#he avoids us like the plague & we avoid him back

[sweatyracoon]

Tell Me

A/n: Sorry it's been so long. I'll try to be more active, but enjoy this in the mean time.

Warnings: suggestive, vampire boy, angst, fluff?

You had known Felix for a while, but you felt like you didn't know him at the moment.

A few weeks ago he left the shared apartment to visit a few friends at the theater. He came back feeling a little sick.

It had lasted a few days. You stayed home from work trying to help him feel better. It seemed like the flu or a head cold.

He got better, but he was still extremely pale, making his freckles brighter than they had ever been.

His eyes seemed brighter, but darkened when he became upset. He started avoiding you a bit more each passing day, confusing you.

He left the house more often, more during the evening. He felt cold anytime you tried reaching for him, flinching at the temperature of his skin. What was going on with him? Was he still sick?

You asked him once, but he claimed to be fine. It made you sad knowing that your friend didn't feel he could confine in you.

He was wearing more sleeved shirts despite it being summer.

You had finally had enough, not knowing where he was at the late hours if the night.

You decided to stay up in the living room to wait. It was nearly four before you finally heard the door handle unlock.

You stuttered, close to sleep before you heard him. You quickly turned on the light, making him wince in surprise.

He turned to face you, making your jaw drop slightly.

You hadn't seen him face to face in a long while. Just a side glance in passing.

His features had changed drastically.

His blonde hair was black due to tonight's antics, and his freckles had paled, but still leave the highlights to his pale face. His eyes larger somehow, with a red tint. His lips plump and wet, his canines poking out from his top lip.

His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking straight into your eyes.

"Where have you been?" You asked quietly.

"Out," he responded, pocketing his keys. The light jingle of the chain filled the silence.

"But where, Felix? I hardly see you anymore, and you've changed." You plead with him suddenly,missing your best friend.

"I haven't changed, y/n. I've just been busy, is all." He sighed, walking to the island in the kitchen, grabbing a glass to fill with water.

"Your hair is black, Felix," You deadpan, not letting it go.

"Just a dumb decision one of the guys suggested. You like it?" He grinned, sipping from the glass.

You couldn't tell him no, because boy, did the color do him justice. His long hair framed his face, and since it was dark, it went really well with his pale features. You gulped.

"Yes, but-" he interrupted.

"So? I'm alright, y/n. Nothing's wrong," he washed his cup, hoping you'd quiet about the subject. "Why are you awake, anyway? It's nearly time for you to go to work."

"I took the day off. I was hoping we could hang out like we used to? We haven't done that since you've gotten sick," you say, hoping to get to him. Not necessarily guilt tripping, but guilt tripping.

He paused, swallowing nervously.

"I work today," he said quickly, confirming your suspicion.

"Felix, you don't have a job," you sigh, suddenly feeling defeat.

It seemed like your best friend didn't want to spend time with you. Which was fine. You just wish he'd admit it rather than tip toeing around you.

"I just don't think it'd be a good idea is all, y/n," He sighed, coming over to stand a few feet from where you sat. "It's not you, honey. I just have some things going on,"

"Like what, Felix?" You stood suddenly, making his eyes widen. "What's so important that you don't even want to see me? You avoid me like the plague, and it makes sad. We used to do everything together. What happened to you?"

At this point you were nearly yelling, and Felix took a few steps back in shock. You were known for your patience.

"I-"

"And don't give me that nothing bullcrap. Something is obviously going on. Do you have a girlfriend? Is that it?" You were close to tears in frustration.

Felix stopped, looking at you like you had just slapped him.

"Girlfriend? No! I told you I was hanging with the guys! Bangchan and Hyunjin, the ones I introduced you to. Listen, I'm just going through something is all. It's not you," Felix tries calming you down, but it only gets you more worked up.

"What is it? What are you going through that we can't go through together? We always did,"

His eyes softened at your words, coming closer to you.

"I'm just going through some changes. I'm still getting used to them. I'm sure you've noticed a few," he tilted his head at you, waiting for you to follow.

It was then when you caught the light bouncing from his bottom lip. They were still moist, and his top canines poked through, leaving small indents on his lower lip.

"Did you sharpen your teeth? And you are more pale...other than that and the hair, I don't see much of a difference."

It was a lie. You noticed everything. How he changed how he dressed slightly, showcasing his tiny figure. How his hands seemed more pronounced, as if he had suddenly hit puberty, the hunger in his gaze. Not lustful, but a yearning for someone to understand whatever it was that he was going through.

"No, I didn't. It's natural...kinda." he smiled lightly. "It's kinda hard to explain."

"Just try," you begged, grasping at his hands, making him freeze.

"why are you so cold? Do you want me to turn on the heat?" You asked, brings his hands up to your neck hoping to heat them up.

"Uhh, no. I'm okay."

He couldn't breathe all of the sudden. He felt the pulse under your skin, the artery that laid just underneath his palm.

"Just look, okay? Don't freak out?" He looked at you, and you nodded.

He gently twisted his neck to the side, showing his neck. You were confused about what he wanted you to see. Until you saw them.

Two marks on the soft skin of his neck where it met his shoulder. Dots. Resembling the same marks as the ones on tv. Vampire bite marks.

"Is this a joke?" You ask, your voice void of any emotion. You let your hands loosen around felixs', his hands dropping back to his sides.

"No," His eyes glowed with confusion. He did what you asked. "I told you-"

He silenced quickly when you brought two rough fingers up to his neck, rubbing a lot harder than you meant to. You wanted to run the makeup off his neck.

"Ow!" He jerked away from you.

That area of his neck was slightly red, but the bite mark remainder as bright as ever.

"Why isn't it rubbing off?" You ask hesitantly.

"Because it's real, damnit!" He scoffed, massaging the irritated area gently.

"How? All that junk isnt real, Felix. This is a terrible excuse to-"

You couldn't even finish, Felix suddenly snapping, pushing you against the wall. You were pinned, your breath quickening at the sight of your friend.

His eyes blazed a wicked red while his teeth seemed to grow. He scowled, showcasing the pearly whites that framed his wet tongue. His hair suddenly disheveled, his breathing heavy.

"I said, it's real! Just listen to me. Your the one that told me to spill what was wrong!" He all but growled at you, making you cower.

"What are you, Felix?" You whisper, surprised you didn't feel any fear. If anything, you could have sworn you were slightly aroused. But you weren't going to think about that right now.

"I'm still me. Nothing more, nothing less, okay?" His gaze softened as well as his tone, lowering his arms from the makeshift cage he had put you in.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

You cut him off with a hug, smiling, feeling relieved at knowing your best friend still wanted you.

"It's okay. It might be a side effect? I'll let it slide. Just don't let it happen often," you grin, seeing the weight fall from his shoulders.

"Can we still hang out tomorrow?" He grinned back, holding your hand.

"Yes. Now let's go to sleep." You said, yawning. You felt the tiredness crumble onto you.

"Oh...I can't sleep."

You groaned, leaving him to stand in the living room giggling.

[blablablabla-ur-mom]

Every day that we get closer to tgr being released, I become.e just a little more unhinged. So here is my theory for Jeremy's backstory and elodie maybe being alive.

(This has no real chance of being canon but hey we got tsc through being delusional. )

So we know Jeremy has an older brother (gonna call him Joe for convenience cuz I forgot his name) that he avoids like the plague, and Stuart said elodie was bought by an arms dealer.

Young teen Joe joined a gang in secret and quickly started working his way up the ranks. Now one of the gangsters had a friend on the other side of the world, that happened to sell guns. This friend is the arms dealer that bought elodie.

A little while before the banquet, the arms dealer visits his friend. Joe tracks him down and tries to buy a weapon

The dealer refuses because reasons and instead Joe waits for him to meet up with his friend and steals a gun.

Joe does who knows what with the gun, and soon realizes that he just fucked with an arms dealer. So he tries to pin it on his little brother Jeremy.

Jeremy, who is at the banquet, is completely oblivios to his older brother sneaking in and planting an unregistered firearm into his bag. He is completly unaware when event security walks up and tells him he has to leave. Then he's at the station, shaking his head because he doesn't know how a gun got into his bag he doesn't now how any of this happened! But the police don't believe him and in the end his parents have to do a lot of shit to cover this up. The dealer knows better than to go after him because he is a governors son. And Jeremy never again trusts cop because how the fuck did they not see the guilty look on his brothers face.

I made a previous post about elodie being alive and one of the responses said she may have been bought to be used as target practice. I hate this idea but I'm running with it.

Flash forward a few years and elodie is 14/15. She is malnourished, covered in scars from bullets she could not dodge, and is barely there. But she is a Moreau, and she will endure. She will endure until her captors either kill her, or she finds a way out and back to her family. Not her parents, but the brother that was taken from her, he is her only family, the only thing that has kept her going these long years.

one day, she hears gunshots, not unusual but the amount of shots is. And there men grabbing her and taking her somewhere, and she's kicking and screaming because she thinks this is the end. Then they put something over her mouth and everything goes dark.

She wakes up in a hospital room with two strange men sitting across from her. They're speaking a language she doesn't understand and have to bring in a translator. They ask for her name but takes a few moments for the translator to understand her because of how hoarse her voice is. "My name is Elodie Moreau"

She finds out her brother sold out their family, that the fbi have been investigating her family and the contact her mother sold her too. She finds out Jean is alive.

Jean and Jeremy are at home when they get a knock at the door. It's an agent and he saying Jean has to come with him. Instead of taking Jean to the building where they took his confesion, they take him to a hospital. He's confused for all of a second when he steps into the room. Then he sees her. The sister he thought he'd lost is sitting there. To anyone else she would have been unrecognizable, but he knows. He kniws because he's dreamt if seeing those very same gray eyes again for years. She may be covered in wretched scars that make him want to throttle his parents, but she's there.

[uygfiug]

sometimes my parents make me want to commit violent crimes

[whatisthisnonsense]

"mutants are poc analogy" "mutants are queer analogy" Listen, X-Men and as such mutants as a whole should really be disability representation, and I mean representation and not analougous to it they just occassionally also get to blast ice while having furniture not built for them, struggles with keeping their mind in the present, and constantly having people casually discuss sterilizing or euthanizing them and being considered either dangerous or simply incapable of understanding when they get mad about this. But nobody is ready for this conversation.

[propertyofwicked]

FIRST - LN

lando discovers his bestfriends little sister is a virgin, and will stop at no lengths to change that (and ruin her for anyone else)

warnings: smut!! MDNI!! virgin reader, fewtrell!sister, mostly soft smut with a small innocence kink

✧ it's officially assignment szn and ur girl is STRESSED. my posts wont be as frequent for a while but i am currently creating a backlog of things to post! ✧

masterlist the playlist

“ok, y/n - truth or dare?” ria asked the girl from across the circle they sat in on the floor of max’s living room.

being so close in age to her older brother, y/n fewtrell fit in well with his friendship group, often preferring to hang out with them over her own friends. a few others were dotted around the house, P and a couple girls using the kitchen. they were all due to head to a club soon, only using max’s house to pre drink as he lived closest.

“truth,” she responded, giggling slightly as the alcohol began to turn her tipsy - not drunk, just jolly she had told max when he last checked on her.

“where is the weirdest place you’ve had sex?” ria asked, giggling to herself at the rest of the group laughed, turning to face y/n for her answer. she went silent, heat rising her face gradually. her eyes scanned the group, everyone staring expectantly at her - only max avoided her gaze, looking at his phone to queue songs to the playlist.

“i- uh, well i guess i…haven’t?” she replied, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole. she didn’t know why she was so embarrassed - she was 19, almost 20, and it seemed that everyone around her was coupled up, or at least active in that department. and, it hadn’t been through lack of trying, every man she had almost been with had found out and used it to get to who she was related to - and subsequently, lando - or gave her the ick before they got the chance to.

“what do you mean you haven’t?!” niran had laughed out, he hadn’t meant to laugh, he just couldn’t believe it.

“i ju-”

“ok can we stop quizzing my little sister on her sex life? please,” max interrupted, y/n sighing out a breath of relief when they finally moved to the next person. her eyes scouted across the group of people, glad to see them all distracted and no longer giving her the sympathy eyes over her pathetic excuse of a love life.

in her embarrassment, however, y/n missed the way lando’s eyes had darted to look at her when she had answered, missing the way they darkened slightly at the revelation. he shook the thoughts plaguing his mind away, focusing on keeping his face neutral as he watched the blush rising her cheeks.

she didn’t miss the way his eyes followed her as she snuck out the room, however. she’d hope no one would notice her sneaking into the kitchen, smiling at P before swiping a bottle of something and heading to the garden, legs landing gracefully to sit on a step.

this was not the first time she had dwelled on this, but this time, she could at least comfort the blow of her overactive brain by drinking - or so she thought. as not a moment after she’d removed the cap, the bottle was being snatched from her hands and closely inspected by a man towering above her crouched body.

“this smells like ass, y/n - are you sure you wanna drink it?” lando asked her, lowering himself to sit on the step next to her. the sky was darkening, stars filling the vast blackness.

“yes im sure, thanks dad,” she mocked him, arms reaching over to snatch the bottle from him, but once again, he moved his arm out, stretching the bottle further from her reach.

“nuh uh!” lando said, shaking his head, “only when you tell me why you intend on drinking what im sure is the finest bottle of… £3.99 vodka - jesus, £3.99?”

“sorry mister ‘owns-2-mclarens-and-a-lambo’,” she replied, leaning further into his side in a desperate bid to get the bottle back - she wasn’t even sure she wanted to drink it anymore, she just wanted something to fiddle with when lando eventually forced her to talk to him.

“didn’t answer my question, darlin’” he told her, placing the bottle besides him as he removed one of his threaded bracelets, placing it in her exposed palm.

oh he knew her a little too well.

“i jus- no it’s so stupid,” she conceded, the bracelet twisting around her fingers. she stared directly at it, refusing to meet lando’s intense gaze.

“bet it’s not,” he told her, moving an arm to wrap around her when he felt the chill air brush his own skin.

“you know what’s worse than having to announce to your friends that you’re a lonely little virgin that no one wants? being the lonely little virgin. it’s so fucking embarrassing - i’m 19, hell i’m nearly 20 and when everyone around you has someone in their life, it’s so hard not to feel so behind in your own life, to feel completely unlovable, to constantly feel like there’s something wrong with you,” she breathed out, still refusing to make eye contact with the man besides her.

lando took in a deep breath, choosing his next words so carefully. his hand reached up to her chin, turning her face to look up at his.

“y/n, you are not unlovable, you’re not falling behind in life and there is certainly nothing wrong with you,” he told her, his tone harsh in attempt to knock some sense into her. she shook her head at him in disbelief, his hand dropping back to his side.

“see, i really want to believe you but the evidence isn’t really stacking up in support of your argument. if that was true, i probably wouldn’t be sat in my brother’s back garden throwing myself a pity party.”

“i think your brother might’ve had a part to play in this, if im honest y/n,” lando said, slipping up slightly. she paused at his words, before her head shot round to look at him again.

“what? what do you mean max has something do with the fact no one wants me?”

“it’s not that no one wants you, y/n,” he sighed at her again before giving in, realising he’d already said too much to stop now, “it’s just that max has a bad habit of… threatening anyone who even mentions you in that way?” he added, his tone making it sound like he wasn’t even sure himself.

“threatening them?” she repeated, anger beginning to bubble up in her stomach.

“he’s only actually hit 2 of them - hell even ive had a close call with his fist a few times,” lando laughed, before realising what he’d indirectly admitted to. luckily, neither of them had time to dwell on it before the man in question popped his head round the door.

“what are you two losers doing out here?” he joked, before sensing some tension being thrown his way, “whatever, we’re leaving in a minute if you wanna get ready?”

“no thanks,” y/n told him, pushing herself up and beginning to walk past him.

“huh?” max replied, confused.

“i said, no thanks. wouldn’t wanna risk you punching anyone who shows the slightest interest in me,” she added, arms crossed over her chest as she glared at him. she turned quickly on her heel, walking off, ignoring the group as she trailed up to the spare bedroom.

the two boys shared a look between them, lando’s face holding that of apology whilst max’s was gradually moving to infuriated.

“what did you tell her?” max asked him, jaw clenching slightly.

“i didn’t mean to,” lando replied, throwing his arms out slightly as he stood up, “i just thought she ought to know that the reason boys don’t go for her is not because she is completely unlovable.”

“she said that?” max asked, startled slightly at the comment, “she thought she was unlovable?”

lando said nothing, throwing a simple nod at him before brushing past him and making his way to the front door.

y/n laid in her bed, her mind racing through the conversation with lando, like a record on repeat. she’d heard the rest of them leave the house almost an hour ago, leaving her to lay with her own thoughts once more.

there was nothing wrong with her, max just threatened anyone who came too close to her.

max had punched 2 guys who had tried to get with her.

max had tried to punch lando - wait, why had he tried to punch lando?

the sound of the front door opening, then quickly shutting again drew her from her thoughts, a natural panic spreading through her veins.

“hello?” she called out, confused as to who could be walking in the house right now. there was no response for a moment, the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs filled the silence.

“it’s just me, baby,” a voice called out, the childhood nickname letting her know it was lando approaching her bedroom. the name used to be max and lando’s attempt to tease the girl, calling her a baby when she cried after dropping her ice cream. that was when she was 7, but 13 years later, the nickname still stuck. somewhere along the line, the name had turned from mimicking to a term of endearment, blurring the lines of their friendship every time he called out to her.

“oh thank god, i thought you were a murderer,” she joked, her breathing easing as his head poked around the door, eyes meeting hers.

“you thought i was a murderer and chose to shout ‘hello’? brave, or stupid?” lando joked back.

“never let them know your next move,” y/n replied with a shrug, before noticing the way one of lando’s hands remained hidden behind the door, “whatcha got there?” she asked him, the way one would ask a dog who had something they shouldn’t.

“depends, are you gonna be nice to me?” he shot back.

“me? im always nice to you, lan,” an innocent smile built on her face.

“tell that to the scar on my back.”

“tell the scar on your back to get over it, it was 10 years ago,” she snorted as he moved further into the door frame.

“no ice cream for you then,” lando replied, smirking at her as he shrugged.

“you got ice cream?” she asked, eyes widening at him.

“thought you might wanna watch a film and forget about tonight with a flurry.”

“gimme,” y/n said, making grabby hands that would’ve been embarrassing had she not already had the worst night of her life.

“nuh uh, not until you’re nice to m-”

“oh get over here you drama queen,” she groaned at him, patting the spot next to her on the bed. lando would never say no to her, giving in so easily as he climbed under the blanket, an arm falling naturally behind her head as he did.

he began fiddling with the tv remote, scrolling through netflix for something to watch. y/n leant further into his embrace, her head settling lightly on his chest as she looked up at him.

“lan - why didn’t you stay at the club?” she asked quietly, fighting the urge to fiddle with her fingers, nervous at the thought of insinuating that he’d want to spend his evening with her instead.

“clubs are only good when you’re drunk,” lando replied with a shrug, eyes still focused on the tv, “id rather just be the designated driver and still be able to get up for training in the morning.”

his eyes flitted down at her quickly, glad she’d returned her gaze to the screen as if he’d seen her wide eyes staring up at him, lando doubted he’d be able to control himself. what she’d revealed earlier still flew around his brain as he fought desperately to shake away any thoughts of taking her innocence, ruining her for anyone else. god, he felt like a creep.

the two fell into a comfortable silence, both of them appearing to focus on the film playing in front of them. lando’s hand remained tightly around her waist, his hand moving beneath her shirt slightly for his fingers to trace circles into her skin. her head remained on his chest, each breath taking in the lingering smell of his aftershave.

“lan?” she broke the silence again, looking up at him once again.

“yes, baby?” he replied, eyes never straying from the screen.

“what did you mean earlier when you said max had even tried to punch you?”

his head shot down to look at her, feeling himself crumble slightly as her eyes stared widely up at him, her tired voice drawing him further into the trap. he could lie, tell her it was a misunderstanding. or he could tell her the truth, and pray it didn’t destroy his entire friendship with the fewtrell siblings.

“when you told me i wasn’t unlovable earlier, you really meant…” she asked, filling in for his silence. she trailed off at the end of her sentence, unwilling to get her hopes up.

“yeah.. so about that,” he said, trying to regain his confidence. she hit at his chest lightly, pushing herself to sit up and look at his face clearer than ever.

“how long?” she asked him with unwavering eye contact.

“longer than i want to admit,” lando replied, smiling at her awkwardly, “and i understand if you don’t fe-”

“kiss me.”

“wha-”

“you heard me,” she told him before joining their lips apprehensively. it started off slow, both testing the waters before falling into a steady pace. his tongue swiped her bottom lip softly, deepening the kiss as his hand raised to hold her jaw. she stifled a moan, embarrassed at the way her body was reacting to the slightest touch.

“don’t get shy on me now, baby,” he told her, hands dropping to her waist, “come ‘ere.”

lando’s hands settled on her hips, fingers gripping at them slightly to guide her onto his lap. as she settled into the new position, he kissed her again, gentle in the way he pulled her in closer, his free hand disappearing under her shirt to draw circles into her skin once more. her hips instinctively rolled into his at the feeling, and he gripped at her skin harder, a small groan escaping his mouth.

“fuck, keep that up and i won’t be able to stop,” he warned her as she rolled her hips again. his head dropped to her jaw, pressing soft kisses along the skin.

“what if i don’t want this to stop?” she asked him, causing him to pause, looking up at her softly.

“are you sure?” he asking, checking her face for any sign of hesitancy. she nodded at him before speaking.

“there’s no one i trust more.”

with her reassurance, lando flipped the top of them over, trailing kisses down her neck as he hovered above her.

“we’ll go slow,” he told her as he pulled at her t-shirt, tugging the fabric up her torso, “wanted this for so long. gonna take my time with you,” he mumbled, pressing soft kisses to the skin of her stomach. her back arched into him slightly, helping him remove her top fully. y/n felt exposed, more so than usual. had it not been for lando’s large hands snaking up to grab at her breasts, she would’ve used her own to shield her nudity.

“so gorgeous,” he mumbled again, before dipping his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth, tongue flicking at it, his fingers tugged at the other. he pushed himself back up, re joining their lips in a sweet kiss.

“gonna make you feel good, alright?” he asked her, watching the way her head nodded at him, “yeah? need you to use your words from now on baby.”

“think you should take your top off now,” she told him, her confidence returning slightly, “seems a bit unfair,” she added, jokingly pointing at her own exposed chest.

“so it is,” he agreed, sitting back on his knees as his hands gripped the bottom of his own t-shirt, lifting it over his head. the material landed on the floor, but y/n couldn’t care less - she was much more focused on the way his muscles looked, a combination of his tan and the soft fairy lights illuminating his features in a way that had her stomach rolling for him.

“oi! my eyes are up here,” he joked, settling himself between her legs. lando’s hands trailed up the exposed skin of her thighs, dragging his fingers slowly. her hips jutted up slightly at the sensation, a satisfied smirking fighting its way onto lando’s face.

“this ok?” he asked her, hands toying with the waistband of her shorts.

“yeah,” she breathed out, anticipation beginning to get the better of her as he began pulling the material away from her heat.

“tell me to stop and i’ll stop,” lando told her, discarding her shorts with his top, before adjusting his gaze to her, “just relax f’me. breathe,” he added, noticing the way her chest had frozen, breath caught in her throat. a finger ran through her folds softly, her hips rolling slightly at the sudden feeling of his rough finger pad circling her clit. his movements stopped for a moment as he moved back up her body, kissing her softly as he gathered her slick along his fingers.

“so wet for me,” he told her, kissing at her jaw, “gonna get you ready for me, ok?”

“please, lan,” she begged, panting slightly as his fingers circled her heat again, pressing into her slightly. it’s not like she hadn’t done this before on herself, which was potentially her downfall the moment he pressed a finger into her, the stretch unexpected. lando’s face pressed into her neck, kissing a trail along the skin as he pumped his finger a few times. he could hear every noise she made for him so clearly, drawing him to push a second finger into her, feeling the way her walls clamped around him.

“im ready, lan, please just fuck me,” she begged him, panting in between her words. he could’ve passed out her words, blood rushing from his brain and straight to his cock. his body pushed back up, standing quickly to remove the rest of his clothes. her hands halted him as they reached out and grabbed at the waist band of his joggers, pulling them down slowly as the pressure of his cock strained against the tight material. he helped her remove them fully, her spare hand adding difficulty as she palmed him through his boxers.

“fuck, angel,” he groaned, careful not to overwhelm her as she pulled at his boxers, tugging them down as she had his joggers. however they soon established his noises were not as overwhelming as the size of his cock - her eyes widening as she came face to face with it, her finger running down the thick vein that travelled his length.

“like what you see?” he joked in attempt to ease her nerves.

“how-? is that gonna fit?” she stuttered, gaze travelling down to her stomach as if she were trying to size herself up.

“im sure we’ll make it work,” he replied, hand reaching to her chin, forcing her to look back up at him, “remember, we can stop whenever.”

she nodded at him, before reaching up, looping her arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. he used the leverage to lay her back down, hovering over her once again as he rested on his forearm. without breaking the kiss, he reached down, guiding his cock through her folds a few times before settling the tip at her entrance.

“you sure?” lando checked again, searching her face for any last minute apprehension.

“are you sure?” she retorted, her smile illuminated by the moons glow, “can’t imagine fucking a virgin is high on your bucket list.”

“you’d be surprised,” he responded, mumbling slightly, his cock throbbed in his hand. he began lowering his hips, pushing into her slowly, low grunts falling from his lips as he disappeared further inside her.

“breathe baby, breathe for me,” he told her, feeling the way her body had tensed, her chest stilling as she inhaled deeply, “feel so good.”

lando waited a moment, watching the way her face softened, his necklace dangling dangerously around her lips. he started moving at a gentle pace, careful to listen to her responses.

“feels good,” she told him, eyes looking into his.

“yeah? ‘my the first person to make you feel good?” he asked, baiting her slightly.

“yes, fuck lan. only you.”

he close to lost it, his brain short circuiting at her words. he began to move faster in her, relishing in the way she moaned his name, her walls contracting around his cock. his hand reached between the two of them, fingers flicking at her clit before drawing pressured circles around her heat.

“faster, lan, please,” y/n begged him, her hand raising to tug at his curls.

“gonna ruin you for anyone else, angel,” he grunted, hips snapping into hers at a brutal pace, his eyes focused on the way her breasts moved in unison with his thrusts.

lando felt his high coming quicker than he could ever remember, feeling the way her grip on his bicep tightened and her breathing became more sporadic letting him know she was close too.

“you wanna cum with me?” he asked her, his tone soft whilst his pace remained rough, his fingers beginning to trace his own name on her clit. it gave him a sense of ownership over her, an invisible trace of him that would linger on her sensitivity forever - and she loved it, whining at the feeling of his skin on hers.

“please, fuck. wanna cum,” she told him, eyes shutting as her head rolled back. lando’s head dropped to her exposed neck, his teeth nipping at the skin before he titled his head further, mouth landing on the flesh of her breast. he’d quickly realised that leaving visible mark on his best friends little sister was potentially not the smartest idea, choosing to nip at the skin of her tit, mouth sucking the flesh into his lips as he did. his raised himself up again, admiring the way blood ran to the surface of her skin, only imagining the way she’d look when a bruise formed on the spot.

“only me?” he asked her, hand moving to grip her jaw, dark eyes locking with hers.

“only you,” she replied in a breathless moan.

“good girl,” he said, feeling the way her hips rolled up into his, heat running through her entire body as her climax washed over her. y/n shook around him lightly, her stomach spasming as she rode out her high, but lando couldn’t stop and admire the view. he pulled out quickly, feeling his own high rising in his cock, both of their eyes glued on the way his cock shot out ropes of cum that landed on her stomach.

“so….” she started, trying to fill the somewhat awkward tension in the room.

“we are so doing that again,” he said with a chuckle and he moved to locate his joggers on the floor.

“oh absolutely,” she replied, laughing with him as the fear of him leaving her washed away, though her eyebrow quirked up at him as he shuffled to the door.

“just grabbing a cloth. gotta get you cleaned up so we can finish the film,” he added with a smile.

minutes later, they were both sat back in the bed, her legs thrown over his lap as one hand grazed the skin of his back lightly, lando’s hand running up and down her thigh in a similar fashion. they sat in a comfortable silence, knowing that eventually they would need to discuss the future of this, the future of them, but for now lando relished in the way her hand continuously stroked at the same spot on his back. the same spot - he internally questioned.

“watcha doing?” he finally asked, curious to her supposed fixation on his left shoulder blade.

“apologising to the scar on your back?” she retorted, circling back to their earlier conversation.

“never apologise for anything ever again,” he mumbled into her hair, before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“what if i murdered your entire family?” she piped up.

“i support women’s rights and their wrongs.”

“preach.”

-

✧ inbox/requests are open ✧

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

༻Masterlist༺

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Shapeshifter x Reader

Featuring a clueless Reader and the grotesque "dog" she found in a cursed forest, yet this time they're joined by a strange man. Where did he come from, and why does the dog run away whenever he comes by? Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, mildly NSFW [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

You couldn't help but stare a little at the stranger who so persistently knocked on your door. His eyes had a peculiar color - one similar to the little dog who followed you home from your hiking trip. You bit your tongue from saying such nonsense, worrying it might be taken as an insult. He extended his long, bony fingers and lowered a wallet in your open palms. "You must've dropped this somewhere", he remarked with feigned worry. "I used the address on your ID card."

Whatever initial suspicion weighed on your shoulders had instantly dispersed into thin air. You thanked the man profusely, and invited him in for a drink. "Careful with my dog, he's-" you begun warning, but the quadruped creature was nowhere to be seen. Mysterious. You led the benevolent soul into your living room with a smile.

One thing led to another, and the polite meetings for coffee turned into steamy nights in the retreat of your bedroom. Around the same time you stopped having your bizarre wet dreams involving some deformed monstrosity ramming into you. Perhaps a loving partner was all you needed. To your great shock - and delight - the stranger never abandoned you the morning after, unlike all the previous flirts. This is the one, you told yourself. For once, you had company. You had consistency.

Unfortunately, your friends don't agree with you. Your dreamy retellings are met with grimaces and horrified shivers. "He has such an unique appearance", you'll argue. "It's uncanny valley", your friends will counter, embracing themselves in a fearful, shielding manner. They claim he must be yet another curse brought by the damned devil of a hound you keep as a pet.

Every discussion regarding your beloved will turn into a back and forth. "The voice is inhuman. A broken record, as if he's copying the rest of us, with jarring interruptions and words randomly patched together!" You wave your hand in dismissal. "He's just a little shy", you say with a faint blush. You've always had a soft spot for introverts. "He's insane! Last time someone complimented your outfit, he begun chanting at the dinner table!" You puff out a chuckle. "He must be religious, or something", you defend him ardently. No one dares to mention the flickering lights, or the fact that the targeted friend never left the confines of their room after that encounter.

You will admit one thing: your dog seems to avoid this man like the plague. You've never seen the two of them together in a room. Could your friends be right? They do say dogs can sniff out bad people. You shake your head. It can't be. You get out of bed, rub your eyes, and check the time: 2am. The space next to you is empty, sheets ruffled aside. Out of curiosity, you head outside the room and follow the faint light in the kitchen. The stranger stands before the fridge, face smudged red and fingers stained and glossy. He's holding what seems to be a half-chewed heart, probably taken out of the raw organs bag you keep for your dog. "Heh. I see you like late snacking, too", you joke, dragging out a chair. "Pass me the cheese, will ya? But...maybe wash your hands first."

This isn't right. Sure, he's fucking you better than anyone else ever did, and you find his mysterious aura endearing. Yet you can't help the guilt eating at your innards, knowing that your dog cannot coexist with this man. Something has to be done, so you call out your partner and pat the sofa you're sitting on. "We must talk", you tell him. "What might be troubling you", he inquires quietly, frozen in the doorframe. "I'm afraid my pet comes before anything else", you confess. "And he seems to be scared of you...I'm not sure our current situation is sustainable." Ah. That's what it was. The man lets out a whistled laugh, as if remembering something.

His bones begin to break in wet, fluid succession, as coarse fur takes over his skin. He lowers himself to his fours, snout wide open in a sharp, toothy grin. "You mean this dog, yes?"

[saeist]

it’s complicated ── bakugo k. (3.4k) ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part one

“kats..” you murmur

“yeah?”

“what are we exactly?”

your voice cuts through the air. you can feel bakugo’s grip tighten around your body. like he froze in his spot right next to you in his bed.

“well, what do you want us to be?” his voice is gentle, yet there's an underlying tension. bakugo uses his free hand to tuck some hair that was getting in the way of your face. his thumb slowly caressing the apples of your cheeks as he stares into your eyes, bracing (and dreading) for your answer

this time you stay quiet. unsure how to answer or better yet, unsure how to get your point across to your... friend? semi lover? your situationship

you know yourself that you do like bakugo. again, he might be rough around the edges but you've learned to look past that and see him for who he is

bakugo is a lot more than what he shows on the surface

and you've been given the privilege to experience the side of bakugo katsuki that he hides

"well, i don't know either.." you say truthfully after giving it much thought in such notice (lies. you've been thinking about it since the slumber party happened)

unbeknownst to you, bakugo's heart drops. what do you mean you don't know what you want to be with him? did you not like him back? bakugo's almost certain you do. if you don't like him then why are you in bed with him? if you don't like him then why do you bother sticking around?

bakugo's thoughts are getting to him. you can tell with the way he's slowly unwrapping his arms around you and sits up.

for the first time, the air is suffocating. neither of you speak up on the situation that's brewing just from an innocent question about where your little relationship is heading

"i should leave.." you mutter, slowly pulling yourself off his bed and heading towards the door

"... yeah" bakugo rasps, almost like a whisper, looking away

there's a little ache in your heart when he didn't even bother stopping you. pursing your lips, you quietly leave his room to head back to yours

did you ruin whatever chances you had with your question?

the door closed behind you with a soft click, but it echoed loudly in your mind, marking the beginning of an uneasy distance.

—

the following day, the tension between you two becomes palpable during training.

the air is thick with unresolved tension. you were coincidentally paired with bakugo this time around and bakugo’s usual focus is a little disrupted. his movements remain sharp as they are but his usual techniques feel a little all over the place, almost as if he couldn't focus at all. obviously you notice but you’re hesitant to approach and you don't act on it. you ignored the way he was being a little rougher that you swore you were gonna get bruises at the end of the session.

midway through the intense spar, you have successfully pinned bakugo down after hitting him with your quirk and in that moment, you both lock eyes. there’s a flicker of something – hurt, longing, confusion – but neither of you speaks

bakugo uses your distraction to his advantage and changes the scene. this time it was you who was pinned on the ground.

ectoplasm, who was the teacher in charge for this training session has called it a tie between the two of you

you push bakugo off yourself as you walk away before bakugo could even offer his arm out for you to take. the whole class watches of course and they finally take notice of the on going tension between the two of you

something shifted in the air after that training session that it was slowly getting unbearable for everyone as the days pass by

—

for the next few days after that training session, you and bakugo were avoiding each other like the plague. turning to different directions whenever you two would bump into each other whether it be around the school halls or back at the dormitory

the lack of communication for the past few days gave you an ample amount of time to sort out your thoughts and feelings. after giving it some thoughts, you think you were now ready to face bakugo again to ask him the same question but this time you think you had an answer

although that goes all out the window when you spot him talking to someone who seemed to be from another department just outside campus on your way back to the dormitory

you quickly hid behind a nearby bush to watch everything unfold before your very eyes

bakugo has always been popular in campus. especially when he won first place during the school's sports festival but his popularity and reputation skyrocketed even further during the school festival where he showed the rest of the students that he's talented in all aspects even when it comes to musicality

so it was pretty safe to assume he had admirers around campus and you think you were about to witness a live confession

you note that the girl in front of him was holding some kind of paper bag. it looked like it was a gift. your stomach churns at the sight that you almost felt ill. swallowing whatever pride you had left, you continue to watch the two of them conversing

you watch bakugo look at her with wide eyes. like he was surprised or something, you couldn’t really tell. the girl fidgets with the gift bag before bursting into giggles

that was your last straw. with a sharp breath, you leave your hiding spot and stormed away. with each step you take, the heavier it feels than the last. almost as if you were carrying the weight of uncertainty and jealousy

—

once you arrived, the people who were lounging around in the living room could tell you were upset. you did slam the front doors shut and you may or may not have unintentionally set your quirk off by locking the doors in the process. the rest of the class who weren't home yet, had to get kirishima to break the locks off.

by the time bakugo arrived, he finds the front doors broken much to his surprise. shrugging, he heads inside to see his friends and your friends all huddled up

"do you guys think they broke up?"

"hold up.. they were dating?!"

"omg keep up kaminari! well we think they did but they didn't really confirm it"

"wait! no wonder they're not seen together anymore! bakugo does look a little-"

"looks a little what?!" bakugo cuts off kirishima mid sentence by making his presence known to the group. all the girls and kaminari scream in surprise before scrambling to get away, not wanting to feel bakugo's wrath now that he himself knows that they were talking about him behind his back

kirishima throws his arm over bakugo's shoulder, completely unfazed by his usual antics at this point.

"as i was saying, you look a little out of it for the past few days. something happened to ya?" kirishima asks, "just a little while ago, y/n came home all upset and seemed to lock the locks that i had to break it so the rest of you could come in" he continues

bakugo's eyes widened. fuck, he thinks to himself. bakugo's almost 99% sure why you were upset. he isn't dense as you think he is. he actually noticed you hiding behind the bushes when he was caught up with a student from a different course– who only came up to him to tell him that his zipper was all the way down before skipping back to her own friends

which was totally uncalled for as bakugo thinks

"earth to bakugo? anyone in there? or are the lights left open but nobody is home?" kirishima jokes, waves his hand around bakugo's face, breaking his trance

"shut up and mind your own damn business! all of you!" bakugo booms, loud enough that the girls who were hiding around could hear him

kirishima sighs, "now i don't know what's going on between you and y/n, but you guys need to talk. we don't like the tension going on and it's disrupting the class. talk to her, bro"

with that, kirishima walks away. bakugo could only stare at his back. he hates to admit it but kirishima is right. you guys do need to talk.

huffing, bakugo stomps his way towards his own room to change from his uniform and to formulate what he wants to say

—

meanwhile, amidst everything going on downstairs in the common area, you locked yourself in your room in attempt to calm yourself down.

"suppress it, y/n. it doesn't matter if someone else likes him! why would it matter to you anyway? you two aren't even a thing! friends don't get jealous over petty shit like this.." you sat in front of your dresser, repeatedly reminding yourself with your status with the blonde

suddenly you hear knocks on your door. you jolt up in surprise, totally not expecting anyone to check up on you after your little outburst. you looked in front of the mirror in case you had any makeup smeared or what not

the knocking gets louder by the minute and you scramble to open the door. when the door opens, you were met with all of the girls, who promptly invited themselves inside your room

"what's up..?" you say, unsure on what's going on

"what's up? what's up with you and bakugo is what's up! what's going on with the two of you?!" mina gets straight to the point, not even wasting a single second

at the mention of bakugo's name. your face sours

"nothing's going on" you sigh, not wanting to think about what happened just moments ago

"if nothing's going on then why do you look like that?" tsuyu questions

"like what?"

"like you're about to cry yourself to sleep!" mina exaggerates, pointing a finger at your face

did you really look that miserable?

with a deep sigh, you flop down on your bed, staring at the ceiling

"i think i like him" you start, feeling embarrassed to even say it out loud

"you think?!" mina reacts, lying down next to you

"mina! let her talk first" uraraka interjects, waiting for you to continue

"since you guys are all here let me just sum up what happened. so basically, i asked him what were we a few nights ago-"

hagakure squeals before immediately clamping her hand around her mouth

"sorry! continue.."

"anyway as i was saying, and then he turned the question back to me and i said i don't know because at the time i didn't know either! i didn't want to make the first move and yeah so now we're here" you finish your little story time quickly to save yourself from further embarrassment

the girls take their time to digest your little dilemma. the stunned silence is what made you realized what you just said. the post yap clarity getting to you

yaoyorozu was the first one to break the silence

"this is all my fault, y/n-san! i should've kept my question to myself instead of asking you. i'm so sorry" yaoyorozu cries out, hands flying to her face

with a sad smile, you reach over to remove her hands off her face

"it's not your fault, yaomomo. in fact you made me realize where we were standing. if anything, you helped me" you try to laugh it off.

well, it was true for the most part. yaoyorozu's question was the trigger you needed to help you realize what was going on between you and bakugo

"well, we don't really know what to say.. but you guys should talk" jirou says, patting your leg in a way to comfort you at least

"yeah i thought so too. we'll talk eventually.." you murmured. now all you want to do is to just lay in bed

"okay guys, visiting hours is over, let's all let y/n rest for the mean time" tsuyu prompts. all the girls agree and slowly they all get up from your bed and start to head out

you sit up, watching them huddle to your door.

"thanks guys" you smile at your friends, "thank you for checking up on me"

mina waves her hand off, "duh! we're your friends and we don't like seeing our friends upset. right guys?" mina ignites cheers.

"now we'll leave you alone with your thoughts. you know where to find us!" uraraka waves you goodbye before they all head out, leaving you alone.

once they were gone, you lay back down. now what? do you ask him first? no, that won't do. you already asked the question that brought you guys this dilemma in the first place. maybe you'll fuck things up even more

you're overthinking at this point. you close your eyes and attempt to sleep it off. yeah, that's what you need right now. maybe when you wake up, you'll be more level headed but for now, you just need to rest and that's what you do

on the way out of your room, the girls all run into kirishima in the hallway.

"girl intervention?" kirishima jokes, bumping fists with everyone

"hah! i wish. we were just checking up on y/n after her little outburst earlier. how's the door by the way?" mina asks, waving goodbye to the rest of the girls who went on their own separate ways

"nice. i just talked to bakugo too. told him he needs to get his shit together and talk to y/n since it's clearly noticeable to everyone that they're both going through something" kirishima shares

mina nods along to what he was saying. hopeful that their words get through your heads.

—

it was dinner time when bakugo takes notice of your absence in the table. he scanned the room, noting that everyone else was present. so where were you?

"where's y/n?" bakugo speaks before he could think. kirishima and mina both share a knowing look. "is she not gonna eat?"

"she's sleeping" tsuyu answers

"at this hour? it's literally 7:30PM!" kaminari cries out, "man, your self care practices really rubbing off of her huh?" he jokes, elbowing sero who was laughing at his implication

"what did you say, dunce face?!" bakugo stands up, explosions going off on his palms.

"bakugo! manners!" iida scolds him. bakugo huffs and sits back down, chomping down on his food

bakugo takes a mental note to bring you food later when he finishes his meal

—

"it's me. i brought you food" bakugo knocks on your door, waiting for you to answer. when he's met with silence, he knocks again. this time a little louder

"y/n. you need to eat" he yells, banging his fists against the material of the door. he lets out an irritated growl when he hears some locks clicking into place. an indication that you used your quirk.

"listen, i'm not afraid to blow this whole door away if it means i have to get you to eat!" bakugo yells again. he realizes his tone and clicks his tongue in annoyance that it wasn't the time to act up. "and we need to talk" he says, voice softer

bakugo waits for your response. when you weren't budging at all, he takes this as his sign to leave you alone. maybe you two can talk another time when you aren't preoccupied with other stuff

but to his surprise, you open the door. bakugo pushes it open and sees you making your way back on your bed, looking as if you just cried your eyes out

“i got you your share of food” he says, setting the plate down on your desk. you only weakly nod your head before turning to the side, not wanting to face him.

bakugo stands awkwardly in your room. this isn't the first time he's been here. usually he'd be in bed with you, studying or just hanging out. this was new to bakugo as it is new to you. you two aren't used to this.

swallowing his pride, he slowly sits down on the edge of your bed.

"listen, i want us to talk" bakugo says, unsure what to say next. he carefully watches your next move instead you just lay still.

bakugo runs a hand through his hair. he hates being put on the spot like this. he thinks back to what kirishima told him. to talk to you and here he is now but he isn't sure on what to tell you

"someone came up to me today" bakugo starts, trying to elevate the gloomy atmosphere in your room. "she was-"

"bakugo, it's fine" you cut him off

oof. bakugo. not kats?

bakugo frowns at the way his name slipped off your tongue like that. he opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it

"it's okay if you want to see someone else. i'm not gonna stop you. who am i to stop you?" you finally sit up, looking at him straight in the eye. you just wanted this to get this over with

bakugo's eyes widened. "you didn't even let me fucking finish. she just said that my zipper was open and i wanted to blast her away" he concludes

oh

oh.

stunned by his words, you stay quiet. maybe you shouldn't have jumped into conclusions

"what? got nothing else to say?" bakugo taunts, sensing that the coast was clear, he scoots closer to you. he takes slowly takes your hands and intertwines them together

"i actually saw your dumbass hiding behind that stupid bush. i was gonna catch up with you til that extra stopped me" bakugo grumbles, staring at your hands

you felt your cheeks heat up that you were caught hiding all along.

"so no. i don't want to see anyone else when what i want is right in front of me all along" bakugo says sincerely.

your heart swells. you can feel the tears well up on your eyes again. how much crying have you even done today?

bakugo wipes your stray tears with his thumb. he then caresses your cheeks as he looks deep into your eyes

"i like you, dumbass and nobody else" bakugo grunts, feeling himself heat up

"do you mean that?"

"do i mean that? of course i fucking do! i wouldn't be up all on your ass if i wasn't" bakugo huffs, turning away, not wanting you to see the blush on his cheeks

"well, i like you too" you confess. "and i made up my mind that i want to be with you"

"i've been yours, stupid" bakugo finally turns to you and flicks your forehead. "do you really think i let anyone have the same privileges as you do?"

you laugh. well that was anticlimactic, wasn't it?

"shut up kats!"

"that's what i wanted to hear. not bakugo" bakugo grins

"well that's your name, isn't it?"

"obviously it is but it's different when you call me kats" bakugo pulls you into his embrace. "so do me a favor and get it through your pretty little head that i like you and only you. got it?"

you pulled away slightly to look up at him, seeing the softest gaze you've ever seen. who knew he was capable of looking at you that way?

"so what does this make us?" you ask

"boyfriend girlfriend?" he questions. it almost sounds too good to be true if you were being honest

suddenly an idea pops into your head. you nuzzle your face to his chest before giggling

"what are you giggling on about? us finally being official?" he asks again. your giggles sounds like music to his ears

"you have to take me out on a date first" you tease

bakugo instantly pulls away. his whole face was turning red. did those late night cuddles and conversations not count as dates?

"y/n, we've been going on dates for quite some time now-" he protests but you cut him off

"yeah but you never asked me officially. you just assumed that they were dates. i mean yeah they were dates but like, ask me out sometimes" you insist, looking up at him

bakugo feels a vein pop on his forehead. why does it feel like you were messing with him

"is this your payback from earlier from what you've seen with that bitch? i swear if i find her i'm gonna hit her with howitzer impact" bakugo grumbles.

rolling his eyes, he cups your cheeks, "fine. will you, y/n, go out on a date with me?"

with a big smile, you nod your head yes

"it's a date!"

[rueclfer]

Can I request a best friends brother touya plssss :)

Ur loser Touya who, canon to your fics, writes in a diary journal is so good and needs a comeback 😭💗

Okay thank you byyyyyeee :P

god i love todosiblings tomfoolery in touya fics!!!! ily anon thank u for loving this loser as much as i do

open up the door // touya todoroki

“Knock knock.” The voice interrupts yours and Fuyumi’s chatter from the other side of her bedroom door.

“What?” Fuyumi calls out, cueing Touya to poke his head through the cracked door, eyes meeting her before your own, in which you quickly darted away. “Can we help you?”

“Yeah, you can actually.” He returns the tone, fully swinging the door open, leaning against the frame. “I hear you losers giggling and shit from all the way down the hall. Don’t you think you two should shut up and go to sleep?”

You look him up and down, eyeing the stretched out flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips and distressed band tee over his lanky frame. The glossy sheen over his eyes and the state of his hair made it apparent that he had just rolled out of bed, woken up from yours and Fuyumi’s night time antics and gossip.

“It’s barely 12am on a Friday night, Touya.” You cock your eyebrow at him. “Nothing more important to do than to bother us?”

“Tell me, Y/N, what exactly am I interrupting?” He walks into the room, being careful to step over the scattered containers of various beads, rolls of string, and a couple pairs haphazardly throw scissors laying across the floor. “Friendship bracelets? Are you guys 12?” 

You were laying on the floor on your stomach as he approached you and stepped over you with a leg on each side. Touya leans down and looks past your head to see the unfinished bracelet in your hands.

“Whatcha spelling out, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You huff, slapping his calf to shoo him away.

“Leave us alone” Fuyumi groans. “We’re gonna go to sleep right now, okay?”

“Sleep, don’t sleep, I don’t give a fuck. Just be quiet. Especially you, loudmouth.” He flicks the back of your head before stepping over you towards the door, clicking it behind him.

You and Fuyumi meet each other’s eyes before simultaneously letting out an annoyed sigh.

“Sorry, you know how he is.” Fuyumi huffs. “He’s so annoying sometimes.”

You had a long standing relationship with the Todoroki family. Your friendship with Fuyumi flourished in middle school when you had accidentally snapped her glasses in half during gym class. Luckily, for you two, you were a wizard with duct tape which had not only effectively fixed her frames, but made you two inseparable since. 

“Sometimes?” You scoff, beginning to shove the craft supplies to the side, making room for your floor mattress. “I was seriously planning on marrying into the family one way or another, but you gave me some shit options, Fuy. Introduce me to a cousin or something.

“Settle for him to be with me forever.” She sighs dramatically and shoots you a pout. “If you really loved me, you would.”

Another thing that lingered since you two were kids- the concept of setting you up with her older brother. The idea had always seemed so perfect for her. There you were, someone who got along with the family, the sister she never had, and most importantly, was “good enough” for her brother, who notoriously had a shitty dating history. However, Fuyumi’s fantasy quickly crumbled midway through high school, when Touya suddenly decided that he was too good for anyone- especially his little sister’s best friend.

“Touya’s a fucking prick, Fuy. I really do want to beat the fuck out of him, no joke, and I’m pretty sure the feelings are mutual.”

“Watch it!” She scolds you. “He’s not that bad, or at least not as bad as he used to be.”

“Not as bad? ‘Hey ugly’ is his go-to greeting for me. He acts like my presence is the most inconveniencing thing ever. If we're alone in the same room, he'll avoid me like the plague and then once there's anyone else around, suddenly he wants to annoy me at any given chance.”

“He’s going through a life crisis or something. Be nice.” She warns. “Or else I’ll kick both of your asses. Wake me if you’re up before me, okay? But only if it’s after 10am.” She yawns. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah whatever, g'night." You say and roll your eyes, knowing that you will definitely not be waking her up.

Now with the lights off and you two in your respective beds, all you could do is look up at the glow in the dark stars plastered to the ceiling, and think back on all of your interactions with Touya from the moment you met him to now- from your raging infatuation with him when you first met as children to the growing resentment and annoyance into your late teens.

-

The glaring sunbeam peaking through the curtains hit you right in the eye, effectively waking you up from your deep sleep. Your phone reads 6:54AM. You mentally groaned to yourself before rolling out of your mattress, exiting the dark bedroom with a soft click of the door behind you. On an early Saturday morning like this, the Todoroki household had its rare moments of silent solitude

Padding your way to the bathroom, you were still in a drowsy state, eyes lidded, and the heaviness of a deep sleep weighing on your shoulders. Once the door shuts behind you, you lean against the kitchen sink and rub the sleepiness from your eyes,

"The fuck, Y/N?" The familiar voice snaps you awake. Your vision focuses on the figure standing near the shower. "You pervert, what do you think you're doing?" He exclaims with a growing amused smile.

"Jesus, Touya!" You exclaim, taking a step back against the door. "Ever use a fucking lock before?" You lowly huff, trying to keep your volume down.

"Why would I when no one's ever up this early? Don't you walk around with your eyes open?"

"I just woke up like two seconds ago." You groan. "Why are you just hanging out in the bathroom?"

"Well I was going to shower. Unless you're here to 'beat the fuck out of me?'" He leans against the wall, arms crossed.

"Listening in on our conversation? Who's the pervert now?" You furrow your eyebrows.

"Involuntarily, with your loud mouth and all." He takes a step closer, almost closing the gap and leaving just mere inches of space between you two. "Sounds like you don't like me very much, huh? What happened to that little crush in middle school?" He kept his voice low.

"Fizzled out a long time ago when you started thinking you were too cool for everyone." You press your finger against the middle of his chest. "You're full of yourself, stuck up, infuriating to be around, and you have no reason to not like me when we've known each other for damn near a decade. You're such a dick for no reason."

"You done?" His amused smile grew even wider, making the fury in your stomach grow stronger. "Because I don't have to explain shit to you."

You rub your face in your hands in frustration. "You know what you act like? A 13 year old who thinks being mean to his crush makes them like you back." You cross your arms, almost tip-toeing your way closer to his face. "That must be it, huh? Can't navigate your feelings?"

Touya bit the inside of his cheek.

Before he could retaliate with another venom filled comment, someone on the other side of the door was knocking. Had you two been so loud this early in the morning?

"Y/N?" You recognized the groggy voice. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"

You froze and quickly realized how the situation looked- you and Touya almost pressed up against each other in the bathroom. Alone. After you had just told her all about your disdain for her brother the night before.

You locked your eyes with him. He opened his mouth, ready to respond in your place, in which you quickly slammed your hand over his mouth, and the other on his shoulder. You start pushing him back towards the shower.

"Yeah! I'm in here, give me a second!" You called out over your shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He mouths, taking a step into the shower before he could trip over the ledge.

"Shut up." You whisper back, closing the shower curtain. "Stay." You warn.

You took a glance at yourself in the mirror, silently hoping Fuyumi doesn't notice your flushed cheeks.

"Sorry I was getting ready to shower. Was I being too loud?" You open the door to see her sleepy state of lidded eyes and tousled hair.

"No." She yawns. "I got a migraine, I just need my medication."

You step aside for her to dig through the medicine cabinet for a moment, sending subtle glances to the shower every now and then, hoping Touya doesn't decide to make an appearance.

"By the way," She mumbles. "I was serious about last night. Be nice to Touya, okay? You know he kinda has a crush on you."

"What?" You exclaim a bit too loudly, slapping your hand over your mouth.

She shushes you, putting her finger over her mouth. "You'll wake him. He's a light sleeper." She warns. "But yeah, Natsuo read his diary last week and told me. I think I kinda knew though, since he's so emotionally constipated." She softly chuckles, lightly shaking the migraine medication into her palm.

"What the fuck, Fuyumi?" Your mouth hung open. "Diary? You tell me this now?"

"Well I didn't realize how much you disliked him." She smiles. "Just thought you should know. We'll talk more later, though. I'm going back to sleep. Think about it, and have a good shower."

"Okay.. thanks." You mumble, closing the door behind her.

If you really wanted to, you could let yourself feel mortified for Touya and make an agreement to pretend like that conversation didn't just happen, but you could feel the disgusting pride and ego growing larger by the second as you digested this new information.

Touya rips the shower curtain to the side, stepping out of the shower with a new layer of blush dusted over his cheeks and his wide eyes filled with embarrassment.

"Shut up." He huffs, running a hand through his hair.

"Didn't say anything." You shrug, pressing your lips together to suppress a smirk.

"Keep it that way, then."

He begins to make his way towards the door, in which you promptly block with your body.

"Y/N. Move." He demands, one hand on the handle and the other pressed against the door next to your head.

"Guess I got you figured out after all. You write about me in your diary often?" Your let your smirk grow. "You'd have better luck if you were nicer to your crush, don't you think?"

You could see that pompous facade of his crumble by the second with the way he bit down on his lower lip, cheeks growing into a deeper shade of red, and eyes darting away to avoid your own.

"It's a fucking journal. Not a diary. Let me out. I'm going to go smother that fucking brat with his own pillow."

"Why don't we unpack this here, instead?" You lean back onto the door, preventing him from pulling it open. "If you like me so much, why are you such a dick?"

A beat of silence passes as he releases a long sigh.

"I-" He starts, staring down at you with a sheepish expression. "don't mean to be an asshole. I just get nervous, okay?" His voice falters towards the end.

You cock an eyebrow at him. "Nervous? How does that make sense or justify anything?"

"Because I can't think straight whenever you're around. Which is all the fucking time."

You didn't think far enough ahead as to how you could navigate this. You questioned if this could even be considered a confession or where things would go between you two when you eventually let him out of the bathroom.

"We were fine when we were kids, though?"

"I didn't like you when we were kids." He huffs.

"So a few years ago? When you started acting like an ass?"

"I guess." He mutters. "Can you move over now?"

"I give you one chance." You cross your arms.

"Huh?"

"To apologize, confess and ask me out. Properly."

"Right now?" His eyes widened, mouth gaped open.

"Yup, or forever hold your peace and watch me get with one of your cousins or something."

"You'd actually go out with me?" He asks under his breath.

"Ask me and find out." You shrug.

He pressed his lips together, continuing to stare down at you with furrowed brows- of course you stared back in annoyance. You thought that he already had the easy way out, thanks to Fuyumi, so this hesitation only made you more anxious.

A voice in the back of your head had started pounding through the front. It was your 10 year old self. They're making your stomach twist in anticipation. They're making your heart race. They're making your hands clam up. They're hoping he'd do it.

But he wasn't.

"Okay, guess not then. I'm leaving." You suddenly blurt out, turning to grab the handle.

"Wait." He places his hand over the door frame, preventing it from pulling open. "Give me a fucking second okay? I feel like I can barely breathe."

He puts both hands on your shoulder, expelling a long breath of air to the side. You tense at the sudden physical contact, feeling the warmth of the palms of his hands melt into you.

"I'm sorry for being a dick to you. I'm sorry for not knowing how to act around you. I'm not sure I deserve it, but can you... give me a chance?" He spills out through clenched teeth, all in one breath.

His face was still flushed and expression was almost pained. You knew you backed him up in a corner but if he had this crush for a few years, was he ever planning on telling you?

"I know you had a crush on me when we first met as kids, and I know you definitely don't anymore, but if you want to give me a chance then I guess that would be.. cool." He sheepishly says, sucking in the inside of his cheek.

"You guess?" You cock your head to the side.

"You're fucking killing me, Y/N. That's seriously the best I can do at 7am right now." He deadpans. "Yes or no- before I start panicking."

You pause for a moment, taking in the weight of his hands on your shoulder and intense eye contact.

"I'll go out with you."

"Really?" His eyes widen, and grip tightening. "After everything? You will?"

You nod your head, slightly taken off guard by his surprise.

"Cool. Cool. Okay." He takes a step back, bringing his hands back to his side and shoving them in his pajama pants pocket, giving you space to take your exit. "Um. I'll keep you updated on that date then? When I figure it out?" He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Cool." You say, still standing idly.

"Cool." He responds, pressing his lips together in a tight line

"Don't make it weird, okay?" You huff. "I don't want to tell Fuy yet."

"No weirdness here." He awkwardly smiles, now fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Okay we're done here." You teasingly roll your eyes. "You're being weird, so I'm leaving. See you in a few hours, loser."

You two exchanged shy smiles and glances before you made your exit, letting out an audible breath of air after shutting the door behind you. Later that morning, after his shower and getting ready for the day, Touya would find a beaded bracelet hanging on his bedroom's door handle, reading "T O U Y A < 3" in which he slipped over his wrist and would glance down at all day, reminding himself not to fuck it up.

[yeyinde]

the therapist x Price ask has me thinking terrible things. but what if instead of helping him with anger management, you're his marriage counsellor.

With your colleague's early retirement on the horizon, you take over several of his files, and among them is Mr and Mrs Price. A marriage on the brink of collapse, he writes, but both are willing to work things out.

As if.

You're not one to pick sides—it's morally, professionally, and ethically wrong—but you really wish Mrs Price had better friends. Or someone in her life to pull her aside and tell her to run because as much as she seems to want to work at these issues that plague her marriage, it takes you only a handful of sessions to realise this is impossible.

And the reason is just—

John Price.

Unprofessional? Yes. Wrong? No.

Your colleague's notes about Mr Price being the driving force behind keeping the marriage intact seem almost farcical looking back because that seems to be the very last thing on his mind.

He goes into each session with the single-minded goal to tear through any progress made—and that's only when he shows up. And in this particular profession, you're used to combativeness. The guarded nature of people is a hurdle you can often overcome with logic and solutions to their problems, but Mr Price's walls have walls. His armour is thick, and impenetrable, and he's—at best—unwilling to participate in any meaningful way.

And at worst—he spends most of the session arguing with you. Needling over everything you say. Ignoring any attempts to steer the conversation back to the idea of salvaging his marriage in favour of riling you up. Disrupting the natural order of accountability and progress just to see you flustered. Asking personal questions. Coming in earlier just to nitpick your talking points. Letting his wife leave before he does, and using the time to go over his startling accolades like the thought of chasing her, taking her to dinner, didn't even cross his mind. A man with one foot out the door, and almost no interest in turning around.

He's bullish. Compromising. Stubborn—

"—and a pigheaded oaf of a man!" You seethe, ethics fleeing from the room as you dig yourself a spot on your boss's couch, and take hearty gulps of the Chardonnay he offered with a grim twist to his lips. "Every time we get close to the truth, to a breakthrough, he jumps ship! Pulls away! But then has the audacity to question me because his wife isn't changing her mind on the divorce? In what goddamn universe is this my fault?"

He clears his throat, looking more than a little bemused. "Uhh. Have you tried—"

"Talking to him one-on-one in a confrontation-free way to try and get him to open up? Yes! And he spent the whole session avoiding the issue and making redundant comments about me, my life! What do my future plans have to do with his marriage? My relationship status! If I want kids! It's absurd!"

"Interesting. And have you considered—"

"All of it! There's no getting through to him. I don't even think he really wants this marriage to work out which is so different from what the counsellor they had before told me. He was trying back then. Said he'd let her divorce him over his dead body, and now? Two decades down the drain. I just don't get it."

"Well." His brow lifts, and he seems almost worried for a second before he scoffs. Shakes his head. "I think I do. Good luck, hon. He seems like the sort of man who knows exactly what he wants."

It takes all of your willpower not to reach out and grab the whole bottle from the table. Professional, you think. And that's what John called you, isn't it? Well—

Smart little girl, aren't you? Is what he growled out, arms folded over his chest as you—indiscreetly—ushered him towards the door. "But you don't know what you're doing, love. Gonna get yourself in over your head—"

The little girl prickles over your nerves. There's something about him that makes you want to lash out.

"I can handle myself, John."

He leaned down, shoulders tense. Eyes blazing. This man, you realise, is all fire. All heat. You fight back a shiver, meeting his stare head-on.

"Oh, I hope you can."

A challenge, right? Maybe he's another misogynist in a choking, crowded sea too blinded by his own ego to admit that maybe you could help him if he let you. Pretentious, self-righteous prick—

It really doesn't surprise you when the dissolution of his marriage happens a week later. Irreconcilable differences. Go figure. But what does surprise you is finding John Price standing outside your office only several days after the contractual obligations you had with them end.

The sight of him, stripped of any professional distance, makes you tense. "If you're here to complain, you'll need to file a—"

In hindsight, you should have seen it coming. The signs were there from the onset. Mrs Price's frigid anger at the end, and John's interest in you beyond the therapist. But when he pushes you against the door of your office, pulling you into a searing, demanding kiss that siphons the air from your lungs, all you can think is huh? and when did this—?

He doesn't really give you much of a chance to say any of that, though. Just devours you whole like he's been waiting his entire life for this moment, hands biting into your flesh, gripping tight. Refusing to let go even for a second. Even to let you breathe. Just grunts into the lax seam of your mouth about how much a goddamn little tease you are, tempting him like that when he was still a married man.

"But you can handle me, can't you, sweetheart?" He rumbles, fingers rasping over the skin of your nape. "Said so yourself, didn't you? Actin' all naughty even when you were pantin' at me like a bitch in heat. But don't worry, I'll make an honest woman outta you yet."

"Um—"

(maybe you were, in fact, a little over your head with John Price.)

[priniya]

Can you please write a comfort fic about jealous theo x reader? Maybe he gets jealous and then over thinks the situation so the reader comforts him?

If not that’s totally fine no stress! Thank you!

🧸 BEAUTIFUL BOY

synopsis. thedore nott gets jealous over his girlfriend’s friendship with mattheo.

notes. theodore nott x girlfriend!reader. established relationship, jealous theodore.

theo hated jealousy.

as a child, he used to be very possessive of his things, which always resulted in silly arguments with his cousins, when he threw a tantrum over a tantrum if someone touched some of his toys. as he grow up, he began to realize how much he saw his father in himself, so nott promised himself to never show that side of him again.

and he didn’t. theodore would always bottle up his feelings and then lash it all out at someone, who accidentally got into his path, and made one mistake, receiving a rough punch in the face afterwards.

that was until he met you — the meaning of his life, the sunshine to his grumpy, the member to make his family be found or anything that would make your stomach erupts in butterflies if he said that out loud. you gave him a new point of view, the one that let him feel… lightly, feel relieved about his problems. it was refreshing, really.

he should’ve known from the beginning that you, and your best friend come in a package. and he should’ve known, because the three of you were great friends even before you two started dating.

at first, it was nothing. a mere thought that occurred to him on a sleepless night, vanishing right after his brain was clouded with exhaustion, eyes falling shut. then, the strange feeling of bottled up jealousy got him.

your boyfriend started noticing all those small things that had never really mattered to him before. the way matt’s eyes always lit up when you entered the room, how he laughed at your jokes, how his hands somehow always found its way to wrap around you, or just touch you.

jesus. it made his blood boil, every single time. the outcome would easily disappoint you if you knew right away. when theo hated his possessive side, you despised when he fought random people at parties — even though it was awfully attractive to see him all angry, you hated patching him up, being a witness of every small wince, a gasp, or a hiss as you pressed a gauze to his face. you always thought of consequences as well, what if someone told the teachers or what if it ended up as a case in ministry of magic?

you wouldn’t even know that your boyfriend was struggling with endless thoughts of you, leaving him for mattheo. thank god that you were blessed with lorenzo, who apparently couldn’t keep his mouth shut (“i wouldn’t spill it, nott! you were just sulking, i had to tell her!”).

at the beginning, you just thought it was a silly prank the boys tried to pull on you – to see if you reacted in anyway, or to just mess with your head a little. the perspective changed as soon as you noticed how stiff theo would get, whenever riddle joined you. it was all confirmed, when he began avoiding you like plague.

“teddy.” you sighed, barging into his dorm (ironically, shared with mattheo) without knocking. “we have to talk.” the way you phrased it was enough to make him straighten up in his bed.

in his eyes, you were about to break up with him and reason it that you just didn’t love him anymore, and fell in love with your best friend. he could hear his heart shattering into pieces, see the tears that would dig holes in his cheeks as soon as you leave the room.

“something happened, baby?” he asked, trying his hardest to brush off the pain, accumulating in the back of his head. “did i upset you in any way?”

theodore watched you get closer to him, resting your arms against the wooden frame. “well, was there a reason to get upset?” your eyebrows were lifted as you made eye contact with him. “hm?”

a long sighed left his lips. he stood up from the bed, leaving his sheets all messy. he took a step forward, close enough to wrap his arms around your body, trying to get you as close as possible. “y/n…” he hummed, bringing his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to your shoulder.

it always worked if he tried to calm you down. not this time though.

“can you tell me what’s going on with you?” you asked. taking a few steps back, because you were mad at him and not a single kiss could change your mind (it could, you were just delusional). “did i do something to upset you?” you knew the answer, whatsoever you wanted to hear it from him.

“no– no, baby. why are you saying that?” theo frowned.

“so, you’ve been avoiding me all week long just for the funsies?”

shit, he thought. so you noticed it all. noticed how distant he grew. his eyes closed for a second and you really believed he would brush you off again, just like he did all this week. “it’s stupid.” he turned his head towards you. “i was jealous.”

your silence has pulled on his tongue. “of how mattheo acts around you, and uh. i got scared that if i tell you about it, you’re either gonna laugh at me or agree with my worries and leave me for matt.”

“teddy.” the way you were still using his nickname eased his worries a bit. “i love you, okay? only you, always you.” you confessed, dropping the L bomb for the first time in your relationship, finally feeling ready to. it made his heart flutter, soo much it almost pained him.

“you do?” you chuckled at his words, giving up the tough girlfriend act, your palms cupping his cheeks, bringing him a little closer. “y/n, i am so sorry, i should’ve talked to you.” his arms wrapped around your waist, forehead falling onto your shoulder.

“you should have.” the words rolled on your tongue in a soft manner as you placed a few kisses on his temple, nails gently scratching his nape. “i see where you’re coming from, but you gotta talk to me about things like that.”

it took theo five seconds to pick you up and throw you on his bed, cuddling up to you as you whispered sweet nothings into his ear, reassuring him of your feelings.

“but if you could, you’d choose me over anyone?” theo lifted his eyebrows at you, and you couldn’t hold a giggle back.

“well, over anyone?” you teased, grinning. “i could never not choose pansy.”

[xothatnerdykid]

read your mind

You’re a newly minted pro-hero with a quirk that lets you to read the mind of anyone you touch. So imagine your surprise when you accidentally read a certain stoic, brooding hero's mind and find out he doesn't hate you like you thought, but rather, something dangerously close to the opposite.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x fem!reader. NSFW but not very explicit. 5,002 words.

“Your form was sloppy,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You used to cringe when he’d tell you things like that, become sheepish and apologetic. Now, after months of knowing him, you'd simply smile and quip, “Awww, you watching my saves on the news again?”

You hated bumping into him. He was the reason you tended to leave mission briefings early: the ever-stoic, perpetually unimpressed Pro Hero Eraserhead.

As a relatively new hero working in the same city, you were thrilled at the chance to learn from someone as experienced as him. But your excitement quickly dimmed the first time you met as you noticed his gruff demeanor and critical, scrutinizing gaze.

You knew he was tough on everyone, but there were times when it felt like his criticism was directed at you more than anyone else. And no matter how hard you tried or how much praise everyone else gave you, he always found something to correct.

So, for the sake of keeping your self-esteem intact, you’ve resorted to treating his criticism like a game, teasing him back whenever he dropped one of his classic deadpan remarks. It was either that or crumble under the weight of his seemingly endless disapproval.

But today, all you can muster is a grunt in response, head throbbing from fatigue and chronic sleep deprivation.

“That’s my line,” he says flatly. Because apparently, someone always has to be the cheeky one between the two of you.

“Can we just…” You rub your temple, wincing as the pain spikes. "Can we just not do this today?”

“Are you feeling alright?” His voice loses a bit of its usual sharpness as he steps closer, eyes narrowing in concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you huff, waving him off. "Just tired. We can't all function on only ten shots of espresso a day."

"Seven actually. I'm not a maniac. And you don't sound fine."

You roll your eyes, feeling too drained to banter with him. "I said I'm fine. Can you spare me the lecture?"

You mean to walk past him when you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, startling you. Suddenly, there’s that familiar buzz in your mind — your quirk activating with the skin-to-skin contact. The headache momentarily takes a backseat as his thoughts flood in.

Is she really okay? She looks like she’s about to collapse.

Why does she always push herself so hard?

You look up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

He yanks his hand away as if he’d been burned, the flood of his thoughts abruptly cut off. His dark eyes flicker with something—surprise? Guilt? He takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t mean to…”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. How are you supposed to respond to that? All this time, you thought he was just cold, that he only ever saw your flaws. But just now, he…

He was worried about you?

“I—” you start, but your voice falters. He’s still staring at you, his expression carefully guarded again.

“I’ll see you around. Feel better." His voice is clipped, betraying none of the thoughts you just heard. The words sound so casual, so dismissive, that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it all.

You want to say something to break the tension between you, but you're suddenly nervous. Your heart races, pounding with the weight of this new knowledge. Before you can compose yourself, another hero calls his name, and he mutters a quick response before leaving.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

You promised yourself you were going to avoid him like the plague.

Later that day, when you were tossing and turning in bed, still overthinking your last encounter — you promised. You even came up with (what seemed to you) a solid game plan: You were going to focus on hero work so much that you won’t even have the time to think about him, much less see him.

But the mission had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

What was supposed to be a simple recon had turned into a full-on chase through the streets when the criminal you'd been tracking for weeks unexpectedly showed up at the deal you were sent to bust. Orders be damned, you vaulted over the rooftop ledge and ran after them.

You leaped across buildings, adrenaline spurring you on. Your mind was focused, heart pounding in rhythm with your footfalls. You’d chased this villain twice before, and both times, they’d slipped through your fingers. You weren’t about to let that happen again.

The villain was fast, but so were you. With each bound, you closed the gap, watching as they darted into a narrow alleyway below. This was your chance. Your heart surged as you prepared to drop down and cut them off.

Suddenly, a figure descended from the shadows, blocking your target from your sight. Your stomach dropped.

Of course it was him.

"Stay back. This is too dangerous for you to handle alone.” His voice was firm and authoritative. Even with the goggles on, you could feel his dark eyes trained on you with that same stern expression you’d come to dread.

"Dangerous? I've been on this case longer than you have!”

You stepped forward but so did he.

“I said stay back,” he warned you. “Don’t be reckless. He’s already evaded you twice, and now he’s cornered. Desperate villains do desperate things.”

“He’s getting away! You’re ruining my chance to finally catch him!”

“And you’ll get yourself killed,” Aizawa snapped. “I’m not going to let a rookie run into a trap.”

Anger flared in your chest. You knew he didn’t respect you, hadn’t from the start. Always criticizing, always watching with that disapproving scowl. You try to push past him, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you, and maybe even more stubborn.

“Wait here and let me handle it,” Aizawa growled, his voice low and commanding. His scarf moved like a serpent around him, a silent warning that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if you pushed any further.

You clenched your fists but did as you were told. Much to your frustration, the villain was apprehended quickly after that. You watched from the rooftop, fuming as Aizawa cornered them with ease, his scarf tangling around the villain's limbs like it was second nature. Within minutes, the situation was over, and backup arrived to escort the criminal away.

You stayed put, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of the chase and the frustration of being sidelined once again. The cool night breeze did little to calm your heated emotions. It wasn’t fair. You’d been so close, only for him to swoop in like you were some rookie who couldn’t handle their own mission.

Now, you watch as he finishes giving his statement to the police and then make his way towards you.

You cross your arms tightly, readying yourself for whatever critique he’d throw your way this time. But when he stops in front of you, he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply takes off his goggles and looks at you.

His silence is almost worse than his usual condescending remarks. When he finally speaks, his voice is gravelly, strained. More measured than you expected.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. "I…I'm fine," you answer, maybe a bit too defensively.

Aizawa's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s about to call you out for your tone. But he just stares at you, his expression as unreadable as ever.

You shift on your feet, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. The silence stretches between you both, heavy and awkward, until he exhales and rubs the back of his neck.

"Good," he mutters, his voice softening just slightly, but there’s something behind his eyes—a flicker of something you can’t quite place. His hand lowers back to his side, and as it brushes yours for the briefest moment, something happens.

Skin contact.

Before you can stop it, his thoughts are bleeding into yours, loud and clear.

I should’ve handled that better. She probably thinks I hate her…

Dammit, I don’t want her to hate me.

Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of emotions flood your mind: frustration, concern. Genuine fear.

She doesn’t need to prove herself to me. She’s already good enough. More than good enough.

Heat floods your face, your pulse quickening. He… cares? Before you can process it fully, the connection snaps. A sudden coldness washes over you as your quirk is forcibly erased.

Aizawa’s eyes lock onto yours, his irritation visible in the sharpness of his gaze and the tight line of his mouth.

"I…I didn't mean to," you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something like uncertainty flickers in his expression, and his hair falls down in waves as he shuts off his quirk, too. His jaw tightens but his brow furrows as though he’s trying to decide what to say.

“I...know you didn’t,” he finally says, his voice low and rough.

You flinch, guilt bubbling up in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur again, dropping your gaze to the ground. You didn’t want to invade his mind, but now you couldn’t unhear what you’d discovered.

Just like before, he turns to leave.

“Wait—” you blurt out, reaching for him instinctively. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you can’t just let him leave like this. Not again.

He pauses, half-turning to glance at you over his shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words are there, but they feel jumbled in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through your mind.

“I—I didn’t know. About any of it.”

Your eyes search his face for any sign of what he’s thinking, but his expression remains impassive. You fight back the urge to touch him.

“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you admit in a small voice.

Aizawa heaves a sigh. His hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, you notice how tired he looks; exhausted, worn down in a way that makes him seem more human, less the untouchable figure you’ve always seen him as.

“I’m not trying to be hard on you,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now, the anger draining away. “But you don’t always think things through, and that’s dangerous. You’re talented. You don’t need to prove anything to me or anyone else.”

His words surprise you, and you look up, meeting his gaze again. There’s no scowl, no biting critique, just honesty. You swallow hard, feeling an odd mix of warmth and discomfort settle in your chest.

Before you can think better of it, your hand moves instinctively, brushing against his arm. You freeze, realizing what you’ve done, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. And though he has every opportunity to, he doesn’t erase your quirk either.

I’m too close to her. The thought is faint, hesitant. She’s already in my head… and it’s getting harder to push her away.

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s not just frustrated with you — he’s frustrated with himself.

You pull your hand back, not wanting to intrude further.

You don’t know what you expect to see on his face; surprise maybe, or even anger. But for the first time since you’ve met him, you see something warmer in his eyes — something that sends a flutter through your chest.

Aizawa takes a half-step closer and your pulse quickens at the proximity. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost a secret, he murmurs, “Don’t make me worry like that again.”

“I won’t,” you manage to whisper, your heart caught in your throat.

He takes a step back, as if remembering himself, and his usual stern demeanor slips back into place.

“Go home. Get some rest.”

You nod, still too flustered to speak. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he's gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

It’s well past midnight, the city quiet except for the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional sound of wind rustling through the streets. Your patrol route brings you to the edge of a quiet park, where you catch a familiar figure standing in the shadows, keeping watch.

“You really like brooding in the dark, don’t you?" You smile at him from over your shoulder, though your usual sarcasm is gone.

“It's my favorite pastime,” he deadpans, but you don't miss the way his dark eyes hold yours a beat too long.

“Right,” you snicker. “The city’s most stoic hero. I bet you even scowl in your sleep.”

Aizawa’s lips twitch, the tiniest of smirks threatening to break through. “You can’t prove that.”

"Oh?” You smile sweetly, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “Something tells me I can.”

His gaze sharpens slightly, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to call you out on your teasing. But instead, he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you.

“You’re bold tonight,” he says, his tone somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Careful, I might start thinking you’re actually enjoying my company.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider. “And what if I am?”

He steps just a fraction closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in the cool night air. His voice is low and smooth when he says, “Then I’d have to wonder what it is you think you’re getting yourself into.”

The air between you thickens, the playful banter now laced with something a little more dangerous, a little more exciting.

“You know, I could buy you a coffee sometime,” you offer, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, keep the conversation light. “To say thanks for helping me out with that last mission.”

He pretends to mull it over but, before you can react, he reaches out and grabs the coffee cup you’re holding. He takes a deliberately long sip, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

When he lowers the cup, he meets your gaze with a half-lidded look that sends your pulse racing.

“Consider it done.”

Your face feels impossibly warm now, and you’re sure your blush is painfully obvious, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you quip, “An indirect kiss? Maybe you’re the one who needs to be careful, or else other people will start getting the wrong idea.”

With a low laugh, he hands the cup back to you, and the subtle brush of his fingers against yours sets off another wave of his thoughts.

I wonder if she realizes how much I want her.

Your breath catches.

For a split second, you think you might’ve misheard it, but the heat in Aizawa’s gaze as he watches your reaction tells you otherwise. The cup is back in your hand, but your fingers are numb. Your focus is entirely on him, his thoughts still rattling around in your mind.

His lips twitch again. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” he teases, his voice low, almost a purr. “What’s going on up there? Something I should know about?”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your composure. He’s looking at you like he’s daring you to admit what you heard.

You take a deep breath and decide to play along. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you always flirt this shamelessly.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Your heart is racing now, fingers trembling around the cup in your hand. His gaze is dark and intense. Unwavering. He's looking at you like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you and he’s enjoying it.

Your quirk had always been a double-edged sword; sometimes it revealed things you wished you hadn’t known, and other times it brought clarity to situations that seemed hopelessly opaque.

This time, it left you with a dilemma.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts. He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him, his presence overwhelming but not uncomfortable. “Since you’re already in my head…why stop now?”

Your breath hitches. His invitation is dangerous, yet impossible to resist. There are a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t — you work together, it’s an invasion of privacy, you hated his guts just a few weeks ago — but the temptation is too strong, his presence too intoxicating.

Hesitantly, your fingers brush against his once more, and his thoughts flood in again, more intense and vivid this time.

She’s braver than I thought. I like that.

I shouldn’t be doing this. But damn, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looks at me…

“Good girl,” he cooes, his voice a low rumble that sends a flutter of excitement through you.

You feel lightheaded, dizzy with the weight of his thoughts, the tension between you at a boiling point. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the way Aizawa’s eyes are fixed on you — dark, intense, hungry — it’s making it hard to think straight. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel what he’s feeling.

And you do.

You feel everything.

His desire is a palpable thing, hanging in the air between you, electric and heady. You can see it in the way his gaze lingers on your lips, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean in.

“Hardly seems fair. I don't get to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” His voice dips lower, enough to send another wave of heat crashing over you. “Are you going to keep me guessing?”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you manage to respond, “I’m not sure you’re ready for what’s in my head.”

He chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes your stomach flip. “You might be surprised.”

You can barely breathe as he brushes the back of his hand against your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly on the corner of your mouth. You feel his thoughts ripple through you again, even stronger this time.

I want her. God, I want her so badly…

Your knees feel weak, and it takes everything in you not to lose yourself completely in the moment, in him. The tension between you feels unbearable now, as if one wrong move could send you both over the edge. And you’re not sure how much longer either of you can hold back.

Aizawa smirks, just a hint of satisfaction flickering in his expression.

I could kiss her right now. It would be so easy.

The thought lingers between you, thick and heavy, and you can’t tell if it’s yours or his anymore. All you know is that just the idea of his lips on yours is making your entire body hum with anticipation.

Aizawa watches you carefully, as if waiting for your reaction. He knows you heard him, and he’s not backing down.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. “Go ahead then,” your own voice sounds small and distant to your ears, but it’s enough to tip the balance.

His lips are on yours in a second.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, but it quickly deepens as the tension that had been building between you finally breaks. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his thoughts rushing through you again.

God, she tastes even better than I imagined.

Your knees nearly buckle, and you can barely focus on anything except the way his lips feel against yours — firm, warm, demanding yet tender. He’s kissing you like he’s been holding back for far too long.

When you finally pull back for air, your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. Aizawa’s forehead rests gently against yours, his eyes half-closed as he catches his own breath. His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, a small, affectionate gesture that has you smiling up at him in a tizzy.

“Still think I hate you?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of heat as he slides his hands into the curve of your waist.

You laugh softly, pulling him closer by his scarf. “I think I might need a little more convincing.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

The days that follow your little late night tryst at the park are deliciously unbearable.

It’s as if you don’t know how to be around him anymore. There's tension during training sessions. The gym hums with its usual energy, but you can’t focus. Not with him in the room. You’re sparring with someone, half-heartedly dodging and throwing punches, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the feel of Aizawa’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

Across the room, he’s speaking to a group of trainees, the same unreadable, stoic expression in place. But there's a flicker of something else in his eyes when they briefly meet yours, a look only you recognize.

Your opponent lands a hit on your shoulder and you nearly stumble. You grit your teeth and bring yourself back to the present moment. When the sparring session ends, you grab a bottle of water and try to catch your breath.

He walks over to where you’re sitting off to the side, seemingly doing the same. His voice is low enough so only you can hear. "You're distracted."

You flush, struggling to keep your expression impassive. “And what if I am?”

“Focus, or I’ll have to give you some private training later.”

His words are a promise, dripping with intent, and your blood sings. You can’t find a response quick enough before he’s already pulling away, leaving you flushed and even more distracted.

It’s not much better during night patrol, when the city streets are dimly lit and mostly empty. Although the two of you are supposed to be overseeing different sectors, you know when you turn a corner into a dark alley that he's following silently, closely behind.

You walk deeper into the alley, pretending to scan the area, but the quiet crunch of his footsteps has your heart racing. Just as you’re about to turn back, a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already on you, crashing his lips against yours.

“You’re making—it hard—for me—to concentrate,” he murmurs between kisses, each word punctuated by the soft graze of his mouth against yours. His hands press against your hips, pinning you gently yet firmly to the wall, and a wave of heat spreads through you.

Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind: him trailing his mouth downwards until he’s on his knees, hooking your leg over his shoulder and eating you out. A thought that isn’t your own.

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, though there’s no real bite to it. If anything, your voice is barely steady. “You’re supposed to be patrolling your own area.”

He runs his fingers along your jaw. "And let you wander into dark alleys alone?" He leans in, lips brush against your ear, nibbling. "Not a chance."

He crooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth and lips lingering just enough to make you gasp.

I want to taste you. All of you, he thinks. I want you to make a mess on my face, on my fingers, and then lick it clean.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. He presses you harder against the wall, and it’s dizzying, intoxicating—

Until the sharp crackle of comms cuts through the haze.

“Report. Any activity?”

You both freeze, breaths mingling, still pressed close. His eyes flick to yours, and there’s a hint of amusement dancing in them.

“Nothing to report,” he says, voice calm and collected as if he hadn’t just been kissing you senseless a moment ago.

You look up at him, dazed and wanting, heart pounding. He tilts his head at you and you realize they’re expecting a response from you, too.

“N-no activity here either,” you manage despite the tightness of your throat.

The comms fall silent once more. Aizawa is looking at you through half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk. You hate him as much as you really don't.

“We should get back to our routes before someone decides to check on us," he murmurs.

“Oh, so now you’re concerned about protocol?” You arch an eyebrow at him, though you’re sure your flushed cheeks betray any semblance of teasing bravado.

"For now." He leans down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips. "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just break a few more rules.”

A few days later, you find yourselves seated across from each other during a mission debriefing. The room is full of other pro heroes, but it might as well be empty for all the attention you’re paying to anyone else.

Your thoughts scramble every time Aizawa's knee brushes against yours beneath the table. He, on ther hand, is the picture of composure, listening to the debrief with his usual detached focus.

This meeting’s dragging. I can think of better ways to pass the time with you.

You try to focus on the mission details, but half way through, he moves his hand atop your thigh and you shiver.

How long do you think it’d take if we just slipped out, right now?

You steal a glance at him, and there’s the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes when they meet yours.

You force yourself to look down at your notes, but your mind is elsewhere, his presence impossibly distracting. Fuck it, you think before you slide your foot up his calf.

He sputters a cough, a rare crack in his usually unshakable composure, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. Under the table, his hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm, almost possessive, and the thrill of it has you biting the inside of your cheek.

Keep doing that and I won’t be responsible for what happens after this.

As the meeting draws to a close, everyone rises to leave, and Shota gives you a barely perceptible nod toward the hallway. You follow at a careful distance until you reach his office, entering a good few minutes after he does so as not to arouse suspicion.

He backs you gently against the door as he locks it behind you, his gaze pinning you in place. His eyes are dark and stormy, with that half-focused look you’ve come to love so much. When he speaks, his voice is soft, a murmur meant only for you. “You’re going to get us caught, you know that?”

You smile up at him sweetly then tip-toe to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "You’re the one who can’t seem to keep things professional,” you coo, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, teasing.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Is that so? Funny, I don’t remember you objecting."

“Of course not,” you confess breathlessly, head thrown back in pleasure as you tug at his hair. You can’t make out the sound of your own voice over the blood thumping in your ears. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined us doing inappropriate things in your office?”

Your words seem to snap the last of his restraint.

A low growl escapes him, and before you know it, he’s gripping your hips and lifting you just enough to press the hardness of his length against you. You gasp. His mouth finds yours with a raw, pent-up hunger that has you clinging to his shoulders, heart racing wildly.

“And here I was, thinking I was the only one losing sleep over this,” he murmurs between kisses, tugging your bottom lip gently between his teeth.

He pulls you flush against him as his tongue explores your mouth, and you trail your hands down his chest and the ridges of his abdomen just as eagerly. You grind your hips down on his erection and he lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his warm, rough hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “You’re lucky we’re alone.” His tone is half-warning, half-promise, and you can feel his heartbeat racing beneath your hands.

"I know somewhere we wouldn't have to worry about being interrupted," you tell him breathlessly. “My place. Tonight. If you’re up for it.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I'll clear my schedule.”

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 2

Part two of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: social anxiety, self-doubt, drinking

A month. You didn't go back to the bar for a full month. Avoided the place like it was the birthplace of the plague. And it was to you. You didn't want to run the risk that they were there again, that the man in the mask would berate you for making eye contact with him that night despite knowing he'd probably forgotten about you 30 seconds after. Social anxiety was a bitch.

But they were there. EVERY. FUCKING. FRIDAY.

Ghost thought he was going to lose his mind. The others had started to think he'd imagined you or had a hallucination of you. So when they sat down on the fifth Friday, there wasn't a mention of you from them. Simon still kept his eye out for you.

Surely a month was long enough that they'd have moved on, gotten bored with the dark, dingy bar and the same crowd every Friday. Arriving with your friends, your heart was in your throat and there was a swirl of nausea in your stomach.

They're not here. They're not here. They're not here.

The mantra was on repeat, but you couldn't help checking the back table anyway. You froze where you were standing as your eyes landed on the four larger men, your friend bumping into your back and asking what was wrong. You shook your head and gave her a weak smile, claiming you thought you saw someone.

You took your usual seat at the bar, tucked into the far corner where you could see the table of men and watched as your own friends filtered out onto the floor again. It was so easy for them to just introduce themselves to men, flirt their way to free drinks and possibly a nice little one night stand.

Ghost clocked you the moment the bell above the door dinged pathetically against the wood door and you walked in with three of your friends including the little blonde that informed them that you would be there every Friday. His gloved hand reached out and smacked Soap center chest, incidentally grabbing everyone's attention at the table as well.

"That her, LT?" Soap asked, eyes darting between his lieutenant and you. Soap eyed you for a moment, taking in the open scoop neck long sleeve shirt and the swell of your breasts that weren't hidden very well.

"Tha's 'er. Pretty thing, hm?" Ghost replied before picking up his glass and knocking it back, mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara. You were as pretty as he remembered and the urge to have a picture of you with him at all times roared to life in his chest.

Gaz being on the end gave him the best view of you, taking in the jeans that hugged your plump hips and ass. He could also see the way you held your jacket over your stomach to hide your belly as best you could.

Price could tell you were uncomfortable, watching you watch your friends with a hint of resentment and disdain in your eyes. He hadn't missed that all of your friends were "conventionally beautiful" and he could see that it bothered you.

"Go get her," Price suggested to Gaz, nudging him a bit as he knew Gaz was the proper man to send. You'd never come over if any of the rest of them approached you. Ghost made a disgruntled noise, looking to his captain for a brief moment of silent communication before he nodded, conceding to his superior.

You ordered your whiskey, sipping on it as you flipped between checking on your friends and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You couldn't help but to let your eyes flick up from the dim screen to check on the table in the corner every once in a while.

Which was where your eyes were now, but there was one missing, the pretty one. Oh, he wasn't missing. He was settling himself against the stool next to you, looking down at you with those molten eyes of his and a friendly smile. "Come join us for a drink. Promise we won't bite. Well, I make no promises about Johnny."

Yup. I did a part two. This is really speaking to me right now for some reason.

Hope you guys liked it!

<- Part One Part Three ->

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.1k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone would be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone was brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely couldn't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise was needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lacked yourself—otherwise, they wouldn't last a second with Gojo.

It'd be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also didn't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else could take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there it goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she couldn't handle him but because she was your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually cared about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she didn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else.

Burdening her was completely out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'? You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really had to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she could was her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you're quick to blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or were Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth was killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach put the final nail in the coffin as she reminded you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you needed help would be silly because technically it was true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break long ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It was better than nothing because if you couldn't function, Gojo couldn't be cared for.

And when you really think about it, who better to fill in for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock since you started at the ward, She's had your back, sticking with you through tough times at work when staff constantly dipped in and out of the facility like a rotating door after being unable to handle the job.

A real day one.

Next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patiently in check.

It'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest."

She's too kind and right in more ways than one.

"Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend, you think?"

Your eyes roll—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

You don't know whether to joke back or wave her off, softly smiling at her concern instead before nodding. You vow to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges. Almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks on the interstate, hogging the road, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheerful nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers, lulling you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of the melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the foamy bubbles, when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from surprise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike swept into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body said nothing was. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out heading straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean floors due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you were used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you needed to. The truth is painfully clear.

It's disrespectful even to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong, and your heart feels as if it'll burst from your chest any moment now just thinking about it. Crushing guilt wrapped you in its clutches, but it was nothing compared to the pain you might've caused.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, heart beating into your ears making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet with each step until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth becoming suddenly dry mouth when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you as attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a hammer.

Someone as kind as her, so full of light, love, and joy, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil was still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he tugs and pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and you can feel the tense stares. The unspoken judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen? 

You don’t know if the murmurs are real or only in your head, but the effect is all the same, making you wish you could completely vanish.  You stand like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

Gojo brims with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. As if he's daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face making you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, something...uncertain lurks behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knew he had done something wrong.

Words escape you, as if anything even needs to or could be said. But fear and guilt soon turn to anger and threatens to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust.

You are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself.

Your fists clench as you hold back tears. 

What was done was done. And someone needed to pay.

But you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at the results of what happened the last time you decided to punish Gojo. All of your actions, even now, rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

You push down the knot growing in your stomach and turn away to follow the medics.

Your friend needed you more than you needed revenge.

And Gojo didn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it meant risking your job or even your life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbered thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained makes you nervous—you don't want anyone else to get hurt and Gojo knows that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm.

But it's an obviously losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

He sees no one else in the room, eyes locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it'll never be enough. Not even the goddamn military. Gojo...is the strongest, after all.

"Stop this."

Your cry freezes the room, plunging everything into a tense silence.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

You take a deep, shaky breath, silently apologizing to Yuko.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic.

But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes in surprise, amazement even, then smiles.

The submission in your voice sounded better than he could ever imagine. Like sweet music feeding his already inflated ego.

The guards exchange uneasy glances, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, and it's evident that restraining him forever is not possible.

And you know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this was your doing. Your mess to clean up.

You squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling to the guards to let him go. They hesitate, then reluctantly agree and step back, leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

You close your eyes and breathe, hating the idea of looking at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. And everyone else in the ward.

Gojo's satisfied grin says it all.

Let's get this over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head off if he wanted to.

Still Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, surprisingly, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And there was no need to ask why. The entire ward shot daggers at you any time someone walked by now.

She reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then patted your back as if to say, "lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding the half-pill out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering, he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting.

You took a deep breath and placed them both on your tongues, but he couldn't pass up this opportunity to feel you and closed his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed without needing the water you had set aside, a confusing mix of emotions churning as it spread through the rest of your body.

He made good on his promise and swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing look. And damn him, he's probably still thinking about it.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo. A stereotypical hint lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers. And laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around the face him, furious. Debating on whether to slap him, kick him, or knock his teeth out. Or be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water. A move you know would do no good but show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny. You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend."

His laugh fades, smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches.

...the hell is this??

You squint at him.

The words were muttered, reluctant, but there they were, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races when you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue rather than waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Now you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that. Stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he truly meant them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns, along with that smile that twists your stomach into knots.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it was, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind other than frustration.

Damn it, you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your little kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." He finishes with a wink.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory. A fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands, the jarring evidence of him not as invincible as he seems. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," and he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. But it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers into the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and feel sick even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward, lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water but the rustling fabric as he pulls the shirt over his head and pants to the ground sends heat to your cheeks.

He certainly isn't lacking in physique, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. So cute trying to hide away your thoughts.

You toss in his loofah, "Well...go on. Your water's ready." But Gojo can only grin, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Still managing to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the swirling conflict in your easy heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he just refuses to turn off. Everything was always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. He picks up a handful and actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away.

His pale eyes flutter, settling on you in a curious way.

He leans, arms flexing over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with this ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him managing to still be so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society, tf did you think??", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with bubbles.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster. Still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

But then again, this was your job...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption, no matter how twisted they seem.

Loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before gently washing his back.

He sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of his marked skin between the foam and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to the dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won. Evidence of his past before corruption. Everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

This is another first for you, this level of care. Gojo usually just hops into the shower and takes care of himself as you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably gets stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs and making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his lower region, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery so he can handle this himself.

You ignore his comment, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. You're humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

You want to scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

The water feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" his velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, down his sides, rhythm almost hypnotic and making the man's head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, to try to regain your slipping control, but you're in a losing battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

ANd God, he has to bite his lip at your touch that feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again. You've been hit not once, but twice in a day—a new personal record.

Instinctively, you reach up to shield yourself, the loofah slipping from your hand, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream prepares to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand and places a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." He swipes a lone droplet hanging from your eyelash. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, nerves on fire as you're forced into this close proximity for the second time today. Inches away from his face that softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better but he never felt threatened in the first place.

Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach. His finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

"Now," his eyes flicker to your bottom lip, "You're so very good at your job, Nurse." He smoothly pulls it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to my strength, let alone deal with me yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel.

"You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of it, any of this.

You hesitate, unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will fare against me then, hmm?"

Gojo knows he's a prodigy, yet he still manages to surprise himself sometimes, eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter. He almost feels a prick from the daggers you throw with your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that, Nurse," and he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

Gojo slightly tilts his head.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing.

Instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, salacious, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark. Wondering what his idea of "fun" was like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, instead you burn between your legs.

Fuck, you've got to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. Gruffing, you lower to your knees and begin drying the floor of his messes, hoping to distract you from your questionable sanity.

Rustling fabric fills the chamber as he dries off, and when you figure it's safe, you look up to a nude Gojo. Still dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Ah, let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

Standing on your tiptoes to reach it, a sliver of your midriff peeked out, but what captured his attention most was the way the sun rays washed your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of them between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your sentiment was...odd.

This was the first time anyone had cared to do something so simple for Gojo. And the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict and Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

"Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?"

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward now, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off and who could blame her?

You were the anomaly he chose to show mercy to and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova." She cleared her throat and did a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way the stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you scramble to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall taking deep breaths, completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

He keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, Yuko, flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's all just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurer in the shadows awaiting your every move.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You find yourself scrolling through your phone, deep-diving the web for information on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

The man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible. Conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own sanity. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax, sleeping eluding you and mind wandering to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to seem him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr. 

to keep it reader-friendly, yk? 

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n. 

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭. 

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

@misoyuh @lupitalove @sebastianlover @gojosatorubrainrot @sleepiebunniee

@mmmidkman @theonecrackhead @thathorsegotpoobrain @iveivory @samistar

@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou 

[merakiui]

chemic.

floyd leech x (female) reader cw: nsfw, lots of nerdy pining from floyd, a few cringe science innuendos, childish locker room talk, characters written as 18+, nrc is written to be co-education, reader can use magic note - in the stories you've read, the dumb jock and the teacher's pet always have some sort of clash. if your life is fiction, then you've just fallen into that exact trope. in chemistry, alkali metals react explosively when mixed with water. or: the teacher's pet and the dumb jock are paired up for an alchemy project, and both find that the other has been egregiously mischaracterized by the narrative.

You’ve always thought Floyd Leech was reckless.

“He skips classes, turns in half-completed assignments, and he’s always sleeping around,” you gripe to Ace, who idolizes the upperclassman and his proclivity to party carelessly. Apparently, Floyd’s example is all the rage nowadays amidst the guys at Night Raven.

“So what? We all do that.” Ace sticks his tongue out at you. “Not everyone’s a nerd like you.”

You huff and snap your book shut. “I care about my education. There’s nothing ‘nerdy’ about that.” Your gaze sweeps through the crowded cafeteria, and there he is—Floyd Leech, munching gluttonously on a plate piled high with takoyaki.

“No, I totally get it,” Deuce cuts in. “It’s good to keep up with school. Grades are important. I guess some of us wouldn’t know since he’s not honor student material.”

“Oh, hop off. Deuce is only agreeing with you cuz he wants in.” Ace nudges you, gazing not-so-subtly at your skirt.

Smooth like a well-oiled machine, you turn your horrified stare on a very red-faced Deuce.

“I-I do not!” he protests, choking on his drink. “That’s not true! I’m not that kinda guy. I was just saying—” He stops himself and glares fiercely at a snickering Ace. “Do you wanna fight?!”

“Honestly…” Sighing, you stand up. Boys will always be boys. That will never change.

In your world, there is nothing three-dimensional. It’s all purely fiction. Everyone fits into a trope, packaged neatly for your consumption. It’s literature.

Deuce is the Delinquent. Ace plays the role of the Best Friend (who won’t admit it until you catch him in a sentimental mood; he’s just that type). And Floyd’s the Dumb Jock.

As for you, you’re just a reader. An observer. You watch the story that is your school life unfold before your eyes, and it is full of unusual characters. By fiction’s logic, the Dumb Jock and the Teacher’s Pet almost always clash. You avoid this trope like the plague because, in every iteration you’ve read, the Dumb Jock is always painfully foolish and the Teacher’s Pet is always annoyingly clever. There’s nothing more to either of them. No depth whatsoever.

That’s how it’s supposed to be, at least.

But the thing about your beloved fictional worlds is that, whether you like it or not, one day you’ll have to put the book down and face reality. 

“Leech! Bad boy!” Professor Crewel snaps his pointer against the chalkboard. It quiets the class instantly, and all eyes fall upon the troublemaker in question. “How many times must I tell you not to play with the equipment?”

“Oops. My baaad,” he drawls from the back of the class, not sorry in the slightest.

You watch him from your seat and your dislike for him grows by the minute. What a lazy attitude. Doesn’t he know he’s supposed to pay attention to the instructions? Professor Crewel’s just about to assign groups, but I doubt he was even listening to that. He’s so busy doing… What even is he doing?

It looks like he’s doodling or fiddling with the vial. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. You peer at your own materials, each one organized on your desk, and beam proudly. 

Professor Crewel tuts. “Seeing as your investment in this project is nonexistent, I’m going to pair you with someone who’ll keep you on track. Remember, pups, you and your partner will receive the same grade. This is a team effort, and so the work you do should reflect that. Now then… (Last Name)!”

You flinch. “Yes, Professor?”

“You and Leech will be partners.”

“Me? Hold on. Wait. There has to be—”

“Rosehearts, you will be with Ashengrotto.”

You can almost taste the Strict Tyrant’s—Riddle’s—relief as he deflates. Anyone’s better than Floyd. For once, everyone can agree on that. Or perhaps that’s a sentiment shared only by you and Riddle. You don’t miss the longing stares of some of Floyd’s admirers as they gaze forlornly between the two of you.

Professor Crewel sets his clipboard down. “I expect fine work from all of you. Anyone who fails to meet the deadline or scores anything below the average will take remedial lessons after class. You have one month to finish this project. Instructions have been included in your kits. Work together and utilize your time wisely. We’ll meet halfway through to discuss where everyone currently stands. Dismissed!”

A collective groan sweeps through most of the class as they begin filing out of the room. You jump up from your seat, hurrying to gather your belongings, and bound towards Professor Crewel’s desk. You’re going to plead your case. You can’t work with Floyd.

But then he’s trotting down the aisle, covering each step with a whistle. “Heeey, if it isn’t Li’l Shrimpy! Guess you ’n I are partners now. Lucky me.”

“Hello, Floyd…”

“Aww. You sound so bummed.” He grins. “You sad you didn’t get paired up with Goldfishie?”

You swat him away when he leans over into your space. “This is an injustice. I shouldn’t have to work my ass off just to carry you,” you hiss, scowling at him.

“Hey, I’ll pull my weight. I never said I wasn’t gonna do it.”

Refusing to debate this matter further, you turn swiftly on your heel. Your skirt swishes with the movement. “If you skip even one of the meetings, I’m telling Professor Crewel.”

Floyd follows dutifully after you, irritating like a parasite curled beneath your skin. “What a scary threat comin’ from Teacher’s Pet. Didja rehearse that one in the mirror this morning?”

If you weren’t carrying a box of fragile equipment, you’d slap him. Maybe. You have to uphold your academic record, and assaulting Floyd isn’t worth the tarnish temporary relief will bring.

“We’ll meet in Lab Room 4 during lunch tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

“Whaaat? Why lunch? Can’t we do it after class?”

“Out of the question. If we’re going to get a good grade, we should start as soon as possible. Absolutely no slacking. So make sure to actually read the instructions beforehand.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said that, but our grade will make us seem so if we fail this.”

“It’s not that hard. All we gotta do is use whatever we got in the boxes to make a reaction. Somethin’ like that, right? If we break the glass ones, ain’t that technically a reaction? Like it’s changin’ states of matter or whatever.”

You stare at him. He can’t be serious.

“Talking to you is killing my brain cells, actually. I can’t believe you’re even in this class.”

“What?”

You’re already striding past him.

“Hey! What? What’d I say?”

You turn the corner, and the Dumb Jock disappears from your sight.

Floyd is studying the instructions intently.

His deskmate leans over. Her perfume is obnoxiously sweet. It tickles his nose.

“What’s that?” she asks, smiling.

“Alchemy stuff. The regular class got the same assignment, I think. But ours is a little more advanced cuz it’s honors.” Floyd rests his chin on his palm and frowns at the sheet of paper. “So basically we gotta find the missing component. It’s to make a potion we’ve already covered in class… I guess it’d be best to start with the chemical compounds of the ingredients we’re given and find out what’s compatible and what’s not. What sorta properties they’ve got. The list says…” He squints until the words are clear. “Sodium chloride’s one of ’em… Oh, that’s salt. As a solid, we can’t use it to conduct electricity. But in aqueous and molten states… Yeah, maybe that’d work since the ions are freely moving and stuff. Are we even trying to do that, though?”

“Wow,” she marvels, and his clinical concentration snaps. “You sure know a lot about alchemy.”

Floyd blinks back at her, confused. “Ain’t this common knowledge? Even the guys in the beginner class learn this stuff.”

“Ah, is that right?” She laughs, but Floyd thinks she doesn’t really care. “You were talking super scientific just now. It was pretty impressive. Reminds me of your brother.”

“What’s Jade gotta do with this?”

She shrugs. “He’s the smart one. I always see him with his face buried in a book.”

“And what am I?”

She opens her mouth to reply and then shuts it. “Hm. Well…”

Floyd leans in close. Those sharp teeth of his flash at her in a teasing smirk. “I got one. You wanna know what you are?”

“W-What?” Her breath catches in her throat.

“The pretty one. You make me feel like a noble gas.”

She slaps his arm playfully and giggles. “You’re so cheesy!”

“Do ya get it?”

“Hm?”

“Noble gases. Like helium and argon and neon. They’re chemically inert.”

So basically they’ll never bond with other elements on the periodic table. Which means it’s never gonna happen between you and me. No chemical reaction whatsoever.

“Oh, I get it now!” She shakes her head in amusement. “You could’ve just said I was hot.”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

She slides the sheet out from under his hand and, in glittery ink, scrawls her number.

After class, Floyd stands over the rubbish bin and tears it to shreds.

You think you might actually murder Floyd, and then you’ll be the first honors student from Night Raven to commit such a cold-hearted crime.

“Where are your materials? Where’re the instructions? Did you even read it at all?” you seethe, yanking on his tie so he’s pulled down to your height.

Despite the scolding, Floyd’s expression softens into something lackadaisical. “Lost it.”

You release him with a mournful cry. “My grade is doomed and I’m paired up with the world’s biggest idiot… It’s over for me.”

“You got yours, don’tcha? I don’t see the problem with sharing.”

“That’s just it! You’ve got half of the ingredients on your instructions and I’ve got the other half. Didn’t you listen when Professor Crewel explained that?”

“So we’ll just improvise. Can’t be that hard. All we gotta do is figure out what kinda potion we’re brewing based on the ingredients. Should be easy.”

You drop down into your seat and hold your head in your hands. “I can’t believe it… I’ve got a party-animal-slacker for a lab partner, and Azul’s got Riddle. It should’ve been me…”

Floyd lowers into the seat beside you. He opens his mouth, but the words remain lodged.

“Whatever. We can work around this,” you declare, straightening your tie and smoothing the wrinkles in your skirt. “We’ve got my ingredient list and the potions textbook. It’ll be fine.”

“See? You know what you’re doing. Shrimpy’s always thinkin’ smart.”

“I have to if I wanna make up for your shortcomings.”

Floyd holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Let’s see… My list says this specific potion, which is to be sealed with cork and candle wax, is one that you ingest. So it isn’t any sort of spray or perfume, and it’s not a cosmetic either. It must be a liquid.”

“Could be a solid, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like enchanted foods. They sell ’em in town. Gummy worms that whisper gossip and lollipops that grant you temporary charms. Like the ability to see in the dark for some time. Cool stuff like that.”

“Or it could be medicinal.”

Floyd pouts, somewhat disheartened. “Or it could be medicinal.”

“This is an assignment from Professor Crewel, so it must be a relatively advanced potion. Let’s see…” You straighten your lab coat and pry the thick tome open. “Butterfly wings. Sapphire. Red clover. Pluteus villosus. The kiss of a person charmed or cursed. Huh…”

“Ooh, that’s a fun list.”

“It makes no chemical sense. If I remember, red clover and that mushroom are known to have medicinal properties when used in certain concoctions. But butterfly wings and sapphire…don’t.”

“My list called for salt if that’s any help.”

“But salt from what? The Coral Sea? Mermaid’s tears? Normal salt from a shaker?”

“Dunno. Why not try ’em all and see what we get?”

“I suppose process of elimination would prove useful here… But we can’t do that until we know the rest of what was on your list. Ugh… Seriously, Floyd, you’d better find that instruction sheet, or else I’m going to wring you out and use your tears as the salt—recipe be damned!”

Floyd smirks. “That a challenge?”

“It’s a threat.” You grab hold of his tie once more and force him to look you in the eyes. “Find that list. I’m not joking.”

“I’ll do my best, Teacher.”

You cut today’s meeting short on account of your fried brain and Floyd’s attention span.

On his way out of the lab room, Floyd says, “Bring your beaker next time. I’ll bring my stirring rod.”

And then he waltzes out, humming his way down the hall. You look at your belongings scattered on the table.

Of course I will. Why wouldn’t I? We need these materials to do the experiment.

Marking your place in the textbook, you shut it and decide to return to it after the day’s ended.

“Floyd’s in good form today,” Ace remarks as he laces his sneakers next to Jamil.

“That’s great news for us.” He gently knocks Ace’s head with his water bottle. “Let’s keep it that way. Don’t do anything to spoil that.”

“Course he’s feeling good,” their teammate joins in with a sleazy grin. “He didn’t show up to lunch. Bet he was busy rawing one of the cheerleaders. Who do you think’s the lucky lady?”

“Hard to say. They’re all super hot. If I gotta guess, though, it’s probably the captain. I heard she got her nipples pierced recently. Bet that’s a sight,” another interjects.

“Post-sex adrenaline’s gotta be something else if you’re Floyd,” Ace mumbles. “I dunno what everyone sees in him.”

“Dude’s funny, good-looking, athletic… Not that hard to check the rest of the boxes when you’re him.”

“(Name) thinks he’s a dumbass. Her exact words were ‘an unfunny clown who flouts classroom etiquette and rules completely.’” Ace puts on an impression of your voice as he quotes that phrase.

“What? The teacher’s pet? I think I had class with her last semester. She’s cute.”

“Ew, gross!”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t fuck her stupid? Come on, man! The nerdy types are always freaks.”

Ace grimaces like the mere mention of you is going to infect him, but the blush on his face says otherwise. He’s picturing it.

“She’d be a perfect match with Rosehearts. Guy’s nuts for rules. She’s like a wet dream come to life for him.”

Ace punches his teammate. “Shaddup. She deserves better than that.” That last part is mumbled bitterly.

Jamil looks unenthused with this conversation. “Keep it down long enough to get through practice. Whatever you want to do after that is your own business.”

On the court, Floyd slams the ball through the net. It’s a flawless dunk.

Ace has to wonder: Does good pussy truly improve your performance on the court? 

Obscene moans spill from Floyd’s laptop. On the screen, folded into a mating press, a little scientist gets her brains fucked out by the monster she’s created. He’s laying on his stomach, fully immersed in the salacious scene and chewing on a lollipop stick. The lewd imagery reflects off his glasses.

Jade happens to glance at it from where he’s sat at his desk. It’s a hentai he’s seen before.

“You seem preoccupied.”

“Mhm.”

“I was under the impression you weren’t fond of the studious type.”

“Meh. I guess it’s fun in this one.” Floyd tracks the way the monster grinds his clawed thumb against the scientist’s clit. She squirts with a delighted squeal. It’s a fantastic visual. “You think they all wear those little lace two-pieces underneath their lab coats?”

“Who can say?”

“She’s got nothin’ in her head now, though.” Floyd pulls the stick from his mouth. His tongue curls around it. The scientist’s lab coat hangs off of her shoulder. Her tits look fuckable. Her whole body looks like the perfect canvas for dozens of bites, but there’s something missing. Something that just can’t be replicated from real life—obviously. It’s hentai and Floyd knows that. But… “Shrimpy’s not brainless like that.”

“Ah, so this is about (Name).”

Floyd doesn’t answer at first. He watches the woman’s stomach bulge, watches the way the monster’s cock slides in and out. The way they connect as if they were made for each other despite size and species.

“She smelled good today.”

“Humans often do.”

“This was a different smell. New Shrimpy smell… Sweeter. Comfortable. Like the smell of holidays on land.”

He remembers he caught a whiff of it when you met up to test various ingredients for the project. At the start, he assumed it was coming from the cauldron—the scent of some foreign mixture. But then you’d gotten closer to him, nearly pushed him out of the way in your impatience, and the smell hit him head-on.

“Perhaps a perfume?”

“Maybe.” He studies the table as it shudders from the force of the monster’s thrusts. He has the scientist’s legs pinned by her ears. She’s euphoric, mind melting and body burning. It’s almost chemical. “If it is, it’s a damn good perfume.”

There’s a spark of yearning in his chest, accompanied with a singular thought: I wanna be inside a little shrimpy scientist just like that.

Even if that means he’d be the monster.

Especially if that means he’d be the monster.

“I think it was comin’ from her benzene ring.”

“Her benzene ring?” Jade raises a brow, curious.

“I dunno… She just…seemed softer today. Like… Like talc.”

Jade struggles around a laugh. “Talc?”

“Yeah. On the hardness scale, it’s one of the softest minerals. You can scratch it with your nail. It’s real easy. That’s what she reminded me of.”

“Right. I’m aware. I just…wasn’t expecting that.”

“If she touched me, I’d be a ten on the scale.”

Plucking the moss ball from its container, held delicately between the tweezers, Jade lowers it into a glass terrarium. “What comedic chemical comparisons. You’d be a diamond, in that case.”

Floyd shuts his laptop just as the monster fills the scientist with copious amounts of thick, sticky cum. “Guess I would be.”

“Are you going to see her?”

In an indirect way, yeah.

He drags a small bag out from under his bed. “Nah. She said she’s gonna wring me out if I don’t figure out what kinda potion we’re making. Think I’ll procrastinate on that a little more. See how far it gets me.”

His brother chuckles. “Good luck.”

Floyd grins and shuts the door behind him. He beelines for the showers, not wasting a single second running hot water and stripping down. He fucks you in that cubic shower stall—or part of you. The synthetic part, anyway. The part he’s named after you because who else would he want curled around his cock and coming undone like in hentai? Forums say an onahole can’t compare to the real thing, but then of course it couldn’t. Just in the same way cotton velour can’t compare to silk velvet. Floyd would know that and he’s never had real pussy before. 

In the back of his mind, just as he spills his load inside for the third time, he thinks he’d taste that same smell he caught today if he parted your legs and dove in.

Maybe you’d squirm just like the little scientist beneath her beloved monster.

Ostensibly, you’ve made progress.

The molten mixture in the cauldron looks promising. A small amount is scooped up in the beaker for further study. It looks like liquid gold and smells overwhelmingly like a confectionery. You set it down on the table and peel your gloves off.

“I’m gonna try it once it’s cooled.”

Floyd shakes his head. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m the one who mixed it.”

“What if it kills you?”

“Then I die a genius.”

Floyd whistles. “Big words for Shrimpy.”

“It’s only right that I take responsibility for… Actually, if it does incapacitate me somehow, the project might not get done and we need someone with a functioning brain to complete the task… Floyd!”

He stands rigidly at attention, saluting you as if you’re a drill sergeant.

“Drink this and let me study its effect on you.” You pass the beaker to him while poring over your notes. “The color looks correct, the fragrance is fine, albeit a little stronger than normal, and it’s completely opaque. This has to be it!”

Floyd tilts the sample. The glittering liquid sloshes around. “What’s it supposed to be?”

“If I’m correct, which I’m certain I am, this is a mood stabilizer of some sort. The mushroom I got from Jade is supposedly hallucinogenic.”

Floyd cringes. “Yuck.”

“You don’t have to drink it if you aren’t sure, but I’m very positive that’s what it is. A mood stabilizer meant to boost a mage’s happiness.”

“We don’t gotta use magic for that. Can’t ya just go outside and lay in the sun if ya wanna be happy?”

“I don’t know,” you say, exasperated. “We added the salt from your list, and you suggested adding sunflower. Maybe this’ll work.”

“I dunno, Shrimpy.” Floyd sniffs it and draws back. “Are mood stabilizers supposed to smell this strong? If this is supposed to make me happy, the smell’s not doin’ it for me.”

“It’ll be fine. You don’t have to drink the whole thing. Look, right here. The book clearly lists the same ingredients we used, and we followed the same brewing and mixing process.”

“If Shrimpy thinks so…”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Floyd downs the sample in a single gulp. You watch him with a scientific sort of fascination and wonder just how many parties he’s had to go to to master that trick.

“Done,” he mutters gravelly, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“How’d it taste? According to the book, it’s supposed to taste flowery with a hint of salt.”

“Tastes fresh. Like peppermint.”

“Peppermint?” you echo, bewildered. “No… No, that’s not right. It shouldn’t.”

Immediately, you consult the book again.

Floyd squints blindly at the words from where he sits beside you, his elbow propped on the table. “Didn’t we also add nettle leaf?”

“What? No. The recipe didn’t call for—” You round on him just then. “Did you slip something in?”

He shrugs. “It was lookin’ like a boring potion anyways. Thought it’d be more fun this way.”

You lower your head onto the open book and groan into the pages. “Not even magic can replicate the amount of stupidity you’ve just showcased.”

“Hey, I’m just following the pattern. You said those things had medicinal properties, so I thought nettle leaf would fit in with that.”

“So then what did we make?” You lift your head to look at him. “Do you feel any happier? Any symptoms?”

“All the same over here.”

“So now we’re back to where we began…” You slap his hand away when he reaches for a clean vial. “Hands off. Let me do it.”

“C’mon. I wanna help. Lemme help.”

“Are you trying to get us kicked out of the lab? If something explodes, Professor Crewel’ll be on our asses in no time.”

Floyd rolls his eyes, but he obeys.

“Okay. Fresh start. Clean slate. If we follow the same recipe using the ingredients on our list… Hmm.”

You retrieve your notebook and open to a fresh page to begin jotting down ideas.

What am I missing?

“These are the ones with medicinal properties, but then psilocybin can also imply…” Your pen flies across the page as you work to construct a new mixture. “So maybe, if we’re using these things, it might work. And then… Sapphire is commonly associated with romance and truth… A potion that makes you speak the truth? Ah, but there’s also luck and healing… Is that it? Taking into account the mushroom… No, there’s also the red clover, butterfly wings, and the kiss. Oh, the kiss! We didn’t add that.”

You dig through your bag for lipstick and set it on the table. “The kiss of someone charmed or cursed. If it’s someone cursed, we can assume the potion will then have ingredients meant to reverse said curse. If they’re charmed…”

Unable to make a concise deduction, you deflate against your chair. This would be so much simpler if Floyd hadn’t lost his instructions!

Speaking of your lab partner, he’s been eerily quiet. You glance at him and find he’s looking right back, unfalteringly focused. That’s new for Floyd Leech.

“What’s wrong?”

Floyd blinks slowly, as if he’s thawing from a case of ice. His pupils are impossibly wide, so much so they’re like two black voids. And then he jerks away, his cheeks hot with a fierce, crimson blush. You watch him fidget in his seat. For once, he isn’t the silver-tongued, smart-mouthed jock who oozes confidence from his pores. Right now, he looks uncomfortable and awkward. Like a boy who’s just held hands with his crush for the first time.

“N-Nothing.”

You sigh. “It’s not ‘nothing’. It’s obviously something. What’s wrong?” You lean closer, scrutinizing his sweaty face. “Do you feel sick? Are you about to vomit? Are you running a fever?”

He smacks your arm away when you reach to feel his forehead. And then he coughs out an odd laugh. It’s unlike any sound you’ve ever heard him make. “How about let’s not…do…that?” His gaze darts to your chest and then your skirt and then your stocking-clad legs.

You understand his thoughts at once.

“Oh, grow up. I’m trying to check if you’re chemically, physically, and mentally stable.”

“I know that. S’just…” He swallows thickly. “K-Kinda hard…to focus.”

You spot the strain in his uniform slacks and then the sweat that beads at his brow. There’s a glaze to his two-toned eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Ah, I understand. We’ve mixed a common aphrodisiac.” Turning away from him, you flip a few pages in your textbook. “Let’s see… Red clover is supposedly good with fertility and then the mushroom increases the effect of the afflicted’s most potent desires, and then the nettle leaf has nutrients that support reproductive health. The other stuff we added either balances the mixture or makes it stronger.” You peer into the cauldron next. “The color matches that in the book and so does the smell. It says nothing about peppermint, though. How peculiar…”

“So… So was that it?” Floyd rests his head on the table and inhales a shaky breath. “We got it right?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll keep trying. For now, you should drink some water. It says the effect shouldn’t last longer than an hour. Of course, if we wanted to save time, you could just ejaculate and then it should be out of your system. Otherwise, you’ll just have to let it wear off. Kinda like when you’re drunk.”

Floyd grits his teeth. “Sounds real fun.”

You frown. “Sorry. I… Maybe I should’ve taken it.”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Better me than you.”

“Hm.” You flip a few pages in the textbook. “We have limited resources, so I’m afraid I can’t brew a cure. We either wait it out or I help you.”

Floyd’s head snaps up from the table. “You… You’re gonna help me?”

“I need someone to reach the top shelves. Can’t do that when he’s doubled over with a hard-on.”

Floyd bites the inside of his cheek.

“Here. Sit up and relax.” Your hand ghosts over his crotch. He does the opposite of relax. In fact, he tenses so badly you think he’ll become a statue.

“A-Are you sure you wanna…?”

“I don’t see what the issue is. You’ve probably gotten way better from other girls. Just bear with it for now.”

“S’not that…” he trails off, staring at your throat as it bobs with your every swallow. “W-Whatever. Go ahead…”

“If you get my lab coat dirty, I’ll kill you.”

Floyd’s chest rumbles with a delirious laugh. He makes quick work of undoing the button and zip on his slacks and then, very clumsily, he fishes his cock out of his boxers. You notice they’re patterned with polka dots and little cartoon eels. It’s not the sort of underwear that’d pop into your mind when you imagine the sex-addicted jock everyone in the school lusts after.

With a swish of your magic pen, the lab door shuts and locks. You rifle through your bag to procure a small jar of aloe vera. Floyd watches you intensely, his gaze never wavering.

Unscrewing the lid, you dip your fingers into the gel. 

“We can make good use of this,” you say conversationally as you wrap your slick hand around his achingly hard cock. Floyd bristles and sucks in air through his teeth. “Moray semen could be used in a potion of some sort. I’d like to test it sometime.”

He stares at you, absolutely mystified. It’s then when Floyd realizes he’s misjudged you entirely. You’re more than a Teacher’s Pet. In fact, you’re his exact type. Better than any girl he’s ever seen in hentai.

His cock throbs under your touch. Your hand is warm and soft against his shaft. It moves up and down in a hypnotizing rhythm, and suddenly there’s no other place in the world he’d rather be than right here at your side, led closer and closer to the ledge by your hand alone. You don’t spare him another glance, returning your attention to the book. You pick up your pen with your free hand and, like a real scientist unbothered by external variables, you’re back to working in your own little world.

In an effort to provide a modicum of support, Floyd squints through glazed eyes. “C-Can’t you… Fuck.” He bows his head and bites down hard on his lip. Blood pools to the surface. He tastes it on his tongue. “Move the page closer?”

“You can’t read it?”

Floyd opens and closes his mouth. “Can’t see it. S’all blurry.”

This draws your gaze. He struggles to pick an area of your face to look at. Either way, every inch of you is pretty. Even that perplexed expression sets his body aflame—or maybe that’s the work of the aphrodisiac. He’s not sure. He doesn’t care much either way. You may as well be more mighty than the spell itself, for it’s left his cock weeping pre-cum in your fist.

“What do you mean?”

“I normally wear contacts. Morays have shitty eyesight,” he explains, hissing when you squeeze him experimentally. He proceeds with caution. “But I lost ’em a while back. I’ve got glasses as a back-up.”

“So why don’t you wear them? Don’t tell me you lost those, too.”

Floyd lifts his shoulders. He should—he really should—but he’s learned to function with bad vision ever since he first lost his contacts. “Don’t feel like it.”

“That’s foolish. You should wear your glasses. Then you won’t have to struggle so much.”

Floyd aims for flirty. “Ooh, so Shrimpy wants to see what I look like in glasses?” 

“I think you’d enjoy being able to see clearly more than my own curiosity.”

And he falls embarrassingly flat.

You resume your scribbling. He doesn’t say anything else, choosing to brace himself against the table with a grip so tight it whitens his knuckles and tenses the muscles in his hands. He’s panting like he’s just finished a grueling workout. Rather than sounds of exhaustion, though, they’re more like great gulps of air as he struggles to keep his composure. He’s a merman; they don’t possess wings, but he certainly feels like he’s flying in this moment, caught up in the clouds with his crush.

It’s better than any fantasy he’s ever conjured—better than any hentai—and you’re oblivious to it.

“That’s it! I’ve figured it out!”

You squeeze his length tightly. And that’s all it takes to rocket him up into outer space. He inhales sharply, squeezes his eyes shut, and hangs his head when he cums. It’s messy and sticky, but that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. Mercifully allowing him to ride out his wave, you continue to slowly pump him. Pearly cum drools from his tip.

“Mm, s’great… Good job. Knew you could do it,” he mutters, dazed and dumb.

The pounding of his heart is incessant like the buzz of cicadas in summer. Did that really just happen?

But then you do the unthinkable, and for a single second he thinks he’s still sitting in his room, hunched over his laptop and watching hentai.

Like a succubus, you clean his cum from your fingers in just a few licks. He tracks your tongue the entire time. Did that really just happen?

“It’s either a love potion, a remedy of some sort, or a type of transformation potion. One of these three—I’m sure of it! We’ll spend next week testing each one, so be ready.” You toss your head back and drink from your water bottle, unfazed. It’s both the coolest and hottest thing he’s ever seen. “Does that sound good to you, Floyd?” 

There’s a determined fire blazing in your eyes. He smiles dreamily.

“Anything for Shrimpy.”

You match his energy with a joyous giggle. “Thanks for your hard work, Floyd!”

He wants to ask, but he stops himself. Is it so wrong to want you to experiment some more on him?

Maybe that’s asking too much.

“Floyd, you were a monster out there!”

He wipes the sweat from his face and neck and then turns to look at the few teammates who’ve crowded around him.

“Wasn’t a big deal. I just played like I normally do.”

“Uh, it kinda was, though!” Ace says, pushing through the throng. “You actually managed to stay in the game!”

“And we scored more than we usually do!”

“Impressive work,” Jamil adds from where he sits on a nearby bench, tightening his laces.

“What’s your secret? Didja get laid before the game?”

“You totally did, right? Who was it? You gotta hook me up, man!”

“What? No way! Send her my way.”

Floyd gazes at all of them, wondering what in the deep, blue sea they’re prattling on about. He’s only just tuned in on today’s locker room gossip. His head has been in the clouds ever since his last meeting with you. The feeling is fuzzy, snug like a duvet fresh from the dryer.

“You wanna know my secret?” he asks, leering at the lot of them. The difference in height makes this possible, and he takes full advantage of it.

Some of them shrink back, but the few emboldened teammates inch closer.

“Ya can’t have her. She’s all mine.”

“No way. You’re actually serious with this one? Who is it?”

“Bet it’s the cheer captain.”

“Dude, my money’s on the hottie from Magic History.”

“What do you think, Jamil?”

“Does it really matter?” he asks, his tone monotonous.

“It does! No fair Floyd gets good luck pussy while we’re all stranded over here.”

Floyd can’t understand humans sometimes. Why would I share my Shrimpy hole with these small fry? That’s all for me.

Because the team was definitely referring to his sex toy, right?

Surprisingly, Floyd’s waiting for you in the lab when you poke your head inside. He has everything laid out, and he’s even started working on some of the formulas to ensure a successful brew.

And this time he’s wearing his glasses.

You almost don’t want to break his focus, but he senses your presence and glances your way before you can duck out.

“Oh, hey. Sorry for interrupting.”

“S’all good.”

“Were you waiting long? I was a little caught up.”

You recall your chat with Riddle, who told you he already solved the missing ingredient with Azul, and wince. You’re certain you would’ve been in that same position if not for Floyd’s carelessness.

“Nah.”

Heaving a relieved sigh, you venture deeper into the room and deposit your bag on the nearest chair.

“What have you been doing?”

“Brainstorming. Directions said we gotta seal it with wax afterwards. I only know a few potions that call for seals. Most of ’em are either super volatile, dangerous, or need time to ferment.”

“So you’re thinking…?”

“Maybe it really is a love potion. We were kinda on the right track last time. We just gotta figure out what we need to subtract and add to get it right.”

Taken aback by his initiative, you nod mechanically. “And we still need the kiss.”

“And we still need the kiss,” he affirms.

“Then what’re we missing? There’s salt, red clover, sapphire, the Pluteus villosus, and the butterfly wings.” You shuffle over to him and glance at his notes. “Oh, you’ve broken down the chemical components of each of these. Wow…”

“It’s not that hard.”

You bite your tongue. It was hard when I was learning it…

“So what about the kiss?”

“I’ll do it.”

“But you’re not cursed.”

Floyd smiles at his textbook. “Not cursed.”

“If you insist… If it gives you a hard-on again, I’m not helping you.”

“Aww. So mean. And I thought you wanted a li’l sample of moray for your next experiment.”

You elbow him harshly, to which he laughs. Observing Floyd as he is now, you begin to regret your original assessment of him. It was rather scathing.

I was wrong about him. He’s not the Dumb Jock.

“Do you want to pursue something in science after you graduate?”

“Not really. I think it’s interesting, yeah, but not enough to wanna shape my whole life around it. Y’know?”

“Ah.”

“I kinda wanna design stuff. Crewel’s been givin’ me pointers.”

“Design? As in, fashion design?” You furrow your brow. “Huh. I never would’ve guessed.”

“What about you? Bet Shrimpy’s got an entire life plan laid out. Super responsible-like.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you say, laughing woodenly. “I have a general idea.”

“Yeah?” Floyd grabs a vial from off the shelf and empties the contents into the cauldron. The silver liquid bubbles as it’s stirred in. “I’m sure you’ll do it—whatever it is you wanna do. You’re smart.”

“Thanks…”

He beams and tosses the rest of the measured ingredients in. You’re content to watch him, trusting in his judgment. When it comes time for the kiss, he gestures to your bag.

“You still have that lipstick you always carry around?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Put some on me and then hold up that blank sheet there.”

“Are you sure that’s going to work?”

“Maybe.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing…”

Still, you retrieve the tube and apply it to Floyd’s lips. This proximity gives him the chance to admire you up-close while you focus on his lips. He smacks them twice to make sure they’re coated properly and then, while you’re holding up the clean parchment, leans in. When he pulls back, there’s a ruby-red lipstick mark where there wasn’t before.

Using magic, Floyd then extracts the print. You watch in awe as it’s dissolved in the solution. Vibrancy explodes within the cauldron, turning silver into plumeria-pink.

“Whoa…”

Floyd passes you a wooden paddle. You take it from him and dip it into the cauldron. As you stir in time with Floyd, listening to him mutter the enchantment, you think back on the past few weeks. 

I’ve had such a narrow-minded view of him this entire time, and yet here he is proving all of my misguided opinions incorrect.

“Did you ever figure out the missing components?”

“Mhm. My list had salt, honey, and peppermint.”

“How’d you know it was those two?”

“Cuz honey’s sweet and peppermint’s refreshing. Two feelings you experience when you’re in love. And that’s what it called for according to an older recipe. I found it in the library.”

“You actually did research on your own time?”

“Well, I don’t wanna fail.”

“And here I thought I was losing brain cells having you as my lab partner.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry. I… I shouldn’t have thought that. I know better now.”

“Doesn’t bother me. Sides, I got to see a whole new side of Shrimpy, so it works out.”

“A whole new side?”

“Ooh, you wanna know the secret ingredient? The one we were supposed to find.”

“I do! What was it?”

“Cacao beans.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Pretty cool, right? The perfect love potion is all about bittersweetness.”

“I get it. So the mushroom completely blindsides and fools the afflicted into thinking they’re in love. It’s all hallucinogenic. Sapphire enhances that effect, and red clover stabilizes it. Honey makes it sweet. The butterfly wings contribute to that fluttery feeling in your stomach shortly after you’ve ingested it. Peppermint adds a refreshing aftertaste. Yes, of course! It all makes sense.”

“And salt flavors it. Sorta.”

“What a complicated mixture.”

“Was a real pain tryin’ to get the order correct, especially when the recipe’s written in old runes.”

You and Floyd stare into the bubbling cauldron. It smells just as it should. It looks just as it should. Without a doubt, it’s a perfect product.

“At least we did it. I’m so ready to wipe my hands of this project.”

“Took the words right outta my mouth.”

Just as instructed, you and Floyd bottle it. Next, you light a candle and pour wax over the cork. For extra flourish, you tie a ribbon around the neck of the bottle. You hold it up to the light to check its transparency, or lack thereof. It’s an impenetrable pink—just like in the textbook. A beautiful success if you’ve ever seen one.

“Now all that’s left is to turn this in to Professor Crewel and wait for his analysis.” You set the bottle down. “Good work, Floyd.”

He preens under your praise. “It was nothin’. Thanks for all the help, Shrimpy.”

Mirroring each other’s giddiness, the both of you bump fists.

Floyd lies on his back, his arm raised to the ceiling. He flexes his fingers absently and recalls the feeling of your hand on his skin. 

Did that mean anything, or was that just a standard chemical reaction?

“Perhaps you ought to illustrate the way you feel using symbols on the periodic table.”

Floyd glares at his brother from across the room. Once again, he’s sat at his desk, carefully arranging the plant life in a new terrarium.

“That’s way too lame.”

“Really? I find it to be rather creative.”

“I’m not a loser.”

“Your earlier comparisons made me think otherwise.”

He’s overcome with the strongest urge to knock Jade’s teeth out of his mouth. Exercising a mere sliver of restraint, Floyd turns over on his side and hugs his body pillow against his chest. There’s a magical girl dressed in a frilly outfit printed on it, smiling brightly as she holds her magical staff up to vanquish evil. Most nights, as he often does with many personal belongings that fill the emptiness in his heart, he pretends it’s you.

“You’re talking a lot for someone who’d be better off without his tongue…”

“How harsh. And here I was willing to offer advice to my dear, troubled brother.”

“You can stuff it. I don’t want your advice.”

He turns his back on Jade and huffs, which earns him a chuckle.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything after all.

He buries his face in the pillow. Hentai makes it look so simple, but love itself is just another convoluted chemical reaction. It’s even more so under the sea.

Floyd shuts his eyes.

I guess this means we won’t see each other during lunch anymore…

Professor Crewel has graced you and Floyd with a passing grade. You expected this, so it isn’t a very jarring shock, but it’s still pleasant nonetheless.

“I knew you’d pass!” Deuce says as you walk between him and Ace, proudly flashing the graded assignment sheet. “To think you managed it even with a guy like Floyd…”

“He’s not so bad.”

“What’s this? A dramatic change of heart?” Ace pokes and prods, standing so close you can smell his cologne.

You roll your eyes. “He wasn’t a total pain. It was quite nice, actually.”

“You sure that’s all that happened? I heard you were skipping lunch with him…”

“To do the project—”

“So she could get the project done, dumbass,” Deuce speaks over you. “Besides, Floyd’s not (Name)’s type.”

“Hey, how come I’ve never heard about this type?”

“Does it really matter what my type is?”

“Yeah, it does! I gotta see if you have good taste. Us guys can be so terrible, y’know. Total slobs. Gotta make sure my (Name) keeps her eyes on the good ones.”

You slap his arm lightly. “And you’re definitely not one of them, wearing that cheap, casanova cologne!”

Ace sputters, his cheeks tinged pink. “Y-You just can’t recognize greatness when you smell it!”

Deuce snickers. “Greatness that costs fifty-percent off.”

“So now I’m lame for wanting to save money? Geez. You’re assholes.”

Giggling, you wrap your arms around the both of them and pull them in close. “It’s done out of love.”

“Gimme a break.” Ace groans.

Your little trio carries on down the hall, ignorant to the rest of the students who pass you by.

Floyd looks up, his ears pricking. He smells you before he hears you. It’s not the same, nor is it as strong as the sticky-sweet scent from before, but it’s still enticing in its own right.

“You should talk to her,” Jade encourages, following his line of sight. “Invite her to this year’s Wintertide. I’m sure she’ll consider it, at the very least.”

Floyd narrows his eyes. “My odds ain’t zero.”

“They aren’t one-hundred either.”

Jade speaks like he doesn’t value his teeth. But it’s all intentional. He’ll push and push until Floyd stumbles out of his cowardly mold. Maybe one day.

‘One day’ is so vague, but it isn’t without hope.

After all, you’re an alkali metal and he’s the water who’ll cradle explosive, enchanting you. And where there’s water, there’s sure to be a reaction.

His feet carry him away from Jade and towards you. He descends like a spontaneous tempest. Ace and Deuce flinch back in surprise when he all but squeezes between the three of you.

“Shrimpy!”

And this time you look at him with a bright grin—not the scalding vexation you’d first leveled him with.

“Floyd!”

It’s deliciously chemical.

[joelsdagger]

all the things i would do || one shot

masterlist | ao3 | resources on how to help Palestine here <3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: porn no plot. joel finds an article of clothing that belongs to you and there’s nothing holding him back once he gets his hands on them. 

rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI 

content warnings: [Post Outbreak], jackson era, established relationship, implied age gap (25+ years), joel is canon age, slightly domestic joel (blink and it’s gone), joel has a panty kink, panty sniffing, masturbation (m), soft dom!joel, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, pet names (use of baby, sweet baby, sweetheart, love), smidgen of fluff (these two are so in love it’s sickening), an inkling of a size kink (but in my head joel’s at least 6’5, he’s a BIG big man in my brain), joel’s filthy mouth, praise kink, hint of sub!joel, nipple play, one use of the word ‘Daddy’ (moots don’t look at me I couldn’t help it), slight tummy kink/tummy worship, cum eating. Joel’s POV. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader other than having hair long enough that it’s past her shoulders. 

word count: 3.1k

a/n: so, a few things before we get started. i’m new to writing fics and this is my first time publicly putting out a fic that wasn’t just for shits and giggles for my friends and i and i’m so fucking nervous like the amount of times i’ve panicked over this is a little embarrassing to admit but we ball. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo for encouraging me to actually write this all those months ago and for all your brilliant ideas and encouragement and practically holding my hand through it since day one. another big thank you to kat, aura, and naya for beta reading and helping me during the editing process. okay i’m done rambling, enjoy some of the filth that constantly plagues my brain <3 

Joel’s eyes blink open slowly, the sun peeks into the bedroom through the curtains across the room. For a moment he searches for you beside him, but remembers you’ve already left for the day out on patrol duty. Joel harrumphs, still bothered over letting you and Ellie bully him out of his patrol duties. “You’ve been hurting yourself too much baby,” You had told him a few weeks ago over breakfast. “Yeah, you’re an old man now. You fall over one more time and you’re done.” Ellie snickers from her seat in the kitchen. Joel just rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the dishes, but you had caught the small grin on his face when he turned his head back to the sink. Against the two of you, Joel never stood a chance.

Joel drags himself out of bed towards his dresser to grab a new set of clothes. He throws on a blue shirt that fits a little snug on his well built form, the thin material stretches over his broad shoulders, across his strong back, and pulls taut over his biceps and he grunts as he pulls a pair of dark wash jeans over his strong, thick thighs, securing them in place with a distressed leather belt that he’s had for years. Once he’s dressed, he takes in the mess in the room. He notices both of your clothes from the night before are still scattered around the room.  He bends down to pick them up, he grunts as his knees pop when he stands back up. He starts gathering them up to toss them into the hamper already overflowing with clothes. The last article of clothing out of place is yours. Your black lace panties on the armchair in the corner. He grabs them and his eyes widen when he feels it, the center still wet from him making you come earlier. His cock instantly hardened in his jeans.  

Joel turns on his heel and in just a few long strides he’s in your shared bathroom. He deliberately avoids the mirror, knowing that if he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror he’ll disgust himself even more. Briskly, he sets the laundry hamper on the tile near the bathtub. Joel brings the thin black lace up to his face, closes his eyes and he sniffs them, breathing you in completely. He groans at the scent of you. His cock painfully hard now. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help it. He’s addicted to you and he knows he can’t wait til you get home. He knows he can’t wait to have his way with you, dig into you any way that you will let him. So, without another second of hesitation, Joel unbuckles his belt, a clink from the metal hitting the edge of the counter, unzips his jeans and takes his thick, heavy cock out, and then brings your soaked panties to his angry, leaking tip. His precum meets the wetness of your panties and he hisses at the feeling. With the wetness of the gusset of your panties acting as a lubricant, Joel begins to slowly stroke himself, wanting to take his time, savoring every feeling, relishing in it. Joel soon becomes too desperate for release, he quickly loses control, his hips moving faster to fuck his hand, his hand tightening around his cock, the grip almost painful now. His eyes are screwed shut, as he throws his head back, the night before instantly replaying in his head.

He had just gotten out of the shower to find you sprawled out on your stomach on your side of the bed, ankles crossed in the air. He rakes his eyes over your form until his eyes land on your ass. You were wearing the panties he was currently fucking his hand with. You didn’t notice him stepping out of the bathroom, too busy looking at the photo album you had just put together. It’s relatively new, most of the pages empty, yet you were looking at the photos you had taken earlier that week at the Tipsy Bison. The one that had your attention was a photo of you and Joel that Ellie had taken. Neither of you looked at the camera, the photo had captured you mid-laugh, head tilting back, eyes shut, it was a full belly laugh at something Joel had said. Joel’s arm was around your shoulder tucking you into his side, smiling down at you, a rare type of smile, one reserved only for you. 

Leaning on the entryway, his arms crossed over his broad, tanned chest, he smiles at the view. You’re in nothing but your panties in his bed, in his home. His feet move without thinking, walking over to you. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, tracing his fingers over your soft supple skin down your back and over the lace of your panties, and lightly pinches your ass. “So pretty sweet baby,” he says shyly, almost like he’s speaking to himself. You turn your head to look up at him, smiling. Wordlessly, he took the photo album from your hands, placing it on your nightstand. He gets in the bed, carefully sitting on his knees while attempting to avoid loosening the off-white towel around his waist. You roll onto your back to face him, his silver curls still damp from the shower as water still drips onto his strong shoulders. He combs his hair back after a shower and the ends tend to curl up around his ears. It’s been months since you last cut his hair but you like his hair longer, you had whispered to him in the darkness of your bedroom, your naked, sweaty limbs tangled up together between his sheets. From that night on he hasn’t asked you to cut it for him. He likes it because you like it. 

While you’re busy ogling him, Joel’s hands immediately reach to trace the floral lace pattern before toying with the little satin black bow at the center front. His rough, calloused hands slide up your bare thighs, wrapping his large hands around your thighs and he pries open your legs, his hazel eyes locked in on your center like a bullseye and you notice the cocky smirk he’s got plastered on his face, pleased with himself that he’s already got you wet for him. 

He brings two thick fingers to slide over your covered cunt. He feels the wetness on the material and he pulls back to look up at you and finds your attention on his fingers. “What a mess you made, pretty girl,” he murmurs. You’re watching the movement of his fingers, entranced by his fingers teasing your pussy as he glides them up and down your slit. He clicks his tongue at you, “so wet for me huh baby? Always so wet for me. So perfect,” he smirks to himself as he gently pulls your panties to the side, revealing your aching, needy cunt. He lowers his head placing gentle kisses on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his lips tracing and peppering your skin all the way towards your center, his mouth hovering over the place you need him most and you shiver beneath him. 

“Joel,” you whisper, he chuckles seeing you all worked up for him. “Baby please,” you whimper. 

“What is it baby?” he tuts, “use your words, sweet girl,” he tilts his head slightly with a smug grin on his face. His fingers move up and down your folds. 

“N-need them inside me, p-please,” you whimper as you claw at his forearms, clutching them for stability. 

“Alright baby, lemme taste her first,” He lays flat on his stomach, moves his arms under your legs, and hoists them up over his broad shoulders. He lowers his mouth onto your cunt and the tip of his tongue licks through your folds. He hums at the sweet taste of you on his tongue. He flattens his tongue and licks a long thick stripe and he groans lowly, the vibrations making you squirm under him. 

“Fuck, more baby,” you beg. You gasp at the hook of his nose bumping your clit. Your hands fly to his hair, eyes closing swiftly, brows furrowed as you let out a loud moan. 

“There she is,” he smirks. He flicks his tongue over your clit. His eyes slip closed as he relishes in the noises leaving your mouth, like music to his ears. Your hips buck up into his face, selfishly grinding your cunt for more. Joel’s eyes flicker back up your face, “eyes on me sweetheart,” he murmurs. Your eyes snap open to watch him as he brings his fingers back up to your cunt, two thick fingers dip into you and you can hear the wet squelch as he eases his fingers in, simultaneously, he circles his tongue around your clit. He pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you, his tongue lapping at your cunt. You feel the pressure building up more intensely inside of your belly and then you’re chanting his name as he curls his fingers inside you, petting at the spongy spot he knows will break you. He closes his mouth around your clit and he sucks hard. 

“Fuck, Joel, yes yes,” Your hips bucking up into his face, your legs start to shake as you come on his face and your cunt tightening around his fingers, a loud strangled moan filling the air. 

“That’s my girl,” he says as he watches you gasp above him, pressing a quick kiss to your clit. Your eyes flutter open just in time to see him removing his fingers, all wet and shiny, and putting them in his slick covered mouth, sucking them clean. 

Softly, he grabs your ankles, pulling you down towards the edge of the bed eliciting a giggle. His favorite sound…well one of his favorites. His favorite being the next sound that comes out of your mouth when he quickly pulls your panties down. He sees the wet shine of your cum in the center and his face lights up with glee. “You made such a mess ‘a your panties, baby,” he tuts before tossing them across the room. He unties the towel from his waist and lets it fall and it pools around his legs, revealing his thick, heavy cock, the tip angry and beads of precum seeping out of the slit. You place your hands around your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, presenting your already spent pussy to him once again and he groans roughly.

He leans forward, his fingers running through your folds once more, and you quiver at his touch. He gathers your cum on his fingers and strokes himself twice before he dips the wide tip of his cock inside of you. A whine leaves your lips. That. That was his favorite sound. He doesn’t push in further… he doesn’t move an inch. He’s teasing you…wants you to ask nicely for it. Like clockwork his voice laced with honey he says “Ask for it baby, ask for my cock.” 

Desperate, you whine again “please joel… I need your cock.” Your needy fingers trail lightly over his soft belly, sitting up slightly, you place soft kisses from his belly button down to the dark patch of hair above his cock, his body trembles at the feeling of your lips ghosting over his belly and a breathy moan escapes his lips. He laces his fingers with yours, bringing your hands near your head, his large form encompassing your smaller frame, he lowers himself down over you, his lips brushing against yours. “Baby, please. Please fuck my pussy” you mewl. He pushes his cock deeper, deeper, and deeper til the head of his cock kisses your cervix, provoking a loud groan from him against your ear as he nestles himself into you, where he belongs. 

“See baby all you had to do was ask politely” Joel cooes. He drags his hips back, leaving only his tip inside you once again and you clench around him. “Fuck, goddamn you’re fucking tight,” he grits. Slowly he starts thrusting his tip in and out. 

You whine again, “Baby don’t be mean. I want all of it.” 

“Shh..I know baby, I know,” he soothes. Then in one long single thrust, he wedges his cock back inside of you to the hilt, bottoming out into your cunt, hitting the spot that only he knows with a loud ragged groan into the crook of your neck. His cock is stretching you out, feeling every twitch, he’s everywhere and it’s overwhelming. He hitches your legs up towards your chest, opening you up more, your chest pressed tightly against his, he drags the weight of his cock languidly between your slick, moaning at the wet sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. 

When you look up at him it’s like you can see a lightbulb go off in his head and before you know it, Joel’s large hands grab the swell of your ass, he picks you up, and repositions you both so he’s on his back and has you sitting on his thick cock. He wants you to ride him. In this position you can feel him in the deepest parts of your belly and it hurts just a little bit but you find pleasure in it, you always have.  

Leaning forward, you place your hands on the headboard and arching your back a bit more, Joel's head falls back down onto the pillows. At the sudden change of the angle, his eyes shut for just a second before he’s snapping them right back open. He doesn’t want to miss a single thing. He wants to see it all.  He watches how your breasts bounce as you move and quickly, he leans up to catch a nipple in his mouth. He’s licking and sucking all over your pebbled nipple and then his teeth graze along the hardened peak before swiftly pulling it between his teeth. He moves onto the other and he flicks his tongue over your nipple, he sucks and nips at it lightly before he lets your tit fall from his mouth, admiring the slight bounce of your breast before his eyes lock in on your face, watching your face contort and your mouth open while you seek your high. It's his favorite thing, watching you like this. 

“Jesus Christ, look at you, you’re takin’ me so well,” he groans. 

The grip of his hands on your hips tightens but doesn’t guide you, just seeks some ounce of control. You lean forward more so your clit brushes ever so slightly against the dark patch of curls at his base. The friction makes you approach your orgasm quickly. Joel’s eyes flicker down to where you two are connected, taking pleasure in seeing his cock splitting you open, watching as it disappears deep inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck….use me. Fuck yourself on daddy’s cock, atta girl,” You roll your hips faster, grinding harder on his cock, greedy and desperate to come again. “C’mon baby, come all over my cock.” 

His words and your clit repeatedly pressing against him make your hips stutter and you clench around him as your orgasm finally washes over you, harder than before. Your body goes limp on his chest. Joel doesn’t let up, he grabs your thighs and lifts his hips, relentlessly fucking his cock up into you. His cock slams into you so hard the wet slapping sound of your bodies fills the room. 

You turn your head and press your lips to his ear, nipping at his earlobe, you spur him on “c’mon Joel, come for me baby,” you softly rasp. “C’mon baby, for me, do it for me love,” you whisper and he whimpers, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. You bite down on his shoulder to muffle the whines that leave your mouth as he fucks into you harder, your walls tighten around him, his cock twitches inside you before he hastily pulls out with a long pained groan and with his cock between your bodies, his cum spurts out, thick and warm, coating his stomach. A moment passes and you lower your lips down his chest, feeling the rough edges of his skin underneath your lips as you pepper open mouthed kisses along his strong torso, the soft skin of his belly, over the jagged scar on his lower abdomen, all the way down his happy trail, you feel him shiver beneath you. 

You sit up on his thighs, locking your eyes with his, you bring your fingers down to his cum on his stomach. You look back up at him, your gaze meeting his as you swirl your fingers twice in his spend and bring your shiny, sticky coated fingers up to your mouth, closing your lips around your fingers, sucking them clean. His mouth agape, he’s staring back at you while you use your fingers to lick up his cum, “dirty girl, one’a these days you’re gonna gimme a heart attack woman,” he groans. 

The memory of it all…you riding him, your naked breasts bouncing, his cock impaling you, watching it disappear inside you over and over, your cunt clamping down around his cock and the echo of your moans as you came last night playing in his head sends him hurtling over the edge.

His cock twitches in his hand, his other hand slamming down on the counter, he groans your name raggedly and his thighs quiver as he comes hard into his fist, harder than he ever has when jerking himself off. He pumps his release into your panties, hot, thick ropes of his cum painting the gusset. His cum spurting out seemingly endless for a man his age. 

If you were here in front of him he would pull the fabric up over your thighs, making you wear your cum filled panties before going about the rest of your day.

But you’re not here so instead he brings the cum soaked panties up to his face, eyeing his spend and your wetness for a moment. He stops himself and contemplates the idea in his head as he eyes the glistening sheen over the center. Just as quickly as the thought infiltrated his head, he decides against it and bunches up the thin material and tosses them in the old laundry basket sat in the corner of your shared bathroom. Joel tucks himself back into his jeans, washes his hands, limping slightly as he walks out of your bedroom and closes the door behind him leaving your laundry for another day.