikyuu guys x fem!reader

warnings: smut, lowkey toxic! haikyuu fellas, pussy eating (obvi), fingering, petnames ("baby"), dirty talk, multiple orgasms

a/n: i havent written in a while like YEARS probably, so dont shoot me if its not great and fantastic, but i seen this post again and remembered the FLAME it ignited in me so i had to xx

——————————————————————————-

You and him hadn't seen each other in a while. Probably the longest you'd gone without seeing each other in a very long time. To others it would seem like such an insignificant amount, it had really only been three and a half weeks, but you usually made a habit of spending a lot of time together.

You missed him terribly. Terribly didn't even feel strong enough of a word. Every fiber of your being missed being with him. You had just broke up with your now ex-boyfriend just three and a half weeks ago after yet another explosive argument over something that doesn't even seem to matter anymore. You knew that you two probably weren't the best for each other, but it always felt so impossible to stay away. The chemistry you had for each other was unlike anything you've ever felt in your entire life. He set your body on fire whenever he was around and not having him around felt like withdrawal. You missed your man.

Usually, after times like this, you two don't last nearly as long without seeing each other, making up, and getting back together, but this time it had been especially bad. You had fought about something small, you could barely even remember what it even was. It, as always, got bigger than necessary, but you didn't like the way he talked to you in this particular blow up. You both had instances of saying things that you regret, but he was speaking as if he didn't care, and that he knew you'd come back and end up fine regardless, so you wanted to show him that he can't just treat and talk to you however he wanted without consequence. So, you've been standing on business.

At first you both weren't talking to each other as per usual, but once he had calmed down and tried to restart communication only to be met with you seemingly not budging, he started to realize it was serious. He had apologized an impossible amount of times, and you had even apologized for what you needed to apologize for as well, but you were standing firm on your attempt to show him his mistakes, and you could tell he felt it. He practically begged you to take him back, and now that you had lost all the anger that motivated you, you were dangerously close to giving in. You were trying to remain steadfast, but at this point, you weren't even seeing the point.

You sighed as you rolled around in your bed. Your empty bed, your bed that wouldn't be empty if you were with him. If you were with him, where you were supposed to be, you'd be laughing over some show that he'd promised you was amazing, happy, fucked, and fed. You sighed again, dramatically louder than the first, thinking about it all.

You missed him and his presence because you loved him and stuff, of course, but you especially missed his dick. He knew how to fuck you better than any man ever has and unfortunately probably ever could. You hated it in the times where you swore that you would never be involved with him ever again, but deep down a part of you liked loved that he ruined your body for anyone else. It only responded to him, and it responded very, very well. The way his hands felt on your body, The way he would bully your pussy and clit with his fingers and tongue was magical. You felt heat start to rise between your legs as your heart and pussy started to ache at the thought. You let out another huge sigh.

As you lay in your bed, pouting and staring at the ceiling, you hear your phone ding. You roll your eyes and lazily grab your phone, thinking to yourself that you know it isn't him, when you almost scream at the sight of his contact lighting up your phone screen.

:(- imessage

You freeze. You almost don't know what to do. You want to jump up and scream and squeal and dance around your room like a teenage girl, but you don't even want to believe it's true. What if it's something you don't want to see? What if he's texting you to ask to retrieve some of his stuff? What if he didn't even mean to text you? Before you start to make yourself panic and spiral, you open the text.

hey - 9:49 pm

You accidentally grin before steeling yourself and replying.

hi. - 9:50 pm

You wait as you see the three bubbles to indicate he's typing show up. You feel excitement grow in your stomach, mixing with the ever present desire for him.

i miss you. im sorry. are you still mad at me? - 9:50 pm

You almost let yourself let out a squeal, smile widening as you type your response.

maybe. - 9:51 pm

The three dots appear, then disappear for a second before the text pops up on screen.

okay - 9:52 pm

You smile slowly drops into a frown while semi-frantically thinking of a way to keep the conversation before he gives up, when another message appears at the bottom of the chat.

can i please eat you out real quick. i just need it. i'm not tryna be extra it just be stressful not seeing you. - 9:53 pm

You almost want to scream as you jump out of bed, mood instantly better. You do a small celebratory dance like you just won something big. You pick up your phone and reply, completely giving up on your resolve.

your place or mine? - 9:53 pm

------------------------------------------------------------

You hadn't even made it to his bedroom, he had you sprawled out on the couch as he kneeled before you, head between your thighs. He licked and sucked on your hot and sensitive clit, desperately trying to pull another orgasm from you.

The sound of your moans and him lapping up your juices filled the room. He had missed this so bad and you could tell. From the way he groaned and whimpered into your hot core, the death grip he had on your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer so he could take in the beautiful taste and smell of the pussy he craved so badly over the course of this agonizingly long three weeks and 5 days. He counted every second away from you, as soon as you left after the stupid argument that started it all.

"I've missed this so much baby" he said, before immediately diving back into your pussy, tongue massaged your clit so needy, before hungrily plunging the muscle into your leaking entrance, moaning again at the sensation and taste on his tongue. You could barely hear him from how fast he said it and how muffled it was, as he couldn't dream to allow himself to get too far from your achy hole right now.

"missed you too baby. missed so so so so much" you chanted as he rocked your body back and forth to make you hump and fuck his face. He was so needy and pathetic and you loved it. Usually you were the one that was needy and pathetic not to say you weren't right now but he missed you so much that he couldn't help but to bottom out a bit.

He sucked on your clit, just like he knows you like, bringing you to cum for the umpteenth time already, and knowing him, he was only getting started. Just as you were riding it out, he introduced two of his digits and you yelled out in unbelievable pleasure.

"I- ah! I can't- I can't beli-" you were trying to say that you couldn't believe you thought you could go without this, but the words couldn't formulate in your brain, much less from your tongue as waves of pleasure kept raking through your body.

He moaned into your pussy again, the vibrations coursing through your body making you feel even better, earning him a scream for you.

"I know baby, I know." he said. Your eyes rolled back into your head. He knew you so well. You loved it. He backed away from your pussy, your juices covering his mouth and chin, dripping down onto his neck. The sight was sinful and it made you clench down onto his fingers that were slowly thrusting in and out of you, earning him yet another orgasm. "You cumming for me again baby? Mhm there you go, just like that, you got it." he cooed, his fingers riding you through it.

"Please." you whimpered, brain scrambled, drool helplessly coming from the corner of your mouth.

"Please what baby? What do you want?" he asked seductively, leaning in close to get better eye contact with you. He already knew what you were about to say. He smirked knowingly and it just made your pussy clench even more.

"Please fuck me. I need you" you begged, pleading with your cute little cumdrunk face. He smiled widely.

"I know you do.”

------------------------------------------------------------

ATSUMU, iwaizumi, KUROO, slighly ooc bokuto, tendo, MATSUKAWA, hinata, OIKAWA, kageyama, sugawara, tanaka, lev, nishinoya, & anybody else you envision for this

[docdudo]

Familiar 141 - Young Witch!Reader

You never thought you would be in this situation, running for your life as you try to get to your grandfather's cabin near the entrance of the woods as fast as possible.

Well, that's kind of a lie. You did expect something like this to happen at some point, but why now...??

Your biggest problem has always been the fact that you were a witch, born from the humid earth near a river source and blessed by the nature spirits of the forest.

Which, okay, it wouldn't be a problem...

If you weren't a witch without a Coven.

And you were so young too. Fate really dealt you the worst cards, making you, a small witch, barely in your teen years, fend for yourself without a Coven to protect or guide you.

It was dangerous, madness even. Young witches were easy targets. They didn't really have strong magic yet, couldn't interact with nature spirits that well or defend themselves. That's why they needed the protection of the older witches, who would keep their little ones safely tucked in the heart of the coven, only letting them out when they come of age (for witches), and in small doses until they get used to the world.

You... didn't have that luxery tho.

You have no idea what really happened to you when you were born. Usually, witches from the coven would all be present to a newborn's birth, help them settle and taking them with them as one more little sprout for the Coven.

But, all you had was your grandfather's story, about how he found a baby covered in dirt by the river bank, not crying or making any kind of sound, just peacefully laying there as the forest kept it safe for who know how long.

He knew you were a witch, that much was obvious. He knew you were just born too, but he didn't manage to find any other witch living around that place, much less a whole Coven of them.

So, he took you in, which you were pretty grateful for. You though that it would be fine, i mean... sure, you didn't have a Coven, but who needed them anyway?? You were doing fine by yourself...! Especially after you managed to control a bit more of your magic! Your grandfather told you were very powerful for a baby witch, which is nice! See, you didn't need a Coven...!

Except, being "powerful" for a baby witch wasn't really... that powerful in the first place, and now, you were being freaking hunted down after a mistake you made.

Ah, being hunted down by who? That's simple.

A freaking pack of familiars, four of them to be exact.

There's one little detail about all of this... witches have familiars, powerful creatures that were the most loyal beasts you could ever have for yourself. Usually, a powerful and old witch would never link themselves to a weak familiar, even if they could grow strong with time and a good master guiding them.

And you could imagine the same would happen to the opposite situation... except, familiars were freaking bastards.

One of the reasons older Witches kept their young very well hidden and safe in their Covens is because rogue familiars hunt down little witches to force a bound with them.

While mature witches look for familiars around their same power level, powerful familiars like to take in small and young witches to mold the to their liking. Teach the little witch how to properly use their magic, be their primary guides and protectors.

And you? You were a very young witch, with no Coven on sight, and that showed a very big potential since your magic was stronger than other baby witches your age.

You were a prime target.

And you were being hunted down by four bastards that were toying with you the whole chase.

You could tell they were powerful, just not... how powerful. Since you were still too young, it was quite difficult to identify these things. It's like you could feel the heat of the flame but not see how big the flame was.

But you had a hunch they were... very powerful... at least, that's what you thought, since there were four of them, bounded together. It means their last witch was probably old and strong enough to have four of these big beasts.

Not that your theory matters now, not when you are trying to run in this stupid thick forest from four big familiars that you could hear laughing and taunting you.

Tauting you gently, at most. They already knew they had you.

You already knew they had you.

Still, you were running, even if just because you were high in adrenaline and refused to just stop.

That is, until you fell harshly on the ground after tripping over a rock or some shit hidden on this stupid dense forest.

Goddammit.

"Aww, lassie, c'mere, did it hurt?" You widden your eyes in surprise as you hear the heavy scottish accent right behind you, big hands carefully grabbing under your arms to lift you up on your feet like a kitten.

You squirm momentarily in discomfort, settling down a little as he puts you down and gently pats your clothes. You wish you had more fight in you, but you were still young and just took a nasty fall. It stunned you enough to barely react to the big familiar gently fixing your clothes.

"Oww, baby, it's okay." Another one of them, the dark skinned one with a heart shaped mouth, approached easily, both warm hands immediatly cupping your face to check on you. "We're sorry for making you play until you got hurt, we're not doing it again...." He coos gently, a warm smile on his face.

He looked... so happy......... freak, the scottish-mohawk guy by his side looked ecstatic, such a big smile on his face.

Well.... familiars always prefered to be linked to a witch.

You jumped a bit as you heard the rustling of leaves in the distance, eyes falling immediatly on the big black wolf behind some trees. That's certainly one big bastard of a familiar, even in his animal form...

Wait... where is the last one then...?

"Darlin', we need to talk, don't we?"

You freeze for complete as you feel a heavy, warm hand hold the back of your neck, not hurting, not ever, just... locking you in place. His voice is low and gruff, authoritarian, but it's... soft enough. Enough for you to know that he's forcing softness to speak to you.

His hand feels so damn big around your small neck...

It's okay, it's okay... familiars rarely ever hurt a witch for no reason.

Besides, they don't seen that inclined on hurting you anyway... no, you know they are ready to claim you for them.

The mess you found yourself in...

"T-Talk...?" You murmur quietly, unsure, still a bit stunned as you try to look over your shoulder.

"Wee lass just took a fall, Price, little witch like this might've gotten hurt." The scottish one says easily, smile still on his face as he approaches you a bit more to gently hold on your head, inspecting you himself now.

"She's just a tad stunned, no harm done." This voice was new, and very low. Gravelly. Patient.

The wolf familiar went back to his human form, leaned against a tree as he observed you with crossed arms and a relaxed posture. Indeed, a big bastard.

"That's why we shouldn't play with the young ones like this. I told you that they get hurt easily." The dark skinned one sighs slightly, like he was scolding the big brute by the trees.

"Boys, focus. We are not yet marked to her, and she's out here, exposed and defenseless. We're taking her home." The 'Price' guy says slowly, his authority over the others obvious by how they all straightened at his command.

"W-Wait-" You manage to find your voice once again, only to be interrupted by the scottish guy.

"The Coven?"

"If she had one, wouldn't be wandering around 'ere by 'erself." The wolf one rumbles, still relaxed against the trees.

"A baby witch without a Coven?" The dark skinned one considers, eyes narrowing.

"Sometimes it happens. Rare, but it can happen. All the more reason to get her to safety." Price rumbles back, voice getting... grow-ly, the hand on your neck heavier. "Soap."

"Aye, Cap." He smiles easily, bending down closer to your height, meeting your big, scared eyes. "Let's go, wee lassie, ye're safe." He coos, and before you can protest, one of his fingers are touching your forehead, a wave of pure magic going through you. "Nap nap time, huh?"

And just like that, you are loosing your consciousness, falling directly on his arms as you feel him picking you up easily before falling asleep.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.  

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus.  Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

~

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. ���Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

~

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

 It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

~

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

~

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

~

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

 His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

[moonfloe]

Night & Day – Nagi Seishiro x Reader

Your exhaustion finally weighs down on you and you crack it at nagi's lazy ass

🤍 wc: 1.5k

You and Nagi lived in different time zones… well, not exactly, but you may as well have.

He was one for slow mornings and late nights, drifting through time like it never quite applied to him. You, on the other hand, were structured around alarms and obligations, chasing hours he barely acknowledged. 

And most days, you made it work.

But more often than not, it was you who bent. You who stayed up late or woke too early, stretching yourself thin across the hours just to meet him within the bounds of his rigid ways. Your effort was constant, seamlessly folded into the edges of your routine — and perhaps that was why he never felt the need to adjust. Why he could live without consequence, while you chipped away at yourself just to keep stoking the flames of this relationship.

You told yourself it was fine. That love meant compromise. But compromise began to taste like exhaustion, and as the weeks dragged on and the bags under your eyes deepened, you realised something had to change. 

It was sometime before your alarm had been set when your bleary eyes peeled open. The room was illuminated by the soft flaxen glow of Nagi's PC, his soft breaths tickling your bare shoulder.

Work was in an hour.

Nagi always insisted you didn’t have to bend over backwards, that he could cover things if you needed. And while he wasn’t exactly Reo-rich, his pockets were lined comfortably enough to mean it.

But that wasn’t the point. You craved the structure. The forward momentum. Something to anchor yourself to. It was the only thing that kept you from floating off into the same lazy, drifting current he lived in.

So that’s how you found yourself gingerly peeling back from the grasp of your snow-haired boyfriend. Untangling from the cocoon of your piled limbs and silky sheets. 

His world was warm, slow, and soft.

Yours was already tugging you away by the wrist.

“Mmhh…?”

The sleepy groan resonating behind you was the first sign. Shit. You'd have to hurry– but it was too late, he was already stirring. 

“Huh? Angel, noooo…” Nagi mumbled again, sleepy cadence tugging at your heart strings. One arm flopped back over your waist, resuming its previous position and securing you to his chest like a seatbelt. 

If you moved now, he’d wake up properly. And if he woke up properly, he'd pout. And if he pouted, you'd feel guilty.

Your gaze flitted to the clock — 6:15 am. 

Yeah you really had to get a move on. 

“I've gotta go work, Sei" A soft groan bubbles from your throat as you proceed to wriggle. He doesn't budge, tightening his hold even. 

"You're so cruel." He huffed.

You froze, halfway untangled from the blanket. The arm around your waist loosened just enough for you to sit up, but the weight of his words — lazy and half-awake as they were — dug under your ribs like glass.

Cruel.

You blinked once, twice. Then you let out a breathy laugh — except it wasn’t really a laugh. It was sharp and breathless and bitter at the edges.

“Cruel?” you repeated, rubbing a hand over your face. “I’m getting up at six-fucking-fifteen in the morning after four hours of sleep, and I’m the cruel one?”

Nagi blinked up at you, bleary-eyed and slow, like his brain was just now absorbing the tone of your voice.

“I—” he started, but you were already swinging your legs off the bed.

“No, seriously. You think I like this? You think I like dragging myself out of bed while you're still drooling into my pillow?” You grabbed your hoodie off the chair. “Sorry for actually trying, Sei. Not everything in my life should revolve around you, but somehow, it always does.”

You stopped, chest heaving. You hadn’t meant to go off like that. It wasn’t like you. He was sitting up now, hair a mess, shirt sliding off one shoulder, blinking at you like you'd thrown cold water in his face. But he didn’t speak or try to defend himself. 

You softened a little. Guilt wheezing its way through your fatigue.

“I’m just tired.” you mumbled, voice hoarse. 

You didn’t wait for a reply. You just grabbed your bag and left the room. The last thing you wanted was to wake him up fully and have to look at those sad, kicked-puppy eyes.

🤍

Later in the afternoon when you stepped through the front door, your limbs felt heavy like wet concrete. The kind of exhaustion that clung to your bones, pressing down with every step. You dropped your bag a little too carelessly by the door and tugged off your shoes with a sigh so heavy it sounded like it had been building for years. 

You weren’t expecting anything. Maybe a half-eaten bag of chips on the counter. Maybe the lights still off, and Nagi immersed in his own world, untouched by the daylight like always.

But instead— as you ventured down the hallway, the soft scent of something warm wafted through the air. Slightly burnt, but unmistakably food.

The living room light was on and the blanket you usually curled up in had been pulled off the couch and folded. Kind of lopsided, but still folded on the armrest.

You blinked in confusion.

And then you saw him.

Nagi stood awkwardly in the kitchen doorway, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, hair a total mess. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, except there was a plate in his hands. Toast, scrambled eggs that might’ve once been fluffy before he overcooked them, and a few uneven slices of banana on the side.

He looked almost shy when he lifted his gaze.

"I, uh... googled it," he muttered. "Like ‘easy breakfast stuff.’ Reo said I should’ve just ordered takeout but I wanted to try."

You stared at him. Then at the plate.

“You made me breakfast?” you asked, too tired to keep the surprise out of your voice.

“For dinner,” he nodded. “But... yeah.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “You were right, y’know, this morning. I just didn’t realise you were that tired. I didn’t want to—like— mess with your stuff, but I thought maybe I could try help somehow. 

It wasn’t perfect. But the effort glowed, soft and awkward and real, like everything else about him.

Your throat tightened.

“Sei…” you started, voice cracking on his name.

He stepped forward and gently pressed the plate into your hands. Then, quietly murmured: “Eat first. You can yell at me later.”

You stared down at the plate in your hands, at the patently ammature meal, but your chest ached anyway.

You didn’t yell.

Instead you just let out a tiny breath, the last of your fight leaving with it.

“God,” you muttered, lips tugging into a soft smile. “You’re such a dumbass.”

Nagi tilted his head. “That mean you’re not mad?”

“I didn’t say that,” you sniffled, stepping around him to place the plate on the counter. Your fingers lingered on the edge. “I’m still mad. I’m just… tired. And this was sweet. And I hate that I can’t stay mad at you when you do dumb sweet things.”

A pause.

“You always stay up too late,” you added. “You don’t plan anything. You act like everything should just bend to suit your needs, and I’m the one getting stretched to keep up. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he said softly, voice closer now.

You turned and found him lingering right behind you, arms already moving to circle around your waist. You didn’t resist and sagged into his chest with a tiny exhale, forehead resting against the warm fabric of his hoodie.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For real this time. I’ll try harder.”

You hummed, not ready to promise forgiveness but not pushing him away either.

A few seconds passed.

“I made butter smiley faces on the toast,” he mumbled into your hair, “but they kind of melted.”

You snorted.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes wide and sleepy and soft. “You saw them, right?”

“I thought those were accidents.”

“Nope. Art.”

You smiled despite yourself, fingers curling slightly into the front of his hoodie. “Okay, Picasso.”

“Reo said they looked haunted.”

“They do,” you said, laughing now, quiet but real. “They look cursed.”

He beamed.

You kissed his cheek then grabbed the plate from the counter.

“C’mon,” you said, nodding toward the couch. “Let’s eat your cursed toast. And maybe… maybe I’ll let you hold me after.”

His smile widened, lazy and bright, and he followed you without hesitation.

[dexxtrosee]

All the way down

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader. Nsfw-ish

He didn’t date much, back in med school.

He wasn't a complete recluse either, contrary to what everyone seems to think about him. He'd go out and join his friends at parties whenever he could, would get tipsy more often than not, black out drunk in some rare ocassions.

But sleeping around was never really his thing. Not because he didn’t get chances, because boy did he, but the few times he did indulge, it made it harder and harder to go back to his dorm and pretend like he wasn't being swallowed by loneliness.

Anyway, the point is, of course he liked a warm body to bury himself into. He liked curves and sharp edges too, liked kneading soft flesh and squeezing muscles. The slick sweat of another body against his drove him crazy, the pants and the moans and the chances he got to have a pretty thing going Robby please, please-

He just doesn't think it’s appropiate to think like that about the cardiology attending that's currently treating his worst trauma case of the week.

He can feel his entire face burst into flames whenever you're near him. The way your scrubs hug your body in the right places, the sweat that pools near your neck after running three floors all the way down because the elevator hasn't been working since monday, how your hands clench and push and pick apart every single thing that comes close to them.

God, he wishes he could be your next subject of study. Let you pick him apart piece by piece, tracing his tattoos and the scar he has on his shoulder, the one that runs down his back, the faded, pale scar that travels down his navel. He can almost see you laughing at the way he'd turn red, at how he'd so willingly become a begging mess if it meant being touched by you.

"I think he'll be fine. You want us to admit him?"

He wouldn’t have called you to help, if he had been the one to decide. He would have called Morrison, the bald guy who has at least ten years on him, or maybe Tannen, the lady who keeps flirting with him despite being married with three kids. Anyone, anyone but you.

He feels intoxicated, way past tipsy and nearing loss of conscience just by getting to smell you, feel your heat radiate into him.

"Could you?"

The tips of his ears turn bright red when he hears how wrecked his voice is. The only other person inside the room is Jesse, because thank goodness for small miracles, but he still has to clear his throat and turn away from you when he notices the predatory smile you're giving him.

You press your hand against his bicep, and he has to brace himself against the patient's bed to repress the flinch. He knows he's breathing a little faster, pupils dilated and a bit stupid from your closeness. Still, he has to try to keep some dignity here.

"For you, Robby? I can admit every single patient you throw at me."

The laugh he lets out borders on hysteric. He doesn’t know what to do, wants to hide away inside his hoodie and strip you out of your bright red scrubs at the same time. His mind is a short-circuit that doesn’t let him think straight whenever you're near.

"I-I would appreciate it if you admited him in cardio, yeah."

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Jesse rolls his eyes before getting out of the room. A man has to lie to himself sometimes, for the sake of sanity.

"Sure thing."

And just like that, you're out of the room without so much as a wave, but a new spring on your step.

Robby notices, distantly, that your smell stayed on the cotton of his sweatshirt.

And his pants feel tighter.

Well, fuck.

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ jealousy, jealousy ~ dabi

sum: just some jealous! dabi thoughts.

pairing: dabi x girlfriend! reader

content: 18+ - mdni below cut. jealousy p in v, language, teasing, dirty talk, cream pie, orgasm denial, possessive talk, implied/suggested multiple rounds, slight choking, bruising/marking, reader gets called doll/princess/baby/good girl, general NSFW content.

a/n: oh look, a post that's not a jjk fandom one, oops. regaining my love for this burnt boi, holy fuck. on a side note, an old request from my wattpad days, with a fresh feel. as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 1.9k

links: bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

jealous! dabi who doesn’t show any kind of emotion at any point to anyone. it’s scarily complex to read him at times, however, there is one exception to that - you.

jealous! dabi who, when you’re talking to someone, will stand nearby and listen to what you have to say to the lowlife. he knows you don’t have anything to hide from him, he’s just a little insecure about who he is and how he looks at the best of times.

jealous! dabi who’s in a touch-what’s-mine-and-i’ll-kill-you mood 99.9% of the time he’s awake. he won’t hesitate to use his quirk on whoever dares enter your personal space, ask best friend! toga, she was on the receiving end of a near-miss hit from his flames. in her defence, you were going through a rough moment and she was only trying to cheer you up.

jealous! dabi who overhears a mutual villain friend talking to you one night. who hears that he thinks “you look fine” and that he’ll “take you somewhere more comfortable”. the somewhat uncomfortable giggle you let out at the words made him nearly incinerate the pair of you before he caught the look of disgust on your face.

jealous! dabi who decides enough is enough as he steps forward into the light, just in time to see you try and push away the man as he grabs your arm. he knew you’d had enough of this wannabe’s bullshit.

jealous! dabi who joins you by your side in seconds, arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer to him, fingers digging into your hip, much to your amusement. you knew that he was pissed and things weren’t going to end well. judging by that look, he was trying hard to control the flames he wanted to throw out.

jealous! dabi who, once he hears the lowlife talking, tuts in annoyance. “ahhh, dabi, fancy seeing you here. i was just about to ask this beauty to keep me company for the night”. who may or may not have gotten a little too flame-happy when he stepped forward, gripping onto the others' top.

jealous! dabi who turns you to and bends over slightly, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder as you try to kick him in the stomach. you were more than capable of walking back yourself but of course, he had to throw a hissy fit and had the nerve to lug you around until he found a more private place for you both. well as private as it could be out in public.

jealous! dabi who, while walking, takes time to tease your cunt through your panties smirking smugly when you not only moan but also cuss him out. “dabi, i swear i’ll fucking~”. with a quick retort of “fucking me you mean, doll”. you could punch him.

jealous! dabi who drops you to your feet when he settles on a place, pinning you against the wall as he sinks two fingers, knuckles deep, into your cunt. savouring the look of embarrassment and pleasure that flashes on your face as you bite back a moan. he only takes a few moments before he’s helping you jump up only to sink you down on his cock, savouring the way you clamp around him as you finally moan out his name, legs wrapping around him pushing him deeper into you.

jealous! dabi who, on other days when someone dares enter your personal space, will tease you relentlessly with lingering touches and words that make you rub your legs together. telling you exactly how he’s going to fuck you into every surface he can until you're sobbing from the pleasure only he can give you. who’ll walk away to leave you alone with your now active thoughts and flustered appearance.

jealous! dabi who, when he’s had enough of the other lowlifes, won’t give you a moment to breathe between ripping that mind-blowing orgasm thanks to his mouth from you to sinking his cock past the ring of resistance, practically moulding your already tight walls to his shape. “don't think you got the message last time, so i guess i’m just going to have to get it through your skull again, doll”.

jealous! dabi who mutters out other sentences like “who do you belong to?". "who’s the only one making you feel this good". "i’m the only one who gets to fuck you and talk to you like that, understand, baby?".

jealous! dabi who’s rough when he fucks you but when he’s in these moods, he’s the extreme side of rough. you lose feeling in your legs and you’ll have trouble walking for the next few days. at least you’ll be away from prying eyes while you are.

jealous! dabi who makes you blush when he talks to you mid fuck, despite him already pistoning into you like a man possessed. “no one else can, shit, stretch your pussy this good", "f-fuck, you grip me perfectly, “does my cock feel, h-ah, good buried deep in your cunt?".

jealous! dabi who, regardless of your current position, likes to wrap a hand around your throat and squeeze slightly, knocking the breath out of you for a moment as he forces you to look at him, tears of pleasure fall down your cheeks as you grip his forearm.

jealous! dabi who can’t help but hiss out more possessive sentences as he folds you in half, legs dangling in front of your face as you whimper from the sudden change of position. "you’re mine, got that? i’m the only one who can fuck you like this". "i’m the only one who gets to be in your cunt, marking you in a way no other man can”.

jealous! dabi whose favourite thing is orgasm denial when he's in this mood. who loves making you beg for it. he won’t let you crumble to your beautiful euphoria, unless you're a sobbing mess underneath him, shaking from the force then he might make an exception.

jealous! dabi who loves the feeling of your pussy being incredibly wet for him at times like that. the way your slick covers not only the outside of your cunt and your thighs but his cock and thighs as well. knows that when he finally lets you come, you’ll squirt a little more over him and drip onto the bed as well.

jealous! dabi who smirks down at you as you dares you to “beg me to let you come, princess. beg me to fill you full of nothing but me”. who can feel the soaked walls of your cunt pulsate at his voice, silently begging him to let you feel your euphoria before you manage out a string of incoherent words, much to his amusement. “i know you can do better than that, doll”.

jealous! dabi who makes more of a point by stopping his thrusting, moving his hand from your neck and placing them both by your head, caging you beneath him. “come on baby, tell me how much you want me to fill you up with my cum, to having it dripping down your thighs for everyone to see who you belong to”.

jealous! dabi who can be more hands-on than usual, not in the sense of leaving black and blue marks across your skin, but red marks. on your thighs, back, neck and chest. bites and scratches to show everyone out there who fucks you to the point of no return. who you belong to regardless of what they may try.

jealous! dabi who rants as he pushes his cock back into your walls in a harsh rhythm, stating that he thinks "you like to make me jealous so i can destroy your insides” because “why else would you let those fuckers anywhere near you?”.

jealous! dabi who uses the excuse of being jealous so he can bury himself inside you as rough as he physically can muster because he doesn’t dare do it daily. sure he fucks you hard but not as harsh as he does when he’s jealous.

jealous! dabi who loves the way you mewl and cry out for him to let you come, you couldn’t take much more and you were slowly losing your sanity. who gives a countdown until you can let go. if he thinks you’re going to ruin that, he’ll stop his thrusts and pull out with your moans of frustration sounding in the room.

jealous! dabi who’ll make you suffer for a few moments before pushing his cock back into you again, daring you to let go with a smug “did i say you could come yet?”.

jealous! dabi who’ll, when you mutter out a quick “no” and “p-please, dabi, i c-can’t hold on”, give your thighs or ass, sometimes both, a few harsh slaps to get his point across. who loves feeling you quivering beneath him when he knows you won't last much longer. beginning his countdown once more, only to draw it out as painfully slow as he can.

jealous! dabi who’ll, when he finally reaches one, thrusts harshly into you once more, cock head hitting against your cervix as he lets out an almost primal growl, ropes of thick cum spurting out to fill you to the point of feeling so full. who savours the feeling of your cunt milking him, your own euphoria making your eyes roll and jaw slack as you come along with him, squirting on his thighs as well. “good girl”.

jealous! dabi who’ll take his time pulling out of you, smirking at the sight of his seed spilling out of your puffy pussy and running down to the sheets. a proud growl if he knows your own slick is mixed in there.

jealous! dabi who’ll pull you closer to him when he lays down beside you, gripping ahold of you tightly to make sure you’re not planning on going anywhere. not that you could anyway.

jealous! dabi who’s actually scared! dabi once everything is said and done.

scared! dabi who’ll place uncharacteristically soft kisses on your face, lips and neck, taking the time to apologise for being too rough with you. who finds himself relaxing to the patterns you draw on his chest, on his smooth and rough scared skin as you rest your head above his heart, humming along to the drumming rhythm.

scared! dabi who doesn’t want you to leave him, because one thing that followed him around for most of his life, is the feeling of being forgotten and tossed aside. who gets overly jealous because he wants to be the only man you have your attention on at any given time.

scared! dabi who closes his eyes at your touches, listening to your words of assurance and love as you promise you’re not leaving, the only way you’ll leave him is if you were dead. who feels overwhelmed when he’s vulnerable, wanting to know he’s not alone.

scared! dabi who’ll always feel like that young boy he once was. who was given up on at an early age so he learnt to harden his heart to anyone and everyone he came in contact with.

scared! dabi who thanks whatever being out there you came into his life, showing him that not everyone was the same. who thanks his lucky stars that you gave him your time and broke those walls down one small step at a time.

scared! dabi who doesn’t always fuck you rough, despite what everyone thinks and how he looks. who’ll always spend days after fucking into you harshly making sure you’re okay in his own ways. who’ll always be gentle with you when you both end up wrapped around each other in bed next.

scared! dabi who’s come to learn that while he doesn’t like it sometimes, jealous! dabi will always be a part of him and a part you’ll love regardless.

permanent tags;

@ani-net

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[carnalcrows]

CLASS PRESIDENT PRIVILEGES - JOONYEONG

pairing: oh joon yeong x top male reader

synopsis: The real infection here is horniness pt.3

content warnings: 18+, semi-public sex (?), zombies, dry humping, no actual smut (they get interrupted lol), reader smokes, reader is the class president.

word count: 1.5k

The rooftop was cold. Not just a little chilly, not just “bundle up and you’ll be fine” kind of cold—the kind of cold that made you question all your life choices up to this point.

And the worst part? The idiots you called classmates couldn’t even get a simple fire going.

"I’m telling you, it worked in the movie," Cheongsan insisted, aggressively striking two rocks together.

"It’s been twenty minutes," Wujin deadpanned. "All you’ve done is make a weird clicking sound and piss me off."

"You think you can do better?"

"Yes, actually!"

"You two can fight after we figure out how not to freeze to death!" Onjo snapped.

Daesu, shivering violently, let out a dramatic groan. "I’m gonna die. I can feel my organs shutting down. Someone tell my parents I loved them."

"You’re not gonna die, Daesu."

"How do you know, huh?" He pointed a trembling finger at you. "You’re not the one slowly becoming a human popsicle!"

You sighed, feeling your patience wear thinner by the second. Your classmates were useless. At this rate, you’d be thawing out in the stomach of some undead freak before anyone even thought about fire.

Wordlessly, you reached into your pocket, pulled out a lighter, and flicked it open with one hand. The small flame flickered in the darkness.

The group went dead silent.

Then—

"You—" Joonyeong squinted at you like you’d just pulled out a live grenade. "You smoke?"

You raised a brow. "And you have a big mouth. What’s your point?"

The silence grew thicker. Wujin looked personally offended, Onjo blinked at you in stunned confusion, and Cheongsan opened and closed his mouth like he was trying to solve an advanced math problem.

"Since when do you smoke?" Onjo finally asked, brows furrowed.

"Since before the apocalypse. Why?"

"BEFORE?" Daesu gawked. "Since before?"

"Why is that the shocking part?"

"You were supposed to be the responsible one!" Wujin yelled.

You stared at him, unimpressed. "Well, you were supposed to light the fire, and yet—" You gestured dramatically to the still-unlit pile of sticks.

Cheongsan muttered, "Damn, he’s got a point."

Shaking your head, you flicked the lighter closed and tossed it to Wujin. "Do better."

Then, with no further explanation, you turned on your heel and walked away.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Wujin called after you.

You didn’t answer. It was getting too loud, and if you spent one more second listening to their collective incompetence, you might actually start throwing people off the roof.

It was time for a break.

As the night dragged on, exhaustion weighed down on the group, conversation dwindling as the reality of their situation set in. You, as always, preferred your solitude, so you wandered to the farthest corner of the rooftop, away from the others. The cool breeze nipped at your skin as you lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply.

Footsteps approached.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"You followed me," you said, voice flat.

Joonyeong stuffed his hands into his pockets, eyes flickering to the cigarette in your hand. "Didn’t peg you for a delinquent."

"Didn’t peg you for a stalker."

He huffed a small laugh, but his gaze was elsewhere—on the city, the fires burning in the distance, the moans of the dead below.

"I thought I hated you," he muttered.

You raised a brow. "Good to know."

"I was jealous," he continued. "You’re everything I wanted to be. Smart. Respected. Strong. You always acted like nothing could touch you." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I thought it was just resentment. That I just wanted to be better than you."

You glanced at him. "And?"

His jaw tightened. Then, before you could react, he turned to you fully, hands gripping the front of your jacket, and—

Pressed his lips against yours.

You froze.

Of all the things you were expecting tonight, this was not one of them.

Your cigarette dropped, forgotten, as his lips moved against yours—clumsy, hesitant, but desperate. Your hands hovered at your sides for a moment, your brain catching up with reality.

Then something clicked.

Your grip tightened on his jacket, yanking him closer as you took full control of the kiss, tilting your head, deepening it. Joonyeong made a noise against your lips, surprised, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he melted into it.

Without thinking, you lifted him.

"What the—!" Joonyeong barely got the words out before his legs instinctively wrapped around your waist. His breath hitched as you pressed him against the ledge, pinning him between your body and the cold concrete.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

You smirked against his lips. "Didn’t expect that, huh?"

"Not even a little bit," he admitted, voice already breathy.

Then you kissed him again—deeper, rougher, completely taking over.

His lips parted under yours, and you didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it, your tongue sliding against his in a way that made his fingers tighten in your hair. The little stuttered breath he let out sent a thrill down your spine, and you liked the way he melted into you, the way his body tensed and relaxed all at once.

His hands, uncertain at first, slowly grew bolder, fingers fisting in the fabric of your jacket before slipping under the hem, pressing against your back. The cold contrast of his fingertips against your skin made you shiver, but you didn’t let him take control for even a second.

Instead, you rolled your hips forward—just slightly, but enough that Joonyeong made a strangled noise against your lips, his legs tightening around you.

"Fuck—" His head fell back against the ledge, his breath coming out in short, uneven bursts.

You didn’t let up.

You kissed along his jaw, trailing down to the side of his neck, feeling the way he tensed under the attention. Your teeth grazed the sensitive skin, and when you bit down—not too hard, but just enough to make him feel it—Joonyeong gasped, his back arching slightly.

"God," he muttered. "You’re—"

"What?" you murmured against his throat, already knowing the answer.

"Nothing," he said quickly, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

You smirked, sucking a mark just below his jaw, feeling the way his breath stuttered against your shoulder. His grip on you tightened, and you knew—knew—he was barely holding himself together.

"You're so loud," you teased.

"Shut up," he shot back, voice shaking slightly.

You just grinned, licking over the mark you’d left. "Make me."

Joonyeong's breath hitched as you pressed him harder against the ledge, your hands gripping under his thighs to keep him exactly where you wanted him. His legs were locked around your waist, and you could feel how tense he was—every muscle in his body coiled tight like he was trying so hard not to lose himself completely.

"You’re shaking," you murmured, dragging your lips along his jaw, feeling the way his breath shuddered against your cheek.

"Shut up," he bit out, but his voice wasn’t nearly as sharp as he wanted it to be.

You rolled your hips forward—slow, deliberate, just enough friction to make Joonyeong jerk in your hold, a strangled sound escaping his throat before he could stop it. His fingers dug into your shoulders, and you felt his legs instinctively tighten around you like he was trying to pull you closer, even though there was no space left between you.

"Fuck," he breathed out, barely audible. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you felt the warmth of his panting breaths against your neck. "Why are you—"

"Why am I what?" you teased, tilting your head slightly to nip at his earlobe.

"So—" His words cut off as you ground against him again, harder this time, and he whined.

You smirked. "That’s what I thought."

His fingers clenched in the fabric of your jacket, his body practically trembling from the effort of keeping himself together. But you didn’t want him to keep it together. You wanted him unravelling in your arms, forgetting about everything else—about the apocalypse, about survival, about whatever the hell he thought he felt about you before this night—until all he knew was you.

You dragged your lips down his neck, sucking just enough to make him squirm. He let out a shaky exhale, tilting his head back ever so slightly, like he needed more, like he was completely at your mercy.

"You like this," you murmured against his skin, voice low and knowing.

"I hate you," Joonyeong gasped, but the way he clung to you said otherwise.

You just chuckled, rolling your hips one more time—slow, and deep, hitting all the right spots. "Yeah?" you whispered against his throat. "Then why are you holding on so tight?"

Somewhere behind you, the grill door creaked open.

"What’s taking him so—OH MY GOD!"

A loud thud followed.

"DAESU’S DOWN! MAN DOWN!"

You turned just in time to see Wujin standing there, looking horrified, while Daesu lay collapsed on the floor, his soul probably leaving his body.

Joonyeong let out a strangled noise, trying to scramble out of your grip, but you only smirked, tightening your hold.

"Did you guys need something?" you asked, completely unbothered.

"I NEED THERAPY!" Wujin screeched.

Joonyeong buried his face into your shoulder with a groan. "Kill me. Just kill me now."

You chuckled. "Not a chance."

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[angelesca]

d d d d dddd d DATING ANAXA HEADCANONS 🗣️🗣️🗣️ bc im proper insane, bonkers even (oh blimey she escaped the asylum again)

full art plug here😎

did i draw this and imagine a million scenarios during it? yes. yes idid. this post is the result. btw havent played 3.1 so here are my wrong headcanons (more mischaracterisation? love that) (w/ gnreader as usual!) bc i love my men bratty and smart. WARNING!! i broke my sfw rules for anaxa LMAOOO💔💔mix of sfw + NSFW ahead guys look OUT ITS NOT A DRILL THIS IS HAPPENING AAAAA😭🙏

starting off strong. i ant hold it in anymore ANAXA'S EROGENOUS ZONE IS UNDER HIS EYEPATCH🗣️🗣️🗣️ I HAVE SPOKEN MY TRUTH‼️THIS IS WHAT MADE ME QUESTION MY SFW STATUS I CAN FINALLY RELEASEMY DEMONS

i imagine he lowkey loves it when you have your finger under his eyepatch and. penetrate it. into his cosmos space thingy. and like he breathes really heavy, flushed cheeks, some tears, def some stifled moaning, and will hold your wrist to nudge your finger further in. basically bro is getting off to it. will clean your finger with his tongue after the session, but you have to help him walk around since his legs are deffo jelly after that DO YOU GUYS SEE WHAT IM SEEING PLEEEEASEEE SOMEONE WRITE THIS DONT MAMKE ME DO ITTT😭😭😭😭😭🙏🙏

EDIT: ANAXA HAS A "G-SPOT"/PROSTATE IN HIS SPACE CHEST🗣🗣🗣

WILL TAKE OFF HIS RINGS AND PUT IT ON YOUR FINGERS RAAAAAAAAAAH and he def teases you by sliding it on your ring finger, gauging your reaction as he smirks (that sly sod omggg)

"hmm, this finger looks a little lonely... i could change that."

interlaces his hand with yours to stretch it, like a massage. knows all the pressure points to help de-stress you

uses his wind powers to do fun magic tricks and play with you like imagine he only has to flick his finger and the wind pulls you closer to him HUUUUUUUUUUU SICKCCKKKK. will also blow a calm, soft breeze if you need to relax and take your mind off things.

literally gets a kick off of flustering you (it's his love language) every time you ask him why his response is: "so? don't like it?" mans not embarassed💔

if you have any texting habits, like sending cute stickers or kaomojis, anaxa will copy it bc he thinks its cute and amusing. always replying to your messages, although the same can't be said with the chrysos heirs who nag at him for ignoring theirs

anaxa: where are you? i've been waiting for ages ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴ you: ??? that's my kaomoji??? anaxa: ours now anaxa: (҂` ﾛ ´)︻デ═一 you: ＼(º □ º l|l)/

idk why i feel this so strongly but anaxa just does many smaller kisses, like pecks to the cheek. kinda playful, fleeting but always returning. i also feel like he's a neck kinda guy, always brushing his fingers along it or placing kisses. will secure you in place with a hug just to kiss the nape.

even though you two are together, anaxa will still give you stinky side eyes. loves to hear your gossip for sure, he doesn't say it but he loves chatting shit about others. will be the quietest ever when you have juicy stories.

will flame anyone who has made you upset to bits and pieces. bro's mouth is like a machine gun

likes to tilt your chin, moving it so you face him whenever he wants your attention.

he likes it when you take control, that brat taming typa shiii brooo00 he likes it when you rough him up, always a cheeky grin on his face. prods you as well, like "is that it?", "c'mon, harder my love..."

loves when you give him hickeys, or any markings like scratches. its like staking your claim on him and he fw with that😎

one sure way to get him flustered is straight up telling him "i love you". it forces him to confront his feelings head on and anaxa can't deal with that. will lightly flick your forehead, or anything to stop you from staring at his reddened face.

a/n: so. this is what happens whne im menstruating. how we feeling guys. it was jsut a few very insane headcanons tbh, the rest were fine, bit of an overreaction looool this is tame in comparison to my ao3 works. my god i need my daily cuppa where is it. this reminds me of when i was a wee teenager and experienced akechi from p5 for the first time. changed my trajectory fr. thanks akechi goro u saved ruined me

[sleepyremu]

curls // harry potter x fem!reader

summary // while harry is trying to study, you just want your hands in his hair. you both love it — it’s comforting, intimate, personal — but harry shows you how distracting and enjoyable it can really be

warnings // smut, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, “sir” kink, p in v, slight edging, small praise

a/n // what started as a sweet innocent blurb turned dirty 😉 i hope you like this, my first published smut 😆

harry james potter had good hair.

it wasn’t enough for you to just look at it. your hands had to be entwined in each lock, the soft curls tangling themselves in each of your fingers, the scent of sea salt and light mousse flooding your nose and smelling like home.

it had gotten to the point where each time you’d sat next to each other on the common room couch, your hand instinctively slithered up his back and into the spot where his hair met his neck.

every time you were together, it was a subconscious move. harry adored the intimacy and the touch — it made him feel loved and wanted. but that wasn’t to say it couldn’t be, well, distracting.

“once more, please harry!”

harry had your arms pinned down on his bed to keep your hands off his head. he’d told you he wanted to get some work done without you touching his hair, and you’d gotten fake pouty and waited til his back was turned to jump onto him and wrestle him for it. you were not winning.

“i’m trying to study!”

“that’s hilarious.”

“y/n!”

“only kidding!”

harry’s glasses were hanging off the edge of his nose as he looked down at you. “do you promise to let me work for a bit?”

“oh, but why? you love when i touch your hair.”

harry closed his eyes and exhaled. he really did love it. it was just a terrible distraction when he was trying to focus. your hands knew the perfect places to tug to get him going.

“y/n, it’s very sweet, but it can be terribly distracting at times. please. i’m begging you.”

you laughed at him. “fine! merlin, you’re no fun.”

he let go of your wrists and moved back so you could sit upright on the mattress. “i’m plenty of fun. just give me a minute. i’ll be all over you soon.”

you blushed, and snuggled up into his comforter, smelling strongly of his cologne. the smell enveloped you, and soon you’d fallen into the plane between conscious and unconscious. the only thing that brought your eyes back open was the feeling of harry’s hands slithering around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.

“hello, my love,” harry spoke softly. “still wanna put your hands in my hair?”

“more than ever.”

you turned to your other side to face him, your half-open, watery eyes and warm cheeks making harry fawn at your innocence. it was something he’d usually cherished and protected, but right now, it was something he wanted all for himself. something he wanted to ruin. he felt a growing tug in his trousers the longer he stared at you — a sleepy smile tugging at your rosy lips, his jumper hugging your chest, his boxers hugging your thighs.

you moved a hand up to cradle his face. he leaned into your touch, only making him harder, and he knew that soon he wouldn’t be able to contain himself. you were just so precious, so sweet, so gentle with him. he just wanted to ruin it all.

he leaned in to kiss you. butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the meeting of your lips, but when the kiss deepened and you felt harry’s tongue start to slip between your lips, the butterflies slowly morphed into a familiar feeling deep in your stomach begging for release.

harry’s lips were still pressed to yours when he felt your other hand snake into its comfortable position in his hair. the feeling fanned the flames burning within him, and he let out a small hum of pleasure into your mouth. you couldn’t help yourself from smiling at knowing how good your touch made him feel.

“fuck, love,” harry said lowly. “that feels so nice.” he leaned his head back into your hand, and you maintained your grip on his curls.

you giggled at his desperation. “i know.”

your smile made him melt, and that feeling made his cock throb. “i need you so bad, lovely.”

“oh yeah? what’ya need from me, harry?”

your pushback made him crave you even more. “i need to taste you.”

with those words, you were putty in his hands. you nodded eagerly at him, and he quickly pulled down his knickers and your panties in one motion, leaving your soaked cunt bare for him to explore. you put both hands in his hair to steady his head, and he spoke as his head moved down your body, peppering kisses on every inch of exposed skin in between words.

“your hands in my hair are such a distraction, baby,” he said, kissing inside your thighs. “but it’s just too good for me to resist.”

harry looked up at you, your chest bobbing up and down from the anticipation. he adored how flustered you still got when he fucked you. he loved your doe eyes and unknowing lip bite. you were so sexy to him — he loved making you come undone in his arms.

harry licked a stripe up your cunt, sending your eyes to the back of your head and eliciting a strained moan from your lips. his cock twitched at the vision before him. “keep your hands in my hair, and i’ll make you cum in my mouth, angel.”

“yes, sir,” you responded with a smirk, knowing it would make him heat up even more.

harry moved up from his place between your legs to plant a kiss to your lips, and you gasped at the loss of feeling at your core. “good girl,” he whispered, dipping back down to relentlessly lap at your cunt. your grip on his curls grew tighter, only making his movements faster, swirling on your clit and licking between your folds. every time your grip on his hair faltered even the slightest bit, harry sent a slap to the side of your thigh reminding you to maintain your hold.

he brought a hand to your entrance and pushed it in gently, and you knew he was trying to getting you adjusted before inserting himself into you. he kept a steady pace circling your clit and pumped a finger in and out of your cunt, taking in your soft whimpers and moans.

“harry…i-i’m close-” you muttered, but were surprised when harry’s movements stopped altogether.

he rose from his position and undid his trousers, his fully hard cock springing free from his boxers. “i’m not done with you yet, love.” he pumped his cock with his hand and you bit your lip in anticipation.

“turn over, angel,” he ordered, sending a wave of heat down to your core.

you obeyed, slipping harry’s jumper off in the process. his hands found their way to your legs, rubbing the curve of your ass and squeezing the fat of your thighs. “wanna know how good it feels to have your hair toyed with, love?” you looked back to him and nodded, too worked up to form sentences.

harry tutted at your response, but the state you were in was perfect to him. “c’mon, angel, use your words for me.”

you swallowed your desperation and managed to collect yourself. “yes, sir,” you said again, only this time, it followed with harry smacking your ass before responding again with “good girl.”

harry lined himself up with your entrance and pushed into you, incapable of waiting a second longer. you moaned at the sensation, and it made harry’s desire for you burn more fervently. he pumped into you with precision, hitting the tender spot deep in your walls that only he could reach. his hand’s grip on your hips remained firm, until one hand reached up to bunch your hair in his hand and pull your head closer to him. he pulled you up from the bed so your back was pressed to his chest, and he kept his pace drilling into you.

“this is how good you make me feel when you play with my hair, love,” he growled into your ear. “how’s it feel?”

his hands travelled up your body to squeeze your breasts, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning at his words. “‘s so good, sir, you fuck me so good-”

you were cut off by the sound of harry leaving love bites on your neck. you could feel the knot in your stomach starting to unravel.

“baby, i’m gonna cum,” you moaned in between the strokes of his cock.

“that’s alright, my love, cum on my cock for me…you’re just so lovely for me, don’t you know that, sweet angel?”

his words were everything you needed to come undone on his cock. your legs shook from the stimulation and your eyes shut tight as you rode out the wave. harry kept talking you through it, still keeping a steady pace pumping into you.

“fuck, love, you’re so tight when you finish on my cock, feels so good…oh fuck, i’m gonna cum-“

he pulled out of your pulsing cunt and released right onto your back, coating you with white ropes and loving every second you spent covered in his seed. after a moment, he knelt down and pressed kisses to your ass and the undersides of your thighs, letting you know he was there for you. you caught your breath while he made his way to the bathroom to fetch a wet towel to clean you off. his gentle touch on your back and his insistence on asking how you were doing a million times made you smile.

after you’d cleaned up and changed sheets, harry drifted off in your lap, the feeling of your fingers in his hair soothing him and sending him to a deep sleep.

[fuctacles]

prev

The concert goes great, even if they stay in the sidelines. Wayne doesn't want to get trampled by the crowd and despite urging Steve to go have fun without him, he insists he can hear the music just fine. At some point, he nudges Wayne's shoulder while shimmying with the music and the man joins his awkward wiggling with a roll of his eyes. 

There's an after party in the nearest bar, concert goers filing out of one venue to another in an unspoken agreement, and Steve only needs to send Wayne one raised eyebrow for them to join. 

"We can sleep in the car, you know?" Steve yells to close to his ear when Wayne orders a black coffee. 

The man shakes his head. 

"Maybe you can! My old bones might not survive it!" 

Steve frowns, but he insists it's okay. He invited him expecting to be the designated driver, and Steve should let loose with a drink or two. 

Talking is hard, over the loud music and chatter surrounding them, but they discuss the concert itself and other bands that might be cool to see live. After Steve slams the second empty glass down on the counter, he gently grabs Wayne's elbow. 

"Wanna dance?" he asks loudly over the music.

Wayne takes a cursory look around, feeling responsible for Steve's safety. The establishment is either a progressive one or people are too drunk to care, because he sees a few same-sex pairs on the dancefloor. So he nods and lets Steve pull him into a dance. 

He expects friendly bopping in each other's orbit, but as the song changes, Steve's hands find his shoulders. Wayne instinctively reaches out, palms hovering around his hips with hesitance. As the younger man tries to bridge the gap between them, he has to grab him to stop him, but it only seems to spur Steve on. His hips buck as the grip tightens, making Wayne curse under his breath.

"Jesus Christ, kid. Stop."

Steve deflates, the coils of his muscles relaxing with defeat.

"Sorry."

Wayne shakes his head. 

"Let's get out of here."

They are sharing a bottle of water, leaned against Wayne's truck, when Steve says it again.

"Sorry, I thought..."

"I told Eddie I wouldn't."

Steve frowns. 

"What?"

 Wayne struggles to light up his cigarette, so Steve reaches out to shield the flame for him. 

"Thanks," he says around the filter, and takes a drag. "Told Eddie I won't sleep with any of his friends." He doesn't look at Steve, choosing to wait for his reaction instead. 

"That's a bold assumption, old man."

It's an embarrassing thing, to reject and be rejected, so of course he jokes, they could both use the laugh. So Wayne looks down at him.

"Right, I would reach my death bed before I could peel off those jeans," he shoots back, and Steve grins, some of the cockiness and confidence back.

"You've noticed," he preens. 

"Hard not to," Wayne murmurs around his cigarette. When Steve reaches out, he shares it without a thought.. 

"So, you do this often?" he asks, puffing out smoke.

Wayne snorts, and Steve sends him a confused look.

"Sorry, Eddie asked the same thing. No, I don't make a habit of hanging out with young men. Boys."

Steve is quiet for a moment, before piping up. 

"So I'm special."

Wayne rolls his eyes. 

"I can see why you're friends with Eddie. Yes, Steve, you are. You have this stray dog thing  going on that makes me want to give you shelter and food. Kind of like Eddie, actually."

Steve makes a face. 

"Don't compare me to Eddie after I wanted to get in your pants."

The man smiles crookedly, not unlike his nephew.

"Would be easier than yours."

"Well..." As his eyes trail down, Wayne snaps his fingers in his face.

"Don't even think about it, kid."

carry on

my usuals bc this is an actual thing rn appaently, lmk if you dont want to be here: @blasvemous @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

[draconic-desire]

💥 Take My Whiskey Neat 💥

Yandere Boothill x Reader

Again and again, you find a way to escape, and every time ends with you peering down the barrel of a gun.

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, forced relationship and captivity, implied kidnapping, some suggestive content but mostly sfw. Mild spoilers for his background story; I want to write him both as a super attentive and protective guy but also crazy for you???

You’ve become all too familiar with the sensation of a gun being pointed to your forehead.

“Aw, darlin’, why the long face? Took me two whole days to find ya this round! You should be proud’a yerself. I dare say our time together has taught you well,” he concludes with a wink.

Somehow, his praise feels more like a taunt.

That’s because it is. Obviously you never had a chance at escaping from him, a Galaxy Ranger with a bounty on his head worth more than your life a hundred times over. He was born and raised to hunt, to track, to kill. You’re just the unlucky target.

He leans the gun ever so slightly closer to you, mere inches before it can graze your skin, and waits for your response. Although you know he won’t pull the trigger, the sight of the 9 millimeter colt aimed directly between your eyes still sends goose flesh skittering down your arms.

You grit your teeth and pin him with a withering glare. The last thing you’ll relinquish is your pride—you’re not intimidated by him, and it is impressive that you evaded him for so long, relatively speaking. Your other escape attempts lasted mere hours.

Unfortunately, the fact that the Ranger has always traveled alone doesn’t help your chances—especially when lately, his only occupation has been you.

“What, no clap back today? No, ‘fudge you, ya son of a nice lady’ or ‘fork you, shirtbaggin’ bootlicker’? I’ve gotten so used to yer colorful language that I’m almost disappointed!” Boothill tilts the gun and juts his hips, his bullseye gaze locked on your own.

Ignoring the subtle look of longing, of hurt, within their depths is getting harder and harder. He’s superb at hiding it behind jokes and attempted curses, but you know that look. He’s clinging to you after all that’s been taken from him, seeking love after it was destroyed in flames. If only he still held onto his human emotions and didn’t rely on that neuro chip of his; then he’d know that what he’s showing you isn’t love, but obsession.

You wish you had never extended your kindness to him that fateful day, when he’d burst into your home, sparks flying and wires exposed. One of his arms was barely attached, completely torn through with bullet holes. A shootout, he’d said, and he’d caught wind of a handy ‘machine doctor’—a mechanic, you’d corrected him—in town who could fix him right up.

It had taken a full two weeks for you to get him back up and running functionally. Two weeks of evading IPC grunts knocking on your door in search of him, two weeks of tolerating (and fine, maybe even enjoying) his crude jokes, and two weeks of stories over a glass of whiskey, about your hope to one day travel among the stars and his of finding a companion to do so with.

That’s when he’d seemed the most human. Voice tinged with sorrow, yes, but lips curved into a morose smile, eyes looking up at the stars. Reminiscing about when he was still fully human, nothing but a cowboy on a seemingly insignificant planet, surrounded by his adopted parents and siblings, and even that little girl whom he never got to see grow up.

After he’d shared his story, you’d felt the sudden urge to be close to him. Without thinking, you’d brought your hand up to his cheek, wiping an invisible tear despite the fact that he lost his tear ducts long ago.

He’d sucked in a breath and gone deadly still; thinking you misjudged the situation and overstepped a boundary, you’d quickly started to jerk your hand back, only for him to lock it firmly against his face with his metal palm.

His voice, normally loud and clear through the synthesized distortion, had been quiet, low, wavering. “I—please, don’t stop. That feels…nice.”

You were sad to see him go after those two weeks. You honestly expected to never see him again—he was a Galaxy Ranger, after all, the definition of a lone wolf—but to your surprise, his visits didn’t end there. He kept returning again and again, and not just for repairs. Sometimes he’d bring you gifts or tell you stories of his hunt, and you’d cherish those moments when the galaxy felt just a bit less lonely with him.

Then the visits started to increase in their frequency—and intensity. He’d show up while you were working with a client and brazenly threaten them to leave so he could occupy your time instead, or he’d appear on your doorstep in the middle of the night with your favorite bottle of liquor, winking at the sight of your embarrassed form, still in your nightclothes. Your world suddenly seemed to revolve around the gunslinging cyborg.

You’d had to put your foot down—as much as you did enjoy his company, you wouldn’t allow him to interfere with your career. You’d worked hard to gain your skills, and even though you were barely scraping by and living in a tiny, modest home by yourself, you were still proud of what you’d achieved on your own.

His initial reaction was an uncharacteristic and frightening bout of silence, his pupils blown wide, locked onto yours. Just as quickly, his typical smirk returned as he laughed it off. “Just watch out, lil cutie, ‘cause I know you’ll be missin’ me soon.”

Apparently, soon was imminent, immediate. You were pouring yourself a drink after a long week of work when he finally kicked down your door and announced you’d be coming with him.

“I’ve been waiting a long while now to claim you, darlin’.”

“And if I refuse?”

That was the first time you witnessed his gun trained on you.

Now, Boothill drags you along everywhere, hopping from one planet or system to the next, living together as nomads. What you believed to be a serendipitous friendship, he thought was the start of your romance and life together.

It would be thrilling in any other circumstance, treading the path of The Hunt, evading the law, tracking down the IPC members who destroyed his family…except the cyborg transferred that need to protect, to save someone, onto you. You have no choice but to be his now, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you go.

“You just want to hear me curse because you can’t,” you growl. What a stupid argument to be having with a pistol to your head. Yet you can’t help but siphon all of your anger into this dumb little game of cat and mouse, of shark and minnow, of hunter and bird.

He forgets you’re not the only one armed.

You flash him the most vulgar gesture you can make. “Go fuck yourself, Boothill.”

The cowboy throws his head back in a laugh. “Haha! There she is. Wild as a newborn colt.” He grins, flashing those shark teeth you’d groan to loathe. You’ve lost count of the number of puncture marks and scars they’ve littered across your flesh.

That’s something he can’t seem to get enough of—the feel of your warm, organic, human skin against his cold, steel shell.

“Lan shoot me with an arrow, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you grumble, looking up as if the Aeon will give you an answer.

“Think ya already know the answer to that,” he replies, lowering his weapon to sling his opposite arm around your shoulders. The gun hangs languidly from his other hand, as if he’s not the deadliest shot in the galaxy.

His breath brushes your neck as he leans in and nips at your ear. “Now, how ‘bout we take this back home, eh cutie? Two days without you has got me pretty…” His voice drops an octave. “…pent up, if ya know what I mean.”

The tooth marks along your skin flare. Oh, you know all too well.

~*~

Trying to find the solution to your imprisonment at the bottom of a bottle seems like a really clever idea, at least until the room starts spinning.

The empty glass cracks against the wooden table again as brown liquor burns down your throat. What did he call it? Rocket fuel? Damn right, and you’d lost count of the number of shots you’d taken.

Boothill’s normal smirk is contorted into a small frown. “Darlin’, I know it’s been a long couple’a days away for you, but I think we should retire the whiskey for the time being—”

“Shyut up!” you slur, jabbing a finger at the Ranger, your neck still throbbing from all the love bites and hickeys he’d given you. “Thiz is your fault.”

He reaches for the bottle, but you snatch it away and instead start to take pulls directly from it. A deep sigh reverberates behind you as you stand and begin to spin around, hands extended. “Aren’t we celebrating you catching me again? You got what you wanted, you…you mudder…fuuuu…” You sway and just barely catch yourself before you tumble—wait, no, that’s him steadying your shoulders.

“(Y/n).” You blink out of your haze momentarily; only on rare occasions does he use your name and not things like darling or cutie. His face is controlled, mouth tilted downward. “Put the bottle down. I know the feelin’ of wanting to drown in liquor, but it ain’t right.”

“I’m only like this because you took me from my life!”

He bares his teeth, and you know you hit a nerve. “That little shack you called a home? Was that really livin’? All those nights we talked, you said how you wanted grand adventure and risk! To travel and see the stars! To be with me!”

“I didn’t ask for you to put me in a moving cage,” you spit back, trying to shake out of his iron-clad grip. “But you never asked what I wanted, did you?”

“Why’s this all so hard for you to accept?” One hand moves to grab your chin, tilting your face towards his tall form. “It could be just us, ridin’ through the galaxy for all time.” His lips brush lightly against your own, and you feel a tinge of warmth run down your spine. “Just be mine.”

In your drunken stupor, your anger morphs into something else, something more carnal. He wants to be the predator? Well, even the hunted fight back sometimes.

The bottle drops from your hand, shattering against the floor, as you hook an arm around his neck and kiss him fervently, your tongue running along the edges of his pointed canines.

Before he can kiss you back, you pull away, wiping the back of your mouth with your forearm. “That’s what could have been if you hadn’t kidnapped me. If you’d asked me first.” Skipping over the remnants of the whiskey bottle, you flip him the finger over your shoulder as you walk away. “Too bad that’s all you’ll get. Fork you, Boothill.”

As soon as you leave the room, Boothill raises a metal digit to his lips, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth against his. So that’s what your willing kiss feels like. The true passion he knows is hidden deep in your soul, buried beneath the dirt like an unmarked grave. He releases a breathy laugh.

Well fork him sideways, but he wants more.

Taking his hat off, he sets it on the table and moves to pour himself a glass of sherry. He’s nearly positive he’ll find you passed out in bed if he goes to you now, and knows he shouldn’t, can’t be in the same room with you when his self control is so near to breaking. Better to let you sleep it off and tease you about the kiss in the morning.

Boothill kicks his feet up and takes a long sip. So, it turns out your drunken self may actually be harboring some attraction for him. Yeah, he can use that.

“I’ll have you someday,” he whispers, a promise to both you and himself. “Whiskey ain’t the only thing that’ll be on your lips, darlin’.”

[writingsbychlo]

SPIDER | tom riddle

summary; tom riddle has a peculiar way of showing his affection, but he's nothing if not protective.

word count; 1625

notes; I woke up this morning with inspiration and I grabbed my laptop and banged this out before even getting up. if you hate it, I literally don't care <3

The flames of the fireplace flickered soothingly, the last warmth spilling out towards you in a subtle glow, hiding the reflections of the lake that danced around the room. Several other students were also still milling around, the Slytherin common room was never truly empty, not unless it was the summer break. Pulling the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, you snuggled down a bit further, only stilling when the cold sense of someone else crept down your neck. 

This was a familiar chill, though. You were aware of someone else’s presence, and yet no part of that was threatening. A familiar cologne reached your nose, and before you’d even turned, you were greeting the man who stood behind you, “Hello, Tom.”

“Why are you down here?” He cut right to the point, never one for formalities, and your lips flickered up at the edges as he walked around the edge of the sofa and into your view. “You’re never up at this time.”

Always so observant. Your smile formed a little more every time he revealed something extra he’d noticed about you. That you liked a particular table in the library, that your favourite biscuits were chocolate hobnobs, that you didn’t usually stay up this late. Tom Riddle had a peculiar way of showing affection. Most people assumed he was cold, unfeeling, harsh. They couldn't be more wrong. 

Tom Riddle was a walking, talking, bleeding heart. He was an open wound, snapping like an injured animal when anyone came close. Tom Riddle was full of emotion, it just happened to be hidden behind a thick stone wall. But if you were allowed close enough to look through the cracks, the true Tom Riddle shone like golden light within. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” You teased, and he rolled his eyes, taking half a step closer to you and perching on the arm of the couch elegantly. 

“You know I go for walks at night.”

“And where do you go for these walks? What do you do on your oh-so-mysterious nightly walks?” You turned your body further towards him, the blanket slipping down from its place around your chin, and those calculating brown eyes tracked its fall along your arm.  

“That’s none of your business, and you’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re avoiding mine.” You retorted, and he simply gave you a dry look. Reaching out, Tom lifted the edge of the blanket back up and over your shoulder, securing it back into place. 

“Answer me.”

“Fine,” You sighed, head rolling across your shoulders and back towards the fireplace, watching the growing flames once again, “I saw a spider in my room. It crawled down the edge of my bed right before I could get in, and now I don’t want to go to sleep.”

You could feel Tom’s stare on you, the silence stretching between you both as he let the confession settle. There was half a chance he’d scoff, and half a chance he’d simply walk away now that he got his answer. He seemed to be debating between which one to go for. “Why didn’t Pansy get it out for you?”

Another question, not an option you’d considered, but not a surprise from him. “She’s not here, she’s at Luna’s tonight.”

More silence, and you took the chance to observe him instead. Tom Riddle was not one to cower away from a stare, and so as you watched him, he watched you too. Finally, he broke the silence, “I’ll get it for you.”

Now, that was a surprise. “You will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Does it matter?” He shot back, standing once again, making it clear to you that you were to do the same, or he’d leave without you. Dropping the blanket down to the couch, the enchanted item folded itself back up and into the storage trunk you’d taken it from, as you smoothed out your jumper and followed Tom’s already retreating steps.

“It doesn’t matter, but I’m curious. Humour me.” You caught up with him, and he cut you a glance from the side of his eye. “You should also know that I’m very grateful, whether you choose to tell me or not. Thank you.”

The rigid lines of his shoulders softened a little at that. Should you know how to, Tom Riddle could be played like a fiddle. You smothered a snicker at the rhyme in your head as he let slip a small sigh. “I don’t want you to sit in the common room all night when I can perfectly easily take care of the problem.”

Your smile was full now, following him silently through the halls as he guided the way to your dorm. Opening the door, he was respectful enough to ignore the piles of mess on your roommate’s side of the dorm, looking straight towards your untouched bed, and the mug of now cold tea sitting on your bedside table. 

“Which side?”

“The far one.” You mumbled, tension creeping back into your body. What if it wasn’t there anymore? What if it had crawled elsewhere, and was now hidden somewhere in the room, ready to strike, or—

The screech of your bed frame moving snapped you from your thoughts as Tom pulled it away from the wall. It moved again, jarring along the wooden floor. Tom remained still, eyes moving for a second, two, before he suddenly strode forwards, ducking down and his hand shot out. He straightened a second later, with his hands cupped, and turned to you. 

He nodded his head towards the window, and you scurried across the room ahead of him, flinging open the window and backing far away as he neared. That made him scoff, rolling his eyes at your behaviour once again. He held his hands out of the window, shaking them off and letting the spider fall through the air, before pulling back, and clicking the catch back into place. He double-checked it, before casting his eye over the rest of the room. 

“Let me check for any more.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Your words fell on deaf ears, as Tom shifted your bed back into place, before peering behind both desks, your dressers and the wardrobe, and finally, the bathroom. He methodically checked each and every space within your dorm for you, leaving you to sit in the centre of your once again safe bed, watching him with a soft smile. Before leaving the bathroom, he washed his hands clean of the creature that had been crawling within them, before returning to you. 

“No more.”

“Thank you, Tom.” You whispered, his chin tucking in a single nod, but a frown on his face. 

“You already thanked me.”

“There’s no law saying I can’t thank you twice, or as many times as I please, for that matter.” Your smirk made him press his lips into a line, but he had no comeback and hated not having the final word. He was calculating, something else to say, something to spin this back onto you—

“Your tea is cold. You should reheat that, so you don’t waste it.”

Your gaze flickered to the mug, and back to him, shrugging. “I don’t feel like having it now.”

His sigh sounded frustrated, and he took a few more steps into the room, towards you, instead of the door. His voice had softened once again as he took you in, looking down at you with a gentler gaze than most ever saw. “Will you go to sleep now?”

“Soon, I think I’ll just read for a while, I’m not too tired yet.” 

He nodded. His jaw clenched as he glanced towards the door, but made no move to leave. The clock in the corner ticked, seconds passing by loudly in the space, and then, “Would you like to join me on my walk?”

His words were fragile, a rare show of vulnerability from him. Uttered quietly into the air that hung between you both, and your gasp almost startled him. “Really?”

He glared, answering your question with a fitting answer. Tom never said things he didn’t mean, and you knew that. Everyone knew that. But he’d never let anyone go on his walks before, it was a hotly debated topic and a running joke within the group about what exactly took place on these walks, and what nefarious things he likely got up to. 

“I’d like that.”

“Then put on some proper shoes, and quickly.” You did as he had, rather gruffly, commanded, swapping out the comfy slippers for some boots, and throwing on another jumper for extra warmth. Tom waited for you at the door, holding it open for you to step through. “Do you like the lake at night?”

“I’ve never been out to the lake at night.” 

He made a quiet sound of acknowledgement, a hum under his breath. “Then that’s where we’ll go. You’ll like it. It’s… peaceful.”

His hand flexed at his side as you walked together, and after clearing the common room and entering the silent corridors, you slipped your hand into his own. 

He stiffened, for only a second, before his fingers wrapped back around yours, and a smile pulled on his lips as he ducked his head. You and Tom had been dancing this line for years now, something more but not quite enough. 

Not yet. 

But you’d get there, someday. His actions told you enough. Enough to know that he felt what you did too, that you were certainly headed somewhere, on a collision course together. You belonged to Tom Riddle as much as he belonged to you. 

So, for now, holding his hand as you walked the lake, and letting him chase spiders out of your room was enough. 

[keraawrites]

Still us?

Summary: It was platonic; it had to be. You guys were the best co-parents there were, but that didn't mean you didn't still love him, that didn't mean you still got wet thinking about him every night. ۶ৎ Bakugo x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Contex: Co-parents, dirty talk, use of the word daddy, mama, ma, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, soft but rough sex, kitchen sex

word count — 3.2k

Your house was buzzing with the kind of chaotic joy only a three-year-old’s birthday party could bring. Colourful streamers dangled from the ceiling, a banner with “BOOM! Happy Birthday, Baby Blast!” stretched across the wall, and the scent of pizza, frosting, and too many lit birthday candles filled the air. Laughter bounced off the walls, kids darted around like little gremlins hopped up on sugar, and the grown-ups—some friends, some family—did their best to keep up.

Your son—your wild, beautiful little firecracker—was at the heart of it all. In his blue birthday shirt with a cartoon explosion on the front and a bright red cape flowing behind him, he looked like a tiny hero-in-training. Curls bouncing with every step, cheeks smeared with chocolate, his energy was contagious. He zipped between groups of kids like he had somewhere to be, pausing only to grab another juice box or show off the “power pose” Uncle Deku taught him, which was, in his words, “soooo cool it made the table shake.”

He didn’t want to be too far from either of you—every five minutes, he was running up to tug on your shorts or Kaysuki’s pant leg, needing a hug, or to show off his newest toy, or to just rest his head for a second before launching back into the madness. At one point, when you knelt to fix the strap on his sneaker, he hugged your neck and whispered, “Best party ever, Mama.”

Yeah. That made everything—your aching feet, your cluttered kitchen, the cake stain on your carpet—so damn worth it.

Bakugo stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t lowkey melting. But you caught him. Eyes soft, mouth twitching like he wanted to grin but didn’t want anybody to see. He looked so damn good—black tee snug around his arms, loose joggers hanging low on his hips, a little frosting smudged on his jaw like even the cupcakes wanted a taste. You weren't the only one who noticed, either.

But it was more than that. He wasn’t just your baby daddy. He was him. Top pro hero. Good ass dad. And whether you liked to admit it or not—still fine as hell.

You’d wanted to make the day perfect. It was your son’s third birthday, and he had demands. As much as he loved his dad, his obsession with both Deku and Dynamight meant this party was green and orange chaos. Much to Katsuki’s dismay, he still made it happen. Because he always showed up for his son. No matter what.

And that’s the thing about him—he’s good at everything. Always has been. Including being annoyingly, disgustingly good in bed. Which, honestly, was a blessing and a curse.

You two broke up two years ago. It was hard, but it was necessary. He was rising through the hero ranks, your job was demanding, and you had a one-year-old who needed everything. You didn’t want to grow resentful. Didn’t want to hate each other. So you ended it with love. Quiet, aching love. The kind that never really goes away.

Most people didn’t get it. But it worked for you.

When it was time for the cake, everyone gathered around the kitchen island. You lit the candles while Bakugo held your son up on the counter like he was the most important person in the world (which, to you both, he was). He grinned so wide you thought his little face might split, eyes glued to the flames, bouncing in Katsuki’s arms.

“Okay, ready?” you called out, raising your phone to record.

And the crowd erupted into song.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Your son was absolutely eating it up. Giggling, wiggling, soaking in the love like sunshine. He clapped along with the beat, even sang his own name extra loud at the end. When they finished, he shouted, “Blow ‘em out with me, Daddy!” and Bakugo leaned in so they could do it together.

One puff, two sets of cheeks, and the candles went out in a small puff of smoke and cheers.

“Best. Day. Ever!” your son yelled, pumping his fist in the air like a tiny pro hero.

Bakugo smirked, still holding him close, whispering something in his ear that made your baby snort so hard he hiccupped. The sight of them together like that—your son beaming, Katsuki so soft around him—it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t have words for. A good ache. A deep one.

Eventually, the sugar crash hit hard. After goodie bags were passed out and the last guest was escorted out with a slice of cake and a juice box, the house quieted. Your son was curled up on the couch, cape wrapped around him like a blanket, his little fingers still clutching the Dynamight action figure his dad gave him. Out cold, tiny snores escaping his frosting-sticky mouth.

Golden hour slipped through your windows like honey, the kitchen glowing with syrupy light. You’d snuck upstairs to change—into one of Katsuki’s old Dynamight tees and a pair of shorts you didn’t realise were that short until you saw yourself in the mirror. Bonnet on, lip gloss faded, and cheeks still glittery from the “makeover” your niece insisted on giving you, you padded barefoot back downstairs and started tidying, humming to yourself a little.

"You always hum when you’re about to cry or cuss somebody out," his voice rumbled low from behind you, that familiar smirk threading through it like a dare.

You snorted, not turning around just yet. "Or when I’m tryna not cuss somebody out."

"You always hummed around me."

"Yeah because I always wanted to cuss you out."

His chuckle was soft, almost quiet—completely not Bakugo nature, but it was nice. You hated how much you still loved that sound.

"You did good, Ma," he said, voice closer now.

And that. That little “Ma” he always hit you with when he was being sentimental, or trying to get under your skin, or both? Yeah, that wasn’t fair. At all.

You finally turned to face him, leaning your hip against the counter. “You helped,” you said casually, keeping it cool. “Birthday boy would’ve lost it if both his favourites weren’t here.”

You could feel the way his gaze was on you, your hands shaking slightly from the little alcohol you had managed to sneak into your punch but also because you could feel the intensity of his stare.

You turned back around, busying yourself once again in order to ignore what was going on between your legs. "He needs to go to bed before he morphs into that sofa."

"Already done it, brat was mumbling about his favourite uncle in his sleep." You giggled at the gruffness in his voice, you didn't even need to face him to know his face was set in his permanent scowl but there was no malice behind his words.

You smiled to yourself, back still half-turned as you rinsed a cup out in the sink. “Mhm. You jealous?”

He scoffed. “Hell yeah, I’m jealous,” he grumbled, stepping up behind you, crowding your space. “Ain’t no way that nerd gets more love than me in this house.”

You turned your head, arching a brow. “You’re literally his dad. You already got the top spot.”

“Tch. Still don’t like sharin’,” he muttered.

And there it was—that little sliver of possessiveness that always made your spine straighten and your thighs press together. The way he said it, all low and annoyed like your son idolising Deku was a personal betrayal. You had to bite your cheek to stop the smile that threatened to stretch across your lips.

You looked up at him fully now. His eyes were darker than before, settled on you with that old familiar heat. The one that used to make your knees weak and your back arch. 

“Didn’t realise you still wore my shirts,” he said, eyes running over you, voice dropping, thick with something that made your stomach flip.

You gave a shrug, casual but cocky. “Comfy.”

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

“Katsuki—”

“Been thinkin’ about you,” he cut in. Just said it, all reckless and raw, like he hadn’t just been in your house around your family all day. Like y’all hadn’t been broken up for two years.

You blinked. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” he said, stepping in close. One hand braced on the counter behind you, caging you in. “You don’t still think about me?”

You turned your head, as much as you could, trying to ignore the way he smelled. That damn cologne he always wore, the same one he wore the first time you guys got together all the way back in UA.

You felt his finger ghost over your hand, pulling you back into reality. “You gon’ tell me you didn’t do this shit on purpose?” he asked, eyes flicking down to the hem of your shorts, the edge of your bonnet slipping just a little.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, the weight of his words settling heavy in your stomach.

“I didn’t do it for you,” you don’t even know if it was a lie, but your voice was too soft and too shaky to be believable.

“Yeah?” he smirked, eyes narrowing. “Then why you shakin’?”

You turned back to the dishes again, heart thumping like it wanted out. But you already knew—resistance was temporary. You’d been down this road before. And Katsuki always knew how to get you to walk it again.

He was your first everything. Your only real everything. From high school halls to a hospital room where you both cried meeting your son, to this house filled with all the in-betweens. You could play coy all you wanted. But your body remembered.

Your breathing shook when you felt your back hit his chest. His hands didn’t touch you—yet—but his presence was wrapped around you like smoke, thick and inescapable. You could feel the heat rolling off of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, the way he exhaled like he was holding back something heavy.

Your nails scraped against the sink as you held it like it was anchoring you down to Earth as you felt the way his fingers skimmed over your arms.

Katsuki,” you said carefully, voice a whisper. “We’re not…”

“Not together. Yeah. I know.” His eyes flicked over you, he turned you to face him, fingers still skimming over your skin. “Doesn’t change how I feel.”

You felt your heart stutter. You’d had so many nights alone where you wondered if he still felt it too. If all the love you tucked away, folded up neatly under co-parenting and polite distance, was still sitting under his skin the same way.

“I miss you,” he said, voice thick. “I miss coming home to this. Miss seeing you like this. Soft. Tired. Still takin’ care of everything even when it’s just you.”

Your eyes burned.

“I never wanted to stop being a family,” he said, stepping closer until his chest brushed yours. “Even when I fucked up. Even when I didn’t know how to fix it.”

You swallowed hard. “You can’t just say stuff like that, ‘Suki.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll believe you.”

His hand slid around your waist, pulling you in slow, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Then believe me.”

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. His lips were already on yours, hands gripping your waist like he was holding on for dear life—and you melted. Melted like butter in the pan, like it hadn’t been two whole years since the last time he kissed you like that.

Like not a single thing had changed.

“Suki…”

“Shh, mama. I got you. Just… please. Let us have this.”

His voice was barely a whisper, but it hit like a wrecking ball. Knocked straight into the walls you’d built—every brick, every stubborn layer of distance and pride crumbling under the weight of his voice and the way he held you like home.

God, you missed him.

Your lips moved against his like muscle memory, fingers tangling in the soft hair at the back of his neck. He backed you into the counter with ease, the same place y’all had just passed out cake slices and goodie bags now transformed into the center of the damn universe.

His hands slipped under the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his shirt—and dragged up your skin slow, like he needed to re-learn every inch of you.

“You really gon’ stand there and lie to me?” he murmured against your jaw, mouth trailing kisses down your neck. “Like I don’t know this body better than my own?”

You shivered, breath hitching. “We shouldn’t…”

“But you want to.” He pressed his hips against yours, letting you feel exactly how much he did too.

Your answer came out as a soft, needy whimper.

“You wearin’ panties under this?” he asked, voice low, teasing as he nosed along your throat. “Or you just lettin’ it drip down your thighs like the good girl I know you are?”

Your knees damn near gave out.

“I—fuck, Katsuki.”

He laughed, breath hot on your skin, and in one smooth motion, lifted you up onto the counter. Your legs fell open easy as breathing, and he slotted himself between them, hands already tugging your shorts down like his body remembered the choreography.

“Still this fuckin’ wet for me,” he muttered, fingers gliding through your folds. His groan was deep, guttural. “Shit, mama.”

You bit your lip, one hand tangling in his hair as the other braced on the counter behind you.

The blonde dropped to his knees without hesitation. He grabbed the back of your thighs, dragging you closer until your ass was hanging off the edge. You remembered how he used to sweet talk you before eating your pussy but not today.

A choked moan left you as his tongue licked a broad stripe up your centre, moaning into it like the taste alone had him losing his mind. “Missed this fucking pussy mama, missed you” he growled, burying his face between your legs like he needed you to breathe.

Your head fell back, the moan that ripped from your throat embarrassingly loud in the quiet kitchen.

His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you wide open as he licked and sucked, tongue curling just right over your clit before sliding back down to your entrance. He didn't forget what you liked, after years of knowing your body the man still knew how to suck on you clit with enough pressure to have your eyes rolling.

“You’re--fuck such a mess, baby,” you gasped, voice shaking. “Katsuki--oh my God—”

“Say my name again,” he growled against your cunt. “Let me hear it.”

“Katsuki!”

He latched onto your clit at that, sucking hard and fast until your legs trembled around his shoulders, your body rocking against the countertop like you were trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure—but he wasn’t having that.

“Don’t run,” he grunted. “Take it. You know how I eat. That pretty pussy still remembers, huh?”

Your orgasm slammed into you without warning, your hips jerking, mouth falling open in a silent cry as the waves of it crashed through you.

And Katsuki didn’t stop.

Not until your thighs were twitching, not until your hands fisted in his hair and you were whimpering his name like a prayer. Only then did he pull back, licking his lips like he had just finished your famous Sunday dinners.

"Fuckin' missed you so much ma, please, please tell me you've missed me too?" He practically whined as he pulled down his joggers just enough to free himself.

You couldn’t stop staring. He was hard, thick, already leaking, and somehow even bigger than you remembered.

Or maybe it just felt that way because it had been too long.

His hand gripped your chin, your eyes meeting each other as you tucked your lip between your teeth.

"Come on baby..." He ran his length between your folds, tapping the tip against your clit a couple of times causing you to whine.

"Missed you so much 'Suki please."

He slid in, slow but deep—too deep. You choked on a gasp as he filled you to the brim, head dropping to his shoulder.

“Fuck—so tight,” he groaned, gripping your hips. “You really ain’t let nobody touch this since me, huh?”

You shook your head, panting. “Only you.”

And damn if that didn’t break something in him.

He pulled out slow, almost all the way, then slammed back in, hard enough to jolt the dishes on the counter. Your body arched into his, hands scrabbling for something to hold on to as he started to fuck you in earnest.

He was trying to make up for lost time, every deep stroke had him whispering praises in your ear.

You're whining and moaning like an absolute slut and it makes his dick throb and his balls tighten, pussy clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, I miss hearing those sounds." His hands pull your thighs further apart, thumb strumming at your clit while he fucked you into a trance. Your eyes had taken up residence in the back of your head as the sheer force of every thrust had your bonnet slipping halfway done your head, little by little your braids started falling into your face making you look like a fucking Goddess.

He could feel you tightening around him, letting go of your thighs his hand clamped around your throat as he pulled you into a searing kiss tongues and teeth lashing together as your legs wrapped around him, pulling him in like you were trying to become one.

He continued to pound you into oblivion, fucking you like it might be the last time, but you hoped to God that it wasn't.

Mine,” he growled against your lips, slamming into you again and again. “You're mine, this family is mine, say it."

“Yours,” you gasped, nails digging into his back. “Always been yours, daddy—fuck!”

He feels the way you go rigid in his arms, the first syllable of his name stuck in your throat and he knew your cumming for him again.

He felt it—the way you locked up around him, the way your cunt milked him like it never wanted to let go. You came again, loud and messy, coating his cock in a creamy white slick, and he followed you soon after, hips jerking, breath catching as he emptied inside you with a deep, guttural groan.

The kitchen was silent except for your breathing. Heavy, shaky. The kind that came with everything—sex, love, grief.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Just held you.

You curled into him instinctively, lips pressed to his neck, and you stayed like that for a moment. Wrapped up in each other. The ache was still there. But it didn’t hurt as much now.

“You think he heard us?” Katsuki muttered after a beat.

You snorted, voice muffled by his shirt. “He sleeps like a rock.”

Katsuki leaned back, brushing your cheek with his thumb. "I meant what I said, can we talk, properly?"

You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©