#he just wants to make you feel good. wants to know what makes you tick. he does hot shit without even realizing how much it drives you crazy

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 09. Oh no!

PREV PART Trigger warning: (past, current) mental + physical + emotional neglect, (name) pretends everything is fine, talking down of oneself, Reader isn't out towards the batfamily yet, mental gymnastics, disabilties are finally talked about, guilt, I think this is my longest chapter yet, pls tell me if I missed any warnings main m.list        series m.list

When you woke up your body felt sluggish as you try to remember what happened, you must have a fever, why else would Alfred be at your bedside sleeping. Seeing him there reminds you of the times your heart ached for his comfort, for the times you wished he would finally stand up for you. But he didn’t, he never takes your side.

Their reaction to you passing out must’ve been extreme, because the moment you tried to manoeuvre past Alfred Dick was there, standing in front of your door with a panicked expression. “You shouldn’t get out of bed,” he says with an attempted smile. It just makes you narrow your eyes and spitefully stand up. You ignore how the room spins and how your pain spreads to your neck and fingertips. It’s almost as if Dick can sense your discomfort (it would be a first) because the moment you lose your balance he’s there to keep you standing straight. “you really are stubborn.”

His words weren’t meant to make you flinch, but they still did. You don’t trust him, and you might never, anything negative from him puts you on edge (even if his statement is true). You never know how any of your siblings will react, and quite frankly you always found Dick the most difficult from all of your siblings. Impossible to read and always wearing that fake smile, he always used that smile when he interacted with you, keeping his real smiles for his true family. “Don’t touch me,” you hiss, raising your voice enough to wake Alfred up and enough for Dick to step back.

“(name),” he whispers as he moves towards you, checking your temperature with his hand not allowing you to flinch away from him. “Good, no fever….” Yet your eyes look anywhere but at his.

“Now that you’ve done the bare minimum to keep yourselves from wallowing in guilt,” you start, ignoring how Alfred’s face falls, how Dick’s breath becomes ragged and uneven. “I want you both to leave, I need to change for school.”

“You don’t seriously think you are going to school,” Dick says as his eyebrows furrow, his arm crossed on his chest. “not after passing out like that.”

You laugh, you couldn’t help it. Now they want to care for your health. “Didn’t you guys not send me to a hospital after I was viciously beaten and possibly had internal bleeding?” you shot back, and finally they look guilty. Their guilty faces and nervous ticks make you smile, finally you feel heard. “I pass out quite often, especially since then, I am going to school so get out, I’m going to be late.”

“At least let me drop you off,” Dick says before Alfred can protests. “it would make sense, Damian’s classes are in one of your school buildings today.”

You laugh. “Oh, he doesn’t want to be seen with me. Don’t you know?” But when you see Alfred’s nails digging in his palm you start to feel guilty. Perhaps Jason’s right and you are being a piece of shit. “But fine, I suppose, just get out I need to do my hair and put my uniform on.”

They listen, but once you close your door Alfred and Dick stare at each other. Having a conversation with each other with just their eyes. You are hiding something about your health, and they’ll force to the doctor if they must. “I’ll brief Damian of the plan,” Dick tells Alfred. “I’ll try to get more information out of them.”

Alfred nods and sighs; “Duke has been helpful but evasive, but it’s clear he doesn’t trust us.”

Dick nods, and he can’t help but think; ‘Who would? If they knew what we did?’

“He’s honouring (Name)’s autonomy,” Dick acknowledges as he brushed his hair back with his hands. “more then we have ever done…”

Awh, the poor bats are becoming self-aware, and guilt is weighing heavy. Too bad that it isn’t enough to compensate for your pain.

You, who had quickly done your hair (honestly you tried, it looks terrible but it is too much for you to handle right now, so it’s alright) and put on your uniform, was now in the kitchen, grabbing a quick bite to eat and make some lunch. It was important to nourish your body after such a health incident. You need to take care of yourself, alright? Otherwise Maria and Duke would absolutely hound you on this. You just wish Cassandra wasn’t here, analysing your every move. “You’re in pain,” she says simply. “you have been for a while.”

“Wow,” you say without thinking, looking over your shoulder slightly amused. “you’ve only noticed now?”

“I’m not talking about mental pain,” she says, and that makes you freeze, dropping your lunch box in your bag and you couldn’t be more glad about getting one with an extra safety lock. “you are ill.” You chuckle, you couldn’t believe it. Cassandra knows, and she has known for a while. “Is it because of Jason?”

You turn around as you place your back on the counter. “What has Duke told you?” you aren’t angry with him, no, whatever he told them, it doesn’t matter. He’s just trying to help. “Or is that just a small personal theory?”

“A theory, Duke has been evasive with his answers,” she admits, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read your body language. But it comes up the same as always, on edge, in pain and angry. “said that he wouldn’t break his future sister’s trust.”

“Huh, so Brucie is adopting him,” you comment.

“But he has told us the full story about what Jason did,” Stephanie says, coming into the room pretending as if she hasn’t been eavesdropping from the moment she realised Cassandra was trying to get answers out of you. “I’m sorry, if I knew-”

You scoff, cutting off her sentences. Your eyes watering, you always wanted acknowledgement of what happened. You wanted these girls to tell you what your family did was wrong. But it’s too late now, and Cassandra could read that. She could see your shoulders tense, biting your lip as you try and keep your breathing steady. You feel unsafe, and she wonders if she didn’t ignore your pain. If she realised the damage they were doing to you, would you be happier? Would you be healthier?

Oh, having a moral compass can be quite difficult, can’t it?

“I don’t want none of your apologies,” you tell them, your eyes look dull and they feel lifeless. Something Stephanie often saw with the victims her father created. Is she just as bad as her father? At this point she would say to a degree. And if you will allow her to, she’ll do anything to make it right. But there is no time for that, Dick is here to drive you to school. “and our conversation is done, Cassandra, be sure to keep your mouth shut.”

While Stephanie hasn’t heard the whole conversation you two had (and could you really call it a conversation?) Cassandra obviously asked something about your health. Something that you have hidden from them all, even legally.

Well illegally, seriously, how did you perfect replicating Bruce’s signature? Even Tim couldn’t replicate it to that degree, if he were to compare your falsified signature with one of Bruce’s actual signatures it barely has any differences (Barbara would love to learn from you). The ink only looks thicker on your falsified one, Bruce always kept his pen-strokes light and precise.

But there is no time to ponder about that right now, they need to focus on you actually getting into Dick’s care. He bugged it with one of his earpieces so that the bat-family could analyse you interacting with Dick and Damian. The two you always interacted with the most before Jason’s attack, but even that was limited.

When you got into the car, you notice how Damian was sulking. Something you’ve never seen him do, besides that one time that Bruce scolded him loud enough that you could hear him from your room. You ignore him and buckle yourself in, joining him on the backseat. “Don’t you want to sit in the front seat?” Damian asks confused, and you shake your head. No way in hell are you sitting next to Dick.

“I don’t like the passenger seat.” Liar, liar pants on fire~!

Damian’s eyes narrow and scratches the skin under his nail. ‘huh,’ you think, absentmindedly. ‘we have similar anxiety ticks.’

With that Dick drives away, trying to build up a conversation. But truly, you couldn’t give a shit. You’re texting with Duke, you have chemistry the first hour, and you want to make sure that he knows that you don’t blame him for letting Bruce adopt him and such. That you just hope that he would keep your back and stay close to you when he joins the family.

Truly, aren’t you embarrassed by this? How insecure can you be?

‘Ofc, I won’t! I swear I’ll explain everything once B signs the papers. Thank you for not being mad :)’ The text makes you smile, once Duke swears something, he keeps that promise. He’s more trustworthy than your mother, she always had her fair share of secrets.

‘I could never be mad at my favourite brother, and you didn’t out me so that makes me not being mad a lot easier /hj’ you sent back before closing your phone, closing your eyes in as you feel stress leaving your body. You’re excited to see him again, you can’t wait to tell your friends about Duke joining your family. It would make your time left there a lot more bearable.

The thought of not being alone withyour ‘family’ anymore made your frown disappear. But it returned the moment you got closer to school. “Drop me off here,” you say, ignoring how Damian’s hand itches. Clearly wanting to grab your uniform jacket. “my friends are waiting for me.”

Dick nods, knowing he shouldn’t push you. You’ll just shut down even more, and it would become even more difficult to re-connect connect with you. He could feel bile rise in his throat the longer he thought about what he has done, about the behaviour he has been complicate in. Oh, but how can he make you see that it was all for the best? How can he make himself see that it was all for the best?

He can’t, he should be on his knees begging for your forgiveness, but he knew that it wouldn’t be enough. He just doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know where he went wrong.

“That was a disaster,” Damian says when he can see you running up to your friends. Dick sighs, but he agrees. Damian knows it, he can see the disappointment on his older brother’s face, it makes him angry at you. But at the same time, why was he angry at you for their behaviour? Why did he give up your love for Jason when he was clearly in the wrong? Is it because of his time in the league, or is there still hatred in his body for you just simply existing?

Oh, what can the bat-family do when all they’ve done is estrange themselves from you? Can they redeem themselves, or will Duke take their place? Will your friends take their place besides your side?

With Duke you would still be apart of their family, but if you were to estrange yourself further from them, go no-contact and acknowledge your friends as your family and only allow Duke in your life they would have no excuse to try and make you understand their side. To try and get you to forgive them.

Because if they right their wrongs, you’ll have to love them. Right?

NEXT PART well, I am using this chapter as a distraction, my grandpa is getting better already tho! And I'm allowed to visit soon, so he's out of any danger zones, if you have any feedback do tell me. I have too many ideas of how to transition to the full yandere part and my brain needs to slow down fr.

taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[daylighted]

baby's first kiss! — dean winchester x baby!reader

summary dean finally kisses baby, really kisses her, and now she thinks it's the only thing she wants to do for the rest of her life — find baby's timeline here!

after so long of having you around, it slipped from dean's mind that things could still be new for you. a truly shitty motel room once had a box tv that your mind couldn't wrap around the concept of, you'd been truly baffled by the sight of a real ticking clock and not the digital one on dean's phone, and you'd never been kissed.

never been kissed. what kind of guy was dean, being so sweet on you, and never having kissed you to show it?

it'd been a simple little thing. a peck before bed in a dimly lit bedroom, your face illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp beside his bed. you had your own room in the bunker, but you didn't sleep well without him, and he was never capable of denying you when you gave him that look.

the look you gave him right before he leaned in. big glossy eyes, a sleepy pout drooping your lips, love and adoration melting the expression right into your features.

dean just... leaned in, and planted a kiss right on the curve of your lips, with nothing but a, "goodnight, pretty girl." he reaches behind him to pull the string on his lamp, casting the room into darkness, and then further into the dark when his eyes closed.

he thought that was it. donezo. over. a short story with a happy ending, prepping the both of you for another night of you completely entangled in his arms.

the weight of your body settling on top of him forces his eyes open, a little oof leaving his lips on an exhale. he blinks once, twice, three times to focus in the dark, and no, he'd been right with his first assessment: your face was nose-to-nose with him.

"what was that?" you ask, the innocence in your voice another thing that never failed to make his heart swell in his chest.

dean blinked once more time for good measure. "that was the lamp turning off."

your hand collides with his chest, just hard enough for him to feel it through his t-shirt. the corner of his mouth quirks in amusement. "no. the other thing. where you put your mouth on me."

now, he's fully smirking. he had no right to take advantage of your innocence like this, even if it was just to chuckle a little at your wording, but he couldn't help himself. he was sleepy, you were on top of him, and dean was nothing but a man, in the end.

"you want me to do it again?" he asks, tilting his head to mimic the confused stance of your own.

"no," you huff, in that unconvincing way that told him without being able to see that you were blushing. his fingers come up to pinch one of your cheeks and, sure enough, it was warm beneath his fingertips. "i wanna know what it was."

dean tilts his head up enough to brush his mouth against yours, his eyes searching the both of yours for any indication of hesitation. as usual, all he finds is the deep curiosity that makes him feel like putty. putty in your hands for you to play with, and you do. always do.

"that was a goodnight kiss," he whispers, just lightly enough against your mouth to feel his lips tingle at the slight pressure. "it's something you do when you love someone."

your hands cup his face before he can process they've moved, squishing his cheeks between your palms. "should i kiss you goodnight?"

yes, dean's head screams it at the top of its lungs, god, yes. but he's behaved, and civil, and honestly? if this was something you wanted to explore, he wasn't going to rush it. you were probably the one person who'd ever gotten dean to take a moment and slow down. "do you want to?"

"yes." dean could have wept. "and then i will go kiss sam goodnight."

dean could have wept — for a different reason. "no. don't do that."

"but i love him." he can hear the defiance in your tone, the fierce irritation that the conclusion you'd drawn from his words was wrong. your fingers curl into his shirt, your nose firmly pressed to his, and dean wished with all of his being that he had the strength to entertain your confusion better than this, but he's a little distracted by the feel of your legs framing his ribs and your lips tickling his with each word.

"different type of love," he tries to explain, even though his voice is a little strained and more than a little muffled through the smush of his cheeks in your hands. "the kind of love that makes you feel like you're gonna die."

you blink, taken aback. for a second, your hands on his face loosen, but then they're right back, puckering his lips like a fish with nothing but your little hands' strength. "like i'm gonna die?"

he lifts a hand between the both of you, tapping your chest. "heart races, thoughts full of the person, can't breathe." he tries to smile, and he must look ridiculous, because you laugh like the sun lives within you. "symptoms of being in love."

slowly, your smile mimics what his would look like if you weren't holding his face captive. it's bright and radiant, lighting up your face in gold. "i am in love."

"i know you are," he carefully extracts your hands from his face with a gentle grip, his eyes downturned to watch your mouth, so close but so far away, on the precipice of kissing him but not quite there yet, "and i love you."

the words leave his mouth in a breath. he doesn't know how long that thought has been trapped in his mind, begging to be set free, but now that it was out, he'd never been more sure of something. he loved you, and it set him free.

your head tilts down just enough to meet his lips, kissing him slowly but surely, with all the confidence of a girl who's done this before, even though he knows you haven't. you're attached to his hip, his arm, his life — you had no time to kiss anyone but him, he knew it, so where this skill came from was beyond him. but dean wasn't going to argue with it, not when you were warm, sat on his lap and holding his hands on his chest.

you break apart like you don't really want to, a huff being the first thing to leave your mouth, as if he personally had been the one extricating you away from him. "i like it." for the first time in your life as his personal little (pretty) leech, you sound small and uncertain, a confession whispered to the wind in hopes that the words don't get crushed by his fists.

"yeah?" he shifts a little beneath you, just so he can sit up and reach you a little better. "i like it, too."

"do we have to go to sleep now?" you ask, just as tentative, and all dean wants to do is sweep you into his arms and poke at your sides until you laugh and smile again, just to see his baby back, but this shyer version of you is beginning to capture his heart as much as the typical you does.

dean cocks an eyebrow. "you don't want to go to sleep? i mean, that's fine n' all, but..."

"you said it's a goodnight kiss." the authority is back in your voice, those beautiful lips in an aggravated pout. "so do we have to sleep?"

dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "you can kiss for fun, baby. doesn't have to be for goodnight. that's just... a variation of kisses."

"i wanna learn all of the variations." and by god, even if he wanted to, you spoke so strongly that dean took it not as a wish but as a command.

he's breathless, now, even though he's trying very hard to be the all-knowing instructor god you've always seemed to think he was. "you don't want to sleep." a question said as a statement.

"i already said it twice now." an answer said as an argument.

"just wanna stay up all night n' kiss me, is that it?"

you roll your eyes, another little gesture that makes him grin. you've always pulled his smile out of him like you had them in your back pocket, so easy to access. "is it not obvious?"

dean can't help it this time. he huffs out a bout of laughter, his hands closing around your thighs, and takes your top lip between his in a quick kiss. "god yes," he breathes into your mouth, and any exhaustion is gone and forgotten in the wind as your lips properly connect with his once again.

notes. this was long overdue!! hope you guys like it teehehe it was very fun to write. i hope the baby!reader hype has not fully died & u guys will still love this </3

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @ultravi0lence14 @bruisedfig @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @samslovebug @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @angelblqde @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @nperoconelcositoarriba @bejeweledinterludes @pieandflannel @pearlsvie @viluren @h8aaz @yulianie @angelicjackles @lanasgirlfr @veyveyx @itszarinaig @tinas111 @briisbananass @spiritkissin @skyfaeriex @deanswidow @aurevina @jensenacklesballsack @honeyroots @angelicp0etry @blossomingorchids @idk6505 @irecalllatenovember1 @mahi-wayy @k-slla @lilyyyjcb @maeji-may @rositaslabyrinth

[mintyys-blog]

Loving all your work you're the bestttttt ❤️. Whenever you finish all your other request I'd like to ask for the aphrodisiac ask but instead of reader, mark and his variants were the ones who took it. Reader would not rest easy I bet lol. Thanks for all your great writing!

HEADCANON | if the variants took a aphrodisiac

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: sexual themes, drugging, breeding kink, swearing

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work, whether AI-generated or otherwise, without my permission.

© @mintyys-blog

MAIN MARK

Mark had never considered taking an aphrodisiac before, but when Y/N handed him the bottle, claiming it would “help,” he wasn’t going to question it. She said it was just to make things a little more fun, something lighthearted. What could go wrong?

He downed it with a chuckle, not really thinking much of it, but as the minutes ticked by, he started to feel… off. A heat settled in his chest, and his thoughts became clouded. The rush of warmth spread to his limbs, making him shift uncomfortably on the couch.

“Y/N?” he called out, voice a little deeper than usual, and his eyes narrowed, half-lidded. “What the hell did you give me?”

Y/N smirked, watching his reaction as he tried to remain composed. “I thought you wanted to relax a little, babe. What’s the matter? You look a little… flushed.”

Mark’s cheeks burned, and he didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or the growing, undeniable desire that he could feel building in him. His gaze locked onto her, and suddenly, the room felt smaller, as if everything else around him didn’t matter except for her. Every movement she made seemed to intensify the heat he felt in his body.

He stood up abruptly, his movements jerky, his breath coming a little faster than usual. “Y/N… I—what the hell is going on?”

“Why don’t you sit down, Mark?” Y/N said with a playful edge to her voice, a slight tilt of her head as she watched him squirm. “Let’s see how long you can handle it.”

Mark clenched his jaw, trying to hold himself together. “How is this supposed to help me relax? Feels—“

But his voice betrayed him, the low growl in his tone barely masking the frustration and desire that twisted through him. He stepped toward her, slowly at first, then more urgently as the sensation inside of him grew stronger. “Why do I..?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, watching him struggle to control himself. She knew exactly what had happened, and she loved the power it gave her. “I didn’t do anything, Mark. You’re the one who wanted to have fun, right? Guess it worked.”

Mark groaned, pinning his eyes on her as his body was no longer under his control. He felt like his skin was burning with the need to be closer to her, to feel her touch, to feel everything. He was caught between frustration and yearning, and there was no way out. “Y/N, please…” he said, voice strained, eyes begging even as his body betrayed him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” she teased, stepping closer. “I’ll help you out. But you’re going to have to be a good boy for me.”

She knew exactly what she was doing, playing with him, taking her time as she watched him squirm. Mark may have been the superhero, but tonight, he was entirely at her mercy.

SINISTER MARK

Mark’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he felt the strange heat pulse through his veins. He wasn’t sure how to explain the sudden surge of warmth spreading across his chest and down his limbs. It was like a fire that couldn’t be extinguished, and it was rapidly getting worse.

“Y/N…” he muttered, voice low and dangerously calm. “What the hell did you do?”

She looked at him innocently, though a knowing smile played at the corner of her lips. “What do you mean?”

He tried to focus on her, but it was hard when all he could think about was the intensity growing inside him. His hands were starting to shake, his body reacting to the overwhelming sensations.

“I didn’t give you anything,” Y/N said with a casual shrug. “If you’re feeling this way, then I guess you’ve just… had too much fun tonight.”

His patience was wearing thin, and it wasn’t because of her. It was because of himself. His usually cold, controlled demeanor was slipping, his anger barely contained by the simmering heat that was threatening to consume him. He leaned against the wall for support, his breathing shallow as his gaze fixed on her.

“I don’t like being messed with,” he growled, a deep, dangerous edge to his voice. “What the hell is going on?”

Y/N’s smirk deepened. She had seen him go through many things—fights, difficult situations, betrayals—but this was different. This was a crack in his perfect, brutal exterior. The power dynamic had shifted, and she could feel it.

“I told you, Mark, I didn’t do anything. But I think you’re enjoying it,” she teased, stepping closer. The challenge was obvious in her eyes, and her casual, carefree demeanor only made him seethe with frustration. She knew exactly what was happening to him, and she was enjoying every second of it. He narrowed his eyes, and in a flash he was behind her. She gasped, as she felt his chest against her back, his hand wrapped tightly on her throat.

She felt him a poke at her back, confirmation that the drug did work. He suddenly pushed her down to bend over the counter. “Is this what you wanted? You little slut. Getting me all hot and bothered.” She wiggled her ass against his cock, he groaned. Making quick work to pull down her pants; and his own. “Now you can face the consequence of your actions.”

MOHAWK MARK

Mark paced around the room, every step slow and deliberate, like he was trying to keep his mind in check. But there was no denying the growing heat in his body, the tension that seemed to hum under his skin. Something was off—he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was, but it was messing with his focus. His gaze shifted to you, watching with an amused, knowing smirk as you leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You’re looking… uncomfortable,” you teased, voice light but laced with something more playful. You could see the way he was clenching and unclenching his fists, how his eyes seemed to darken just a little more with each passing second.

“Don’t start with me, Y/N,” he warned, his tone low and dangerous. His eyes flickered over to you, and you could see the effort it was taking for him to hold himself together.

You simply grinned, uncrossing your arms and stepping toward him. “What’s the matter, Mark? You look like you’re about to explode.”

He huffed, turning away from you to look at the wall, as if that would help him regain some kind of control. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though it was clear he was anything but.

“Sure,” you said with a knowing smirk, taking a step closer. “But you’re also getting pretty… worked up. I can see it. I’m not stupid.”

You walked slowly to him, standing behind him and lightly resting a hand on his back. The heat radiating from his body told you everything you needed to know—he was feeling it, whatever it was, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Let me guess,” you continued with a teasing voice. “This has got to be so frustrating, huh? Can’t stop thinking about it, but you can’t do anything about it…”

He let out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t act like you know what’s going on inside my head, Y/N.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, stepping closer so you could press against his back, your breath warm against the nape of his neck. “I know you, Mark. You want relief. I can give you relief… if you want it.”

He tensed under your touch, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His eyes flickered to the floor before meeting yours, and for a moment, you saw that flicker of vulnerability—a break in his usual stoic, cool demeanor.

“Don’t mess with me,” he growled, but you could tell he wasn’t fully resisting. He was too far gone in his own need, whatever it was that was tormenting him.

You tilted your head slightly, a sly grin on your face. “I’m not messing with you, Mark,” you said softly. “I’m offering to help.”

There was a pause, the room thick with the tension between you two. He could feel the heat building, both from his own body and from the closeness between you. His thoughts were clouded, his control slipping as the need pulsed through him like a wildfire.

“You think you can handle it?” he finally said, voice low but edged with a challenge.

Without hesitation, you stepped around to his front, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I can,” you replied, a wicked glint in your eyes.

He stared down at you, his breath uneven as his usual composure began to break apart, piece by piece. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you,” he warned, the dark, playful edge in his tone making it clear that he wasn’t entirely in control of himself anymore.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you replied with a smirk.

He didn’t say another word before his hand reached for you, pulling you flush against his chest. “You’re gonna regret offering to help me, Y/N.” You grinned, pressing yourself even closer to him. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

PRISONER MARK

Mark paced back and forth in the room, his mind racing with thoughts that didn’t quite make sense. His body felt like it was on fire, and it wasn’t just the usual heat from his Viltrumite physiology. There was something else—something pulling at him, making him more aware of every sensation, every shift of his muscles, every breath.

His eyes darted to you, and he froze. There was something in the air, an intensity he couldn’t escape. Your casual presence seemed to only make it worse, heightening his already overstimulated senses. You weren’t doing anything—at least, not on purpose—but every time you moved, every time you looked at him, it felt like the heat inside him grew.

“Y/N,” he muttered, trying to force his voice to stay steady. “What the hell is going on?”

You just stood there, arms crossed over your chest, looking cool and calm as usual. But Mark could tell you were watching him, noticing the way his hands clenched, the tension in his jaw. You were more aware of his discomfort than he was willing to admit.

“Nothing,” you said lightly, your tone a little too innocent. “You just seem a little… off. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He wanted to deny it, but the truth was obvious, and the tightness in his chest made it hard to think clearly. “I’m fine,” he gritted out, voice rougher than usual. “It’s nothing.”

But you saw through him. It was obvious to you. There was no way he could hide it—this was far more than a typical bad day. He couldn’t shake the discomfort in his own skin, the itch that wouldn’t be scratched. He was barely holding himself together, and he hated it.

“You sure about that?” you asked, taking a step closer to him. The air between you two felt heavy, thick with something neither of you could ignore. “Because you look like you’re struggling to keep it together.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t even focus on what to say, his gaze locked onto you as if you were the only thing in the world. You weren’t doing anything different, but everything about you seemed to make the heat inside him surge. He could smell you, hear your breath, feel your presence.

“Maybe I could help,” you said, your voice low and slightly teasing. There was a knowing glint in your eyes, and it made his heart rate spike even more.

Mark’s body tensed, and he instinctively took a step back, trying to distance himself. “I don’t need your help,” he snapped, though it came out more desperate than he intended. “I can handle this myself.”

But his words didn’t match the way his hands shook at his sides or the way his breath quickened when you moved closer again.

You raised an eyebrow at him, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “You sure about that?”

For a moment, he thought about pushing you away, ignoring the way his body betrayed him. But you were too close now, and there was something in the way you looked at him that made it impossible to deny. His resolve faltered as he found himself unable to look away from you.

“I can help,” you said again, this time more softly. The way you said it made the entire room feel like it was closing in, like the air was getting heavier by the second.

He bit back a groan, trying to maintain control, but his body was betraying him. He was so damn close to losing it.

You reached for him, your fingers grazing his arm lightly, and Mark couldn’t hold back the shudder that ran through him. It was subtle, but it was enough to make him realize how much he was really struggling to keep his composure.

Before he could respond, you stepped closer, your hand resting on his chest. “You can let go, Mark. It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice smooth and tempting.

He finally gave in, his hands coming up to pull you closer, desperation clear in his movements. His lips crashed against yours in a heated kiss, and the world around him seemed to disappear. All that mattered was the overwhelming need for release that had consumed him.

OMNI MARK

Mark sat rigidly at the edge of the bed, his hands clenched into fists. His Viltrumite physiology was doing nothing to quell the fire surging through his veins. He was usually in control—calm, collected, precise—but right now, everything felt off. His skin felt hot, his breath shallow, and the sense of urgency building within him only made it harder to concentrate.

He looked at you, but you were just sitting there, casually reading, utterly unaware of the battle going on inside him. He couldn’t figure out why his thoughts kept drifting to you, why everything about you was turning his world upside down.

“Y/N…” he rasped, his voice rougher than usual. He almost couldn’t recognize himself in the way he spoke, strained and desperate.

You didn’t look up right away, and it only made the frustration boil inside him. He could feel every nerve ending, every thought, every urge trying to break free. No. Not like this.

But it was becoming harder to resist. Every breath he took seemed to pull him closer to the edge. It was as if he couldn’t escape the pull you had on him, and it drove him to the brink of madness.

Finally, you looked up, catching the wildness in his gaze, the tension in his jaw. You could tell something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Mark,” you said softly, setting the book aside. Your voice was like a balm, but it only made everything worse. You stood, stepping toward him, concern knitting your brows together. “What’s going on with you?”

Mark exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from the bed. He was on his feet in an instant, towering over you, but there was something different about him now—like he was barely holding it together. His usual calm, no-nonsense demeanor was shattered, and all that was left was a man needing something. Something he couldn’t quite control.

“I… I’m not sure what’s happening,” he admitted, his breath coming faster. “But I can’t think straight. I can’t—” He stopped himself, frustrated by the words that wouldn’t come out. This wasn’t something he was used to. Being vulnerable.

You didn’t say anything, your eyes softening as you reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The touch was simple, gentle—but it made his heart race even faster.

“Mark…” you whispered, trailing your fingers down his chest. “I can help, if you’ll let me.”

It was the way you said it that made him feel like he was barely holding onto his own sanity. The offer hung in the air between you two, thick with unspoken promise. He clenched his fists again, battling the urge to give in, to pull you close and just feel.

His resolve shattered when you stepped closer, your body almost flush with his. He could feel your heat, your closeness—every part of him wanted to take you then and there, to make the ache stop. But it wasn’t just the hunger inside him; it was something deeper, more personal.

“I can’t…” he started again, his voice shaking.

But you didn’t give him time to finish. Your hands cupped his face, drawing him down to you. Your lips met his in a kiss that burned through him, and everything he had fought to maintain melted away.

You didn’t pull away; instead, you held him tighter, sensing the way he was trembling, the way he was clinging to the last thread of control. Mark’s hands moved of their own accord, his grip possessive as he pulled you closer. He was almost rough, as if he needed to feel the intensity of it all—like the fire inside him couldn’t be tamed without it.

When you broke the kiss, your lips were swollen and breathless, and Mark could barely focus on the words you said next.

“Let me take care of you, Mark.”

His body betrayed him again, a low growl escaping him as he pulled you back into his arms, but this time he wasn’t going to resist. He was too far gone, and you were the only thing that mattered. With a breathless laugh, he gave in, fully aware that his need for you would never fade. And it was far too intense for either of you to ignore.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark stood in front of you, eyes narrowed as he looked you over. His usual calm demeanor was strained, his chest rising and falling slightly faster than usual. The air between you was thick with tension, and he could barely focus on anything other than the overwhelming sense of need crawling through his veins.

It was like something inside him had snapped. It wasn’t just the overpowering desire to claim you, to feel you under him—it was the primal urge to make you his in every way possible. To see you carry something of him. The thought took over his mind like an all-consuming fire.

He stepped closer to you, towering above you with that unnerving intensity only a Viltrumite could exude. You could feel his heat radiating off of him, his chest almost brushing against yours.

“Y/N…” His voice was low, laced with something darker than usual. “Do you feel that?” He didn’t need to explain—he knew you understood. The pull between you two had always been strong, but tonight, it was different. Something deeper was surfacing. Something more dangerous.

You swallowed, trying to calm the heat building in your own body as he stepped closer, until you were backed against the wall. His hands came to your sides, gripping you firmly, and there was no denying the urgency in his touch now.

“I need you,” Mark muttered, his breath hot against your ear. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you against him, and you could feel the solid evidence of his desire pressing against you. It made your head spin, your heart racing as you felt your own arousal flare.

But there was more to it than just the desire. You saw the way his eyes flickered, how the primal hunger was shifting in his gaze, and you realized what he truly wanted—what he had always wanted deep down.

“You want me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice thick with possessiveness, and you couldn’t help but nod, your breath catching in your throat. “I’m going to make sure you carry my blood, Y/N.” His voice was almost a growl as he held you tighter. “I’m going to breed you. You’ll carry my child. Do you understand?”

You gasped, the words hitting you harder than you’d anticipated. It wasn’t just the intensity of the moment. It was the idea—the power behind it. The thought of him owning you in such a deep, irreversible way sent a shiver through your body.

“You’ll be mine. Completely,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands traveled lower, caressing the curve of your hips and thighs. “And I’ll make sure you’re filled with my blood—nothing will ever be the same again.”

His hands moved under your clothes, pulling you against him even more insistently, and you felt the flood of desire crash over you. Mark’s grip on you tightened, and he leaned down to kiss you, rougher than he usually was, demanding more than just a simple kiss.

“Mark…” you whispered, breathless as you finally met his intense gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Are you sure about this?”

He smirked, his usual cool demeanor replaced with something possessive, something raw. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

[ysrjune]

Idk why my asks keep disappearing but..

Fuckboy Scott smutt pretty please..? Hate sex 🥹

PWEASE JUNE GRACE ME WITG A GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN

Scott plow me into the headboard please and thanks

—🫧

* THAT BOY IS A REAL PUSSY PLEASER .ᐟ

I love u Nicki🥰🤞🏻 it's not ovulation week but I'm acting like it is #needsomedick #jokebutnotajoke

"mhm, you like that?" The dirty blond calls from behind you. Your back was arched, ass meeting his hips with every thrust. "no!'' you pant, shaking your head. "Really? are you sure about that, mama? 'Cuz the way you're fuckin' me is sayin' otherwise." He smirks pulling on your head. "You know you fuckin' love this." He bends down to whisper in your ear. "'S okay to admit it. Just for right now."

"Shut the fuck up 'n just keep doing what you are." You shake your head, reaching behind yourself for him. "Aw baby, you wanna hold my hand?" Scott holds onto your hand and caresses your knuckle with his thumb. "Yeah, you love me. I know you do." With the other hand, his hand smacks your ass, leaving his handprint.

"Turn around, I wanna see that cute face." He pulls out.

Now, he was fucking you and staring right into your eyes. "I fucking h-hate you." You suck in a breath right as he pulls out to run his length right between where you wanted him. "I don't exactly like you either, baby, but this pussy's just too irresistible. maybe your face, too." his eyes shift down to your shirt. "fuck. how is it that I've fucked you almost three times already and I've never seen your titties, mm?" his hands shoves the fabric up.

"even better than I imagined." He holds onto one, caressing the hardening peak. "right back in there.." He holds the base of his dick and slides back in with ease. "Auhh yeah.." He moans. "Yeah, give it t'me." His throws his head back for a second, biting his lip. He was so fucking annoying, rude, self-centered, and overall just a red-flag.. but damn, he was so damn hot.. literally. His bangs were messed up, a few strands glued to his face by sweat. And speaking of sweat.. the way it was dripping down his chest and neck.. my God.

That drop of sweat heading all the way from his Adam's apple, down to his chest as he rolled his head back down to stare at your tits was so attractive. He watched them bounce, making him whimper. Feeling your tight cunt squeezing him and watching your bouncing titties? he was in heaven. "You stupid whore." His voice was raspy and sounded tired. "Mmn.. uh.. auh-mn," He makes sweet noises while pounding into your wet cunt.

"are you gonna cum already?" you tsk, rolling your eyes. "thought you said you could last like an hour." You try and tick him off. "Oh, I could.. I just.. fuck.. you feel too good, angel." He pants, throwing your leg over his shoulder, reaching in deeper. both of you moan, staring at each other's chests.. well, you were looking at his abs. the way they flexed and the way his chest went up and down as he moaned.. #getmepregnant

"I'm so close, don't stop." You hold your hand to his chest. "cum all over my dick, sweetheart, there's nothing I want more right now." He keeps his speed the same. "maybe except for Stacy. Fuck, you don't know how nice her tits are. big 'n squishy." Of course he had to try and ruin the moment by pissing you off. He always does. You would've stopped this right when he said that if you weren't so close to your orgasm.

"I can't wait to hook up with Vince later.. his dick is pierced, ya know? thought it would hurt, but it actually feels really good when he's fucking me." You rile him up in return. If he was allowed to talk shit so were you. "Cherry has her nipples pierced.. you should ask her to show you." He furrows his eyebrows, trying to concentrate on his and.. maybe your orgasm.

Continuing to make each other mad, he finally whined about it. "shut up! I'm the one making you feel good, not Vince." He connects your lips desperately. "please cum for me, baby, yea—mmn.. please. fuck, I wanna make you cream all over me. Wanna see it." He begs, now staring at the place where you two connect. He spits and loses his mind over how his saliva strings from his cock to your clit with every thrust.

Just a couple more stokes, and you were finished. He pulled out a second before he came, sliding himself through your folds to help him through it. "fuck.." He rolls over on the bed and whimpers into a pillow. "You always make me so tired."

"I'm not tired." You sit up and grab klinex from his bedside and clean yourself up and change back into your clothes. "Good job, I guess. I have to go. I need to meet someone." You wink and leave his dorm.

Is she fucking serious? He thinks.

stupid bitch.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @alexlovesysrjune @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far

[maximoff-pan]

maybe, okay? | michael robinavitch

summary: after a hard shift, robby comforts you

pairing: dr. michael (robby) robinavitch x resident!reader

word count: 1.2k

warning(s): mentions of death, sad thoughts & roof talks, the usual

a/n: this is my first time writing for the Pitt— I hope you guys like it (and I would love requests if you have any)... Please let me know what you think! ❤️

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Rough night?” Robby’s question lingers. You don’t need to turn around to know he’s smiling – you can hear it in his voice. It’s a genuine query laced with equal parts teasing and concern. 

“You could say that.” You murmur in response, taking a deep inhale. A gust of wind breezes by. It cools your skin, sobers you to your surroundings, reminding you where you are. 

This shift had been something. Trauma after trauma that came rolling in, the hours ticked by, each one more exhausting than the last. You might think after years of med school and residency – with more than three years in the Pitt — the last two under your attending Jack Abbot, it would make it easier. But as you’d learned, the pain from patient deaths never eases, and this night had been no exception. 

It’s hard to forget the frantic nature that had emerged in the ED over the last number of hours. A family had come in around 4am. A mother, a father, and a 5-year-old boy. MVC, T-boned by a drunk driver – both parents were dead on scene, their child was still fighting for his life. You worked on him for an hour before Dr. Abbot called time of death. He let you go longer than he should have, trying to save this boy’s life. Jack, who never lets emotions cloud his judgment, had given you more time — not for the boy, but for you.

He had seen firsthand how much you cared for each one of your patients over the last two years, but this one felt different. You were usually so composed, just like him. This case, for whatever reason, got to you. It broke something. And he knew who you needed right now. 

Robby steps over the railing to stand at your side, the roof giving way to his presence. He’s always known when to find you. Like he’s tuned into your frequency somehow, even when you barely understand it yourself.

“Jack told me I could find you up here. Said something about you stealing his spot – kinda sounded like he was a little worried you might jump, kid.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Nah, it’s shift change.” Your tone is light as you elbow him gently. “If I was gonna jump, I’d do it on Abbot’s watch – never yours.”

“I appreciate that.” He says. “Wouldn’t want to lose my favourite resident.”

“You won’t.” Your response is serious, assuring. “Just—”

“Thinking about that kid?” Robby finishes for you. The first rays of light catch on the edges of his jawline, and you hate how beautiful that looks, here of all places.

“Yeah... I–uh, I don’t know what happened to me.” You admit, your fingers grasping at the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Talk to me (Y/n).” His voice drifts. “Don’t bottle it up.”

You nod, the motion almost imperceptible, like you're afraid acknowledging it out loud will make it hurt more. “I keep seeing his face,” you say. “The way he kept reaching for his mom, even after... even after she was gone.”

Robby doesn’t speak right away. He gives you space, something he’s always been good at. Not filling the silence with platitudes. Just being there, solid and steady. You feel him shift closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

“There was nothing more you could’ve done.”

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face. “I know that. Logically, I know. But emotionally... it doesn’t feel like enough. It never does.”

Robby’s voice softens. “That’s because you give a damn. It’s what makes you good, even when it hurts like hell.”

You glance over at him. His hair is a little messy, like he’s run his fingers through it too many times this morning. His scrubs are clean, unstained, showing no signs of the incoming shift that’s likely to be just as brutal as yours. But his eyes — they’re steady. Kind. And watching you with a kind of care that cuts through the fog in your chest.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out for this.” You whisper.

He turns toward you, fully now. “Don’t,” he says, firm but not harsh. “Don’t say that.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he shakes his head. If you left, he’s not sure he could continue. Jack might kill him if he can't talk you off this ledge.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know.” He stands firm. “I’ve seen you do the impossible on less sleep and more pressure than anyone should be under. You belong here. The fact that you feel this much? That’s not a weakness. That’s what sets you apart.”

You look down at your shoes, throat tight. “Thanks, Robby.”

“I mean it.” He bumps your arm gently. He watches you for a moment, one, two, then three. There’s something unreadable in his expression — not quite a smile, but close.

“What?” You ask.

He pauses, like he’s weighing something. “Just thinking,” he says finally. “You spend so much time holding it together, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you let go.”

You snort. “What does that even mean?”

He gives a soft chuckle. “It means… I’ve seen you save lives without flinching. Seen you stand toe-to-toe with Jack when he’s in one of his moods. You don’t rattle easily. But tonight—”

“Tonight was different.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t press. Just confirms it.

You sink down onto the concrete of the ledge, letting your head rest back against the railing. “I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t get to me.” You admit. “Like if I act detached enough, maybe I won’t crack.”

Robby sits beside you, careful not to crowd your space. “There’s nothing weak about cracking.” He says quietly. “What matters is that you keep showing up.”

You turn to look at him. He’s closer now, the warmth of his body radiating across the narrow space. There’s a softness in his gaze that you hadn’t noticed before — not the usual sarcasm or light teasing, but something gentler. Something more careful.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Why do you care so much?”

His lips twitch, like he’s debating whether to deflect. But then, he just says, “Because you matter. Because you walk into the fire every day, and I don’t think anyone tells you often enough how much that means.”

You feel your heart stutter, just a little. “You don’t have to fix me, Robby.”

“I’m not trying to.” He tilts his head slightly, earnest. “I just want you to know you’re not alone in it.”

The silence stretches again, but this one feels changed. Less heavy. More charged.

You don’t reach for him. He doesn’t reach for you. But there’s something in the air — not quite spoken, not acted on — just held between you like breath.

You watch silently as the sun spills gold across the skyline, your head now leaning on his shoulder. Your cheek warms where it rests against his scrubs.

“Still thinking about jumping?” He teases, voice low.

“Maybe into your arms,” you murmur, half-joking.

Robby chuckles, warm and quiet. “Careful. You keep saying things like that and I might start getting ideas.”

You smile, more than content. "I think I'm alright with that."

You’re definitely alright with that…

[local-crying-boy]

🄹🄾🄰🅀🅄🄸🄽 🅃🄾🅁🅁🄴🅂

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 260

A/N: I have Joaquin Torres brainrot currently and I am (shamelessly) horny asf. Have fun reading

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Joaquin Torres the type of man to go slow while fucking you, hands on your waist groping you, feeling you up.

Joaquin Torres the type of man who eats you out as well, he’s damn good at it and there no denying it.

Joaquin Torres the type of man to go down on you just for his own benefit. Sure it pleasures you, but you have ZERO idea what it does to him

Joaquin Torres the type of man kiss your head in the middle of sex, it lingers too, more like he’s just resting his lips there instead.

Joaquin Torres the type of man to be a little nervous when he has his first time with you. He knows what he’s doing, trust, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing with you.

Joaquin Torres the type of man to map out your entire body, slowly, carefully. He’s getting used to you, getting used to how you react, what makes you tick. Everything and anything.

Joaquin Torres the type of man to talk and laugh during sex, he doesn’t want to take it seriously, not super seriously anyway. He wants you both to have fun, so he jokes and laughs.

Joaquin Torres the type of man to grin against your skin and lips, you can feel the upturn in during the kiss (it’s the same when he’s eating your out)

Joaquin Torres the type of man to get a little bit too turned on when he gets his hair pulled when he’s eating you out, you have to grab something ofc and he just so happens to be the closest thing.

Joaquin Torres the type of man to go slow especially for you, he would drag your orgasm out, take his time, make you cum first before he even thinks about cumming himself.

[stalkingthenet333]

Simon Ghost Riley.

The big man he is..

Is in desperate need of a switchy little bird who can turn his brain off every so often.

And not just in a sexual way-

Just making him take a shower as soon as he comes home, helping him wash his hair, doing his skin care (although let’s be real he doesn’t do that but he lets you-), lather him up with lotion after you dry him off. Picking the beaaauttifffulll gray sweats for the night.

And when he complains you didn’t get him boxers, or a shirt you say..”What’s the point of all that, Si? You won’t need em.”

Giving his tense shoulders a nice massage, feeling him up in the process cause duh ;)

He’s just a tall, rugged man who needs some soft love..and to be honest he adores when you take the time to do so.

He feels as if he’s a burden to you during these hours, when you take care of him. Loving and caring for him like he deserves. Years of trauma does that.

You kiss his scars and burns lightly as you smooth your hands over his tight, sore muscles

Breathing affirmation after affirmation into his skin as if he’d absorb it. Which he does, in his own way.

He loves you. Can’t get enough of you.

But he would never admit he LOVES when you take control.

You don’t force it out of him, no, you would never do that.

He’s your love, your Simon.

You respect him, as much as you love him, if not more.

Allowing the hours to tick by as he slowly relinquishes the control he so desperately clings onto, the power dropping oh so elegantly into your hands.

You don’t do anything he doesn’t like. You don’t force him to do anything to you he doesn’t want to. Why wouldn’t he trust you?

The two of you just…exist. As one. Together.

When it does turn sexual…well

He whimpers LOL

Big old man just loves to whine and beg softly,

“Please, luvie…need ya..”

And who are you to deny this beast of a man who just loves you so much?

“Shh, baby…I got you…how does that feel, hm? Good? Use your words pup..”

Yes, he does like pet names, and being your pup/dog/pet/love/baby? Give it to hiiiim!

Pulling him back gently so he’s nestled in front of you, his back firm against your chest, your hand wrapped around his aching cock. Thumb wiping away his precum. Soft, sweet sounds falling from his swollen lips. His eyes hazy with lust and pleasure,

“Baby…fuck..”

He’s just a big teddy bear once you get him cracked open, ya know? He loves you, and you love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this at work so it’s bad and not edited lol 😆 this was stuck in my brain idk

[itadorispet]

༑ ࿐ྂ kento nanami x reader

↳ smut , mdni!

The office was quiet except for the hum of the overhead lights and the soft ticking of the clock. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, but you were still here, typing up reports that should’ve been done days ago.

Nanami’s presence behind you was…distracting. He didn’t say much, he never did, but you could feel the weight of his gaze every time you shifted in your seat. Calm, calculating. Controlled.

“Still working?” His voice was a low rumble, rough with fatigue and something heavier.

“Trying to finish this before I clock out,” you replied without turning, though your fingers faltered on the keyboard.

Nanami stepped closer. You could feel the heat of him now, the scent of his cologne; clean, subtle, like cedar and something warm. His hand rested on the back of your chair, fingers brushing the curve of your shoulder.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” he murmured. “You need a break.”

You finally looked up, meeting his eyes, calm brown, darkened now with an edge of desire. Something inside you tightened.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, voice quiet but charged.

Nanami’s lips quirked in the faintest smile. “Perhaps. But I’ve found other ways to relieve stress.”

You swallowed thickly. “Yeah? Like what?”

He leaned in, his breath grazing your ear. “I could show you.”

The chair creaked as he turned it gently, guiding you to face him. His hands...big, and warm, settled on your thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles through the fabric of your skirt.

“You always look so tense in the office,” he said, voice smooth, deadly soft. “Do you know how hard it is to watch you act so proper? So put together? When all I want to do is ruin you.”

You bit your lip as he slipped a hand beneath your skirt, finding the line of your panties and dragging them down slowly. “Nanami—”

“Kento,” he corrected, his voice gravel and silk. “Say it. I want to hear you.”

“Kento,” you breathed, heart racing.

He kissed you then, deep, claiming, with years of pent-up need behind it. You moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his loosened tie, pulling him closer.

He made quick work of your clothes, methodical but hungry, until you were laid bare across his desk. Papers scattered to the floor. Your legs trembled around him as he unbuckled his belt, cock hard and thick, flushed with need.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging the head of his cock along your soaked entrance. “All this time, pretending you were just my coworker. But you’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding.

He didn’t wait. With one slow, brutal thrust, he filled you, your back arching off the desk with a cry. Nanami groaned, head dipping to the crook of your neck as he began to move, deep, unhurried strokes that had your body singing.

“Good girl,” he whispered, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “Taking me so well. You feel perfect.”

Your nails raked down his back as the tension coiled tighter in your belly. He fucked you like a man with purpose, every thrust deliberate, every growl of your name driving you higher.

When you came, it hit hard. Stars burst behind your eyes, and Nanami held you through it, never slowing, chasing his own release. He followed soon after, pulsing deep inside you with a strangled groan of your name.

Afterward, he pressed a kiss to your temple, smoothing your hair back with surprising tenderness.

“Don’t stay late alone anymore,” he said, voice ragged. “Next time you need help—come to me.”

[apollabarnes]

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six // part seven // part eight // part nine // part ten // part eleven // part twelve // part thirteen // part fourteen // part fifteen

athena kicks tommy and evan out when the clock ticks past midnight. lucy's already left, promising to bring ravi fresh clothes in the morning and drive him home if he's cleared to leave. karen and maddie have batted their eyelashes at the nurses and gotten cots brought to the rooms, and bobby's tried and failed to get athena to go home and sleep there.

evan's fading fast so tommy's the one that agrees, slipping an arm around evan's waist. "come on evan, let's get you home."

"tommy?" evan murmurs sleepily, and it's a warped funhouse mirror of the night tommy came to maddie and howie's reception and evan drove him home.

"yeah. do you want the jeep?" tommy asks. he can always uber back to the 118 and pick his truck up after evan gets settled at home if he says yes. tommy's exhausted too, but he knows that he got on shift almost eight hours after evan did. he can handle one late night drive.

"no, i want to go home."

"yeah, all right." tommy gestures under his chair, making sure athena knows where the leftovers are. there aren't many; may and harry came by after dinner and ate their way through most of the extra doughnuts before darius came to pick them up.

athena had looked at tommy and tilted her head towards him, and tommy took a good look at the kid, nodding. it was obvious that he cared about may; whether or not it lasted was something no one would know until the end, but they looked good toget—

oh, fuck. tommy needs to stop having epiphanies.

evan falls asleep in the front seat and tommy debates the merits of carrying him into the house instead of waking him up. he's reaching over to pull evan's keys out of his pocket and open the door first, delaying having to make that choice, when evan wakes up. "mm, had a dream like this once."

"just once?" tommy asks, amused.

"a week," evan concedes, and licks his lips.

"come on, you don't want to spend all night in my truck," tommy says gently. he wants to reach out and run his fingers through evan's hair.

"yeah." evan sounds disappointed as he gets out, grabbing his keys. "come in for a minute."

is tommy supposed to say no to that? he's probably got an adrenaline crash on the way, should get home before it hits and he can't drive, but… "okay."

evan tosses his jacket on the couch and gets them both a glass of water, sitting at the kitchen table. tommy sits down across from him. he looks around, notices that the boxes are gone and everything's unpacked. everything looks better in the house, warmer and softer than it ever did in the loft. even that couch, the most uncomfortable one that he's ever slept on. it's fine for movie nights or— tommy cuts himself off. "it looks good," he says inanely, when it's clear that they're both just sitting there with empty glasses and staring into the distance. "i should probably…" he cuts himself off.

"tommy," evan says, and tommy freezes at the way his voice shakes. "today was — it was bad, but it could have been so much worse — and you, you just — we're not even — but you. please. stay."

tommy's heart has been aching for months. it cracks open at the anguish of a near miss in evan's voice. "i can take the—" evan's face drops and tommy changes tacks immediately. "what do you need?"

"i'm so tired," evan whispers.

"okay. okay, bedroom. we can do that." tommy reaches out, carefully, carefully wrapping his hand around evan's wrist and pulling him up. evan comes easily, letting tommy guide him through the house and down the hallway. it's nothing like last time.

evan collapses on the bed like his strings have been cut and tommy sighs. he had a feeling this would happen. evan stares ahead blankly, caught somewhere in the distance. "evan," tommy whispers, bracing his knee against the bed. "how about we don't wear outside clothes to bed?"

evan blinks, shakes his head and stares up at tommy. "oh. right." he tugs ineffectively at the zipper on his hoodie and tommy takes over, sliding it off his shoulders.

[jojosbizzarewife]

Bruno Bucciarati - Stuck on You

The gang had just returned from a mission, everyone looking exhausted. While you were watching the others head up to bed Bruno suddenly appeared behind you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, nuzzling the side of your neck.

“Are you tired, sweetheart?” you whisper to him, your hand coming up to hold his cheek.

“I am….but being with you makes me feel better.” His voice was low and soft, almost a whisper.

“I’m glad I can make you feel better, but maybe you should get some sleep.”

“I have some paperwork I have to do first.” He chucked against your ear. “But I’d rather spend time with you.” He nuzzles your neck again, kissing just below your ear.

“I’m not getting blamed when you don’t finish your work again. Why don’t you go and do some paperwork then, and I will make you some food.”

He paused as you offered dinner. “You drive a hard bargain, you know that? Alright, I accept your terms. But only if we also watch a movie – of my choice – tonight.” He let’s out a small huff, having lost the coin toss the last 3 movie nights.

“Okay, I promise, Mister Pout”

He let’s out a mock scoff, acting offended by the nickname, trying to conceal his smile and pushing out his bottom lip. “I do not pout.”

“You are currently pouting… Now go do some work.”

He chuckled, giving you a squeeze before finally relenting and letting go. He took a step back reluctantly. He smirked at you and walked over to his desk, starting to sort through the paperwork.

An hour ticked by, and eventually Bruno was able to get through a decent amount of his paperwork. The pile still seemed high to him, taunting him. He sighed and ran his hand over his face. Just as he was about to abandon his work, he caught a whiff of something delicious. His stomach rumbled and his lips curled into a smile.

He pushed himself up from his chair, his stack of papers long forgotten as his attention was pulled towards the tantalizing smells. He made his way over to the kitchen. As he walked through the doorway, he took in the scene before him. The table was set with plates, a bottle of wine, lit candles, and the dinner you made.

His heart fluttered as he took in the sight. Beautiful and romantic. He let out a soft breath, his eyes roaming the table before settling his gaze on you.

“What do you think? You seemed tired, so I wanted to do something nice for you.”

He smiled, his eyes lingering on the romantic setting. “It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to go to all the trouble though, dear. But I do appreciate it. You’re too good to me.” He walks over to you and pulls you into a hug.

You both sit down to eat, enjoying the meal you made. Chatting and making jokes, just enjoying each others company after a long day.

“I hope you’re ready for my movie pick tonight, darling. I’m thinking something scary.” He says, his expression mischievous.

“I’m sorry, what’s a movie? I don’t know what that is… I don’t think I’ll like it – I’ll pass.” You tease him.

“You know what movies are, you cheeky one….Don’t try to fool me. You’re just pretending so you can torment me.” He lets out an exasperated sigh, half-amused. He couldn’t help but smile at your antics.

“Oh you got me”

He chuckled at you. “Yes, I did. I always do. You know you can’t lie to me.” He looks down at his plate. “You know you really outdid yourself with this meal. It’s all very romantic, and it means a lot to me.” He reaches out and gently takes your hand.

“I know, I really went all out for you. I set some impressive girlfriend standards” You raise your eyebrows at him.

He chuckled, his expression growing fond as he squeezes your hand gently. “You really do… I feel like the luckiest person in the world to be with someone so amazing and sweet. You set some high standards. I don’t think anyone could top what a perfect girlfriend you are.”

“You better not go looking either.”

He let out another small laugh, his expression growing smug. “I wouldn’t dream of it…I have no intention of looking at anyone else when I’ve got the most amazing girlfriend right in front of me, spoiling me with romantic dinners.”

“Oh, you’re so obsessed with me, you should just marry me already.”

He paused a moment at your words, his expression morphing from playful to slightly shocked. He had not expected that. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he took a deep breath to steady himself. “Are you…are you proposing to me right now, dear?”

“Eh…Maybe…”

He let out a small chuckle. His smile growing wider with a hint of playful sarcasm. “Maybe? You’re just maybe proposing to me?”

“Well, I want to be able to take it back if you say no.”

His expression softened somewhat as your response dawned on him. He was touched by your hesitation, but also found it quite amusing. “Afraid I’m going to say no to you?”

“Maybe a little…what if you don’t want to be proposed to?”

He smiled but didn’t respond. Feigning contemplation just to add to your nerves. He knew you were just playing, but he couldn’t resist making you squirm a bit.

“I mean… I know traditionally the guy asks… so I don’t know…”

He chucked again, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he leaned forward. “So, you’re breaking tradition, huh? You’re not afraid of being too forward?”

“…I know what I want.”

He smiled again his expression growing more affectionate as you spoke. “You do, huh?” His voice growing softer and more serious.

“Okay…I know this started as a silly joke, but if you keep avoiding the answer I am actually going to pass out.”

He chuckled again, your anxiety and nerves making his smile widen more to see you flustered over him. “You know I could never say no to you. Of course I want to marry you.”

“Really?”

He smiled, a touch of exasperation as he spoke. “Of course, really. You’re the only one for me. Why would I ever say no to marrying the most amazing, sweet, loving girlfriend who spoils me with romantic dinners?”

“Fiancé, not girlfriend now”

He chuckled, his smile growing wider as he thought of the new title you could give yourselves. He reached out and gently grasped your chin. “You’re right…. Fiancé. My future wife.”

[ceramicbeetle]

half baked thought but 1) it’s funny when people act like hawkeye has a deep respect for marriage as an institution and that it’s something he cares about in any way and 2) funnier when people act like hawkeye settling down with one person in sudden post-canon monogamy is viewed like the only good and healthy way to address his issues around abandonment and like, self-worth

[javierduffy]

Same anon from earlier who sent that ask about how Dutch would react to javieran. I finished the fic but uh it's porn lol. If you're still interested it's "steady beat" on ao3

anon i would like you to know that i spent the first 20 minutes of my shift sitting in the bathroom reading this and i do not regret a single moment

THAT WAS SOOOO GOOD ARE UOU INSANE !-?/!?:3! JAVIERAN CONTENT WAS EXCITING ENOUGH ALREADY BUT PORN ??? AND SOFT, FLUFFY, HEAD-OVER-HEELS IN LOVE PORN ???????? you wrote this for ME !!!!!!! and i am SO GRATEFUL !-!2!2!3 OMG !!!!!!!!!! it was sooo good i was literally giggling and kicking my feet the whole time, you nailed their dynamic sooo so perfectly imo 😭💔 reading that was such a pleasure thank you for the food !!!!!

[zorosdimples]

i don’t think i’ve really written much about virgin yuuji yet… he is so important to me…

[tonycries]

Night(wing) Crawler - G.S.

Synopsis. Trapped with a too-smug, too-handsome Nightwing by the very same villains you were trying to swindle was not how you planned to spend your night. Luckily for you, Gojo can think of a much better way to pass the time.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! anti-hero!reader, Nightwing! Gojo, BATMAN AU, enemies-to-Iovers, forced proximity, píning, MARATHONS, manhandIing, Gojo goes FÉRAL, overstím, he is BIG, making it fit, cervíx kíssing, tummy buIges, BREÉDING, RIPPING suits, spítting, cúmplay, chokíng, arguing during it, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, matíng presses, making Gojo CRY, oraI (f + m rec.), p talking, breaking furniture, Red Hood! Geto cameo, slight vioIence, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.4k

A/N. *evil laughs* I just had to.

“You.”

“You.”

“Enchanté, sweetheart.” And Gojo - oh, it’s so undeniably Gojo Satoru’s sapphire gaze behind that satiny mask - tilts over his tall, bubbling glass of champagne towards you with the cockiest of winks. A wink. 

Your teeth set on edge - out of all the pompous, boorish high society balls that he could crash undercover, it just had to be the one that you were planning to heist. 

And by the most pompous, boorish hero of all. 

If looks could kilI, then you’d be upturning Gojo’s grave to finish him off yourself already. 

“Didn’t think you were one for masquerade balls.” He’s leaning in to brush off an invisible piece of lint from your shoulder, words coming out in scorching hot puffs against your ear. Low, hoarse. “Changed much during your lil’ vacation, hm? How is the Gotham State Penitentiary this time of year?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How’s the hottest one of the Bat Family doing?” You’re sniping back, head cocked innocently. Silent for just how long it takes for Gojo’s eyes to widen, breath to hitch- “Y’know…Toji Fushiguro. How’s Batman doing, Nightwing?”

There’s a strangely sharp glint in his stare, and his traitorously handsome jaw clenches through a wild grin. 

With a wide sweep of the bustling ballroom, he murmurs over the live orchestra. “You’re gonna give me away~”

“Don’t even have to try.” You’re tilting your head up in defiance when he closes in so many sultry inches, all the way until you could feel the heated press of Gojo’s ticking biceps through his formal suit. Heady masculine cologne invading your senses, “That mask does more than enough damage.”

Honestly, what fool dons a disguise with a mask that looks exactly like his hero one? 

Though, you weren’t complaining - if Nightwing accidentally provided the perfect distraction for you to swindle future big-shot congressman and business heir, Naoya Zenin, out of his precious diamonds then so be it.

The fact that Batman’s protégé would be humiliated was only a plus. 

Scoffing, “So what you’re saying is you want me out of it? Scandalous, but I don’t fuck before a first date.”

A very, very big plus. 

“Never in your wildest dreams, Nightwing.” You’re pettily raising your voice just a pitch to make the sculptured man in front of you squirm, as much as he would never admit it. “S’it that you don’t fuck or you don’t get to? Come here to try out your hand with the wives of the bourgeoisie?”

“I’m here on business, sweetheart. Gotta get to that brat Naoya’s office.” Gojo nods towards a gaggle of ogling older ladies, ever-the-charmer. 

It’s enough to make them swoon, and - you hate to admit it - for your heart to stutter just a beat. 

Because Gojo Satoru looked good. All powerful, lean muscle that carried him so many numerous inches over six feet. The rich, yolkish lighting makes his dark blue jacket look almost painted to his slender waist, and those meaty, meaty thighs. 

Easily the sexiest man in this room full of sordid businessmen and shifty politicians.

If you dared to let your gaze roam, you’re sure they’d stray past his milky collarbones to catch a hint of the even tighter black and blue hero suit he was surely wearing under. 

He looked more than good, if you were being honest.

But when has one of Gotham’s most notorious cat burglars ever needed to be honest?

And you’re so caught up in pondering just what the others see in him that it gives you an electric jolt to feel the doughy pads of Gojo’s gloved fingertips brushing down your thigh. Feeling as if he was searing through your saucy, glittering gown.

There’s a tremor of amusement when his sensory tips meet the cold hilt of your famed dagger. Hidden. 

Tonality dripping with something sickly sweet that makes your tummy lurch, “And it seems like I’m not the only one, Prowler. The Zenin diamonds?”

“The Zenin drug smuggling ring?”

You both give a curt, almost-missable nod. Your eyes back to analyzing the sprawling celebrations for any sign of the aforementioned Zenin heir himself.

Though, not for long- “Y’know, maybe I should send you back to your lovely penitentiary right now, girl. Already did once.” Whispered right against your sensitive earlobe. 

“Darling–” Your plastic smile is almost painful as you feel the interested stares from around the room. You did make quite an eye-catching pair, especially so close. Hand drifting to his beefy, veined forearm and pinching, “-you’re too close~”

“I don’t think I’m close enough.” 

Nails clawing down his smooth skin and towards his pale wrist. “Close enough for me to strike a vein without a single person here knowing any better.”

“That’s kinda hot–” Gojo’s lips quirk upwards, sleek brows quirking up to the curtain of his snowy bangs. And you don’t know where to look - down below, where he’s adjusting his pants with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, or up above where his irises follow a triangle between both your eyes n’ your lips, dead-on. “-for a petty thief.”

“You little-”

“Big, actually.” And of course, he has to interrupt with a look on his face that tells you he knew you were fighting to not take a glance downwards and confirm for yourself. “I’m very big.”

“I hear words compensate.” You’re batting your lashes through your own lacy Stygian mask, too close. “And I hear Toji’s bigger.”

“Enough with the-”

“My my, young love sure is fiery!” Saved by a rough, booming voice to your side of the festivities. Though, you’re not sure if it would technically be considered a “save” when you’re finally snapping your head and recognizing the source of those words. “I always do tell Naoya ‘ere that it’s time to settle down. No such luck so far!”

As Naobito Zenin slaps an overly harsh hand down on his son’s crisp, suit-cladden shoulder with a bark of laughter, you mutter. “Can’t imagine why.”

Though, perhaps it was a bit too loud.

Because Naoya’s nostrils flare in a sharp inhale, and you’re hearing Gojo stifle a breathy rumble of laughter from his broad chest- shit, since when were you two even pressed up like this? No wonder it must have looked…romantic to an outsider.

“Naobito Zenin, at your service.”

“Ah, my apologies for being so rude.” You’re pushing away from the hero as if it burned - and by the strange tingling on your skin, maybe it really did. Reaching over to the wizened, leering man for a handshake. “I’m-”

“Mrs. Gojo, of course.” Gojo gets there first. “My wife and I are new to Gotham, you see. We wanted to make connections here in our new home.” A warm hand casually slings over your shoulder, slender digits tight. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

What….the fuck.

And perhaps you should’ve screamed bloody murder - maybe that would make the Zenin’s take pity on you after an encounter with this lecher. 

“That’s right.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have leaned in just as you did to his hard front. But if the way that Gojo was momentarily stunned told you anything, it was that you were doing something right. “It’s all been quite a change.”

Naoya’s thin, mahogany brows raise silently - new to the city and already invited to one of the most elite social gatherings of the year? That certainly was intriguing.

“Gojo? Gojo…so familiar…” Naobito muses out loud, and your veins boil with anxiety as his face scrunches. Before he clicks his fingers with flourish, “A-ha–! You wouldn’t have anything to do with the revered Gojo Enterprises now, would you?”

Your faux-husband places a hand over his heart, “Ah, my most beloved little project.” 

“President?”

“CEO.”

Calling a multi-billion dollar foreign company a “little project” was generous, you think. But what was even more so was- “Though, it’s nothing in comparison to what I have coming up soon.” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Oh! We probably shouldn’t reveal much, however. Confidential, only friends and family.”

Naobito Zenin was practically frothing from the mouth at this point. And you notice that even Naoya’s suspicious furrow had almost completely disappeared. Almost. 

“C-confidential-” The older man squeals, before bumping a fist into Gojo’s puffed-up chest. “Why, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Tell me tell me- just between you and I, how big are we talking?”

“Big.”

“Bigger than Gojo Enterprises? S-surely impossible-”

You cut in, “Bigger. Better, considering the association with the parliament we’ve negotiated this time. Whoops- my apologies, darling, that simply slipped out.”

And through it all, Naoya stays unnervingly quiet - even while his father tries and fails to hide his squawks of delight. 

It would’ve almost been comedic if the air wasn’t so cut-throat tense. As if the clinking glasses and chatter of the ball were infinite miles away from your little bubble now. 

Past animosity almost evaporated, you’re managing to meet Gojo’s eyes. His cloud-pale eyebrows wiggling with a knowing waver, and you find yourself plastering on an exaggerated look of distress before carrying out the finishing blow.

“Oh, but you know–” Patting the delicious curves of his pecs, “-my husband has been so stressed lately. I’m afraid he’ll overwork himself mad with this new project.”

“Aw, dear…”

“I do wish he’d take on a partner to collaborate and split the innumerable profits with. But, alas, there hasn’t been a company competent or high-profile enough for our taste.”

And by the sharp elbow Naobito digs into Naoya’s ribs, you already know that you’ve won. Well, that the two of you have won.

Reluctantly, almost as if every word made his bones ache, his son purses out a tight. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, my father and I certainly hope this isn’t too forward, but we believe that- ah, we might just be exactly what you’re looking for.”

You both adopt a look of faint surprise, “Oh?”

Another nudge, another step forward. 

“Apologies for the late introduction, but I’m Naoya Zenin. Future congressman, future CEO of the immensely successful Zenin Corporations” Each syllable practically oozing with icy smugness, “I believe I know what you want, and we are it. Please, allow me to reach out on behalf of our Zenin hospitality and lead the two of you to our private business room; where we can discuss this further…in-depth.”

Somehow, the trail end of his sentence made you shudder. 

“Ah, how wonderful!” Gojo’s arm wraps possessively around your waist, “Lead the way, Naoya.”

And if you were lucky to be led straight to the dragon’s lair of treasures, then you were even luckier when one of those said dragons stayed behind.

Indeed, Naobito was held back in conversation with another undoubtedly important parliamentary figure as you and Gojo followed Naoya out of the massive, gilded doors. Silent. Rigid. 

“Take him out. Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds.” Gojo rasps from the corner of his mouth, voice barely audible for you let alone the stiff figure a few steps in front of you. Leading you along windingly decadent corridors and staircases. 

You’re shaking your head, eyes following the velvety curtains and gleaming ornaments on display and wondering whether you should increase your scope for this heist even more than just the diamonds. “Diamonds, then whatever. I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds, then prison for you, girl.” He snarks back, “Unless– you wanna make up for this appalling date by actually going out with-”

“We’re here.”

It seems that the Zenin’s did have quite an affinity for interrupting you two at the most important of times. 

And the only thing keeping Gojo from curling his features into a sneer is the sight of those rich, mahogany double doors in front of him. This was it. 

The infamous Zenin office room.

With enough secrets to overturn the nation, and– Gojo sneaks a glimpse at the determined set of your gaze - enough diamonds, too. 

Naoya’s spindly fingers twist on the burnished golden door handles, letting them creak open just a few inches ajar. Dim lighting floods out through the crack, and you’re seeing the outline of an expensive cross between an office room and a lounge room.

He gestures his hands in a wave inside with an almost-bored sort of drawl, “Guests first, I insist.”

Your fingers itch towards the dagger strapped to your thigh, and Gojo’s stare narrows. Tone steely yet polite, “No no, as the future master of the house-”

“I insist.”

“Alright…” He plants a staggering palm on the small of your back, “Come along then, sweetheart.”

Tentatively stepping onto the luxurious red carpet inside at the same time, you swear from your cunning optics you see Naoya’s lips twitch-

And then it happens.

All in the span of a nanosecond that neither you nor Gojo have the time to react - the floor and the ceiling crack open in an almost metre-wide line dividing you two and the door, a thick wall of metal snapping! shut in place before you can blink, and suddenly– suddenly, you’re trapped. 

“Fuck-”

“No!”

“You must excuse me for the rude welcome-” Naoya’s voice drifts over, and you’re noticing that the gleaming wall had a small window pane. Enough for you to see a sliver of crazed, honeypool eyes, “-Prowler and Nightwing.” 

He knows.

Of course, he knew. You were here trapped between a thoroughly bolted, heavy-duty panel of metal harder than diamonds. Ones especially made for trained heroes and- well, you. 

And one furious bang! of your fist told you that not even your overpowered strength would be able to break through - it barely even rattled the barrier’s bolts that proudly stood circumference of your head. Running the expanse from floor to ceiling, you were backed into a corner. 

Looking behind you, you’re met with the rest of the gleaming office; shelves upon shelves of books, a busy desk, cushy loveseats. And no window. 

No exit.

He’s spitting, face twisting into heaps of wrinkles as he grins. “My father might be half-blind, but I’m not.” Pointing accusingly, “You almost got me, I admit. But any fool could tell- the tension, the stupid flirting. Who else would it fuckin’ be if not for you two?”

Crossing your arms, you do your best to keep out the tremble in your voice. “Quite frankly, I’m almost insulted.”

“I’m not.”

And you do not glower at Gojo…this time. To firmly disprove Naoya’s point, if anything. 

The other man clenches his teeth, throwing his hands. “I don’t care what you feel. This is checkmate, so now you both simply die.”

Running your hands through your cage, you could practically feel the power. The strength. “Well, it seems you’re not just beauty- well, you’re not beauty at all, actually.”

“Don’t forget, he isn’t brains either.” Gojo pipes up, nodding towards you. “I know this daddy’s boy wasn’t the one to make this lair. It reads more like the works of-”

“Shut up shut up shut up-” You and him watch in mild astonishment as your captor drags his fingers through his hay-blond locks and pulls. You swear you could count every red, popped blood vessel in his bulging eyes. “-insufferable fucking- I have you two at my mercy, and when my father hears about this he will be pleased. Very pleased.” 

You will yourself not to gulp, “There’s nothing you can do to us.”

“Wait and watch. After all, I am the future head of Zenin Corporations, I’ll kill both of you. It doesn’t matter how.”

Before you can torment him any further, he turns tail and throws a withering glare your way. Hands on the doors, it feels like something leaden is forming in your throat. “Better sit tight until the ball ends and we can have our ah- fun little afterparty.”

.

.

.

“Can’t you stop that infernal noise, girl.”

You’re halting your body mid-punch, a thin line of sweat trickling from your temple. Heaving out, “I don’t see you helping.” 

Not even waiting for a response before you’re back to gifting the office wall with a solid CLANG! You’d already attempted the same with the metallic partition, to not even a single crater. And by the unaffected state of the rest of the room, you’re slowly realizing that every one of these four walls might just be made from the same material. 

Fuck.

BANG!

“For fucks-”

“What are you doing, then?” You’re whirling around to face a precarious Gojo Satoru, standing on one foot on top of a high bookshelf and murmuring utterly ridiculously to something clutched in his palm. “An interpretive dance routine won’t get us out of here.”

He’s been like this for the entire time - it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes - since you’ve been trapped here. All he’s done was rifle through a few files and snatch a few documents. And…this. 

Hell- you didn’t even find your diamonds, yet. 

“You think about ‘us’ a lot?”

Rolling your eyes- you can’t even bother with a scowl. Instead, turning back to spend your time planting CRASH! after CRASH! over his protests. 

“Keep it down, sweetheart, I can’t-” Punching your way through even harder - making even louder noise, on purpose. “-hear-” Perhaps you could kill him before Naoya even gets here. “-the mic-” 

“What?” You’re grunting, ears still ringing from the deafening noise yourself. 

And just then you find your brows knitting together because Gojo Satoru looks so…satisfied. It strikes you to your very core. Which was definitely never a good sign. 

Jumping down from the bookshelf in one, fluid motion, he shows off a tiny rounded gadget grasped in one hand. “You’ll see.” Gojo purrs at your questioning gaze, winking. “You’ll see very soon. We’ll be fine, promise.”

Yeah, you really didn’t like the sound of that.

But before you can swivel back to your target - you swear you were seeing a crack - Gojo’s tucking away the mysterious object into his jacket pocket and taking it off. Letting the silken fabric hit the floor with a dull schwf! Right along with his tie, his belt-

“Wh-what are you doing?” It comes out more breathless than you’d have liked. 

“Changing into my supersuit, that’s what.” He lifts up his mask to roll his eyes, full and well knowing. The pinkish perk of his tongue drags a slow glide of wetness across his lips as he unbuckles his belt - looking you straight in the eyes. “Why? This turn ya on, sweetheart?”

“No.”

Yes.

Fuck, you hated how even despite turning away, you couldn’t help but angle your body just so that you’re ogling Gojo from your peripheries. You hated how every thud of clothes hitting the floor made a fresh new layer of goosebumps bead along your clammy, heated skin. 

It was so hot. 

“You should do the same– you must be getting warm with all that ruthless, blundering violence.” Comes the sing-song voice from behind you, oh- he was enjoying this. It sent Gojo’s heart racing to watch the way you were all flustered because of his actions. His body. 

Scoffing, another punch. “You just want to see skin, lecher.”

“With a body like that- fuck yeah.”

“Save it for the wives of the bourgeoisie.”

“Scared, Prowler?”

Oh, for the love of-

“Not on your life, Nightwing.”

And then you do it.

You make the mistake of giving into your instinctual desire to glare at Gojo Satoru, as if your eyes never wanted to leave him. And then you see it. 

All his long, tantalizing muscles and curves - being hugged so tightly in that black and blue suit that you could count every one of his eight washboard abs. Fuck. Gojo’s body seemed to go on for miles, pulling the latex tightly over his rippling flesh. 

Right on cure, your eyes trail from the bulging valley of his pecs, to the ridges of his v-line to…you gulp.

You always did think it gave him an unfair advantage - just how sexy he was. It was one of the reasons he managed to distract you enough to lock you up in Gotham State Penitentiary last time, after all. 

Tittering, “Take a picture it’ll-”

“Take this fist to your face.”

“Kinky~ it’ll only make me harder, y’know.”

Hard-er. 

And all of a sudden it was as if the tension in the room was like molasses, and you were drowning in the saccharine concoction. Nightwing- Gojo really was too cocky for his own good, but what was even worse was he could back it up, too. 

Your skin flares up with a burning breeze, and your voice comes out peaky. “Fine.” Through his mask, you swear his eyes widen once your hands fly up to take off your own. And then to the zipper of your gown, “But only because it’s so hot.”

Pulling it down just an inch before-

“Wait…let me?”

Just a flash of that glossy black suit of yours, just a single sneak-peek of it enveloping your skin and he was pressing you to the wall. Ravenous.

You were gorgeous. 

Balmy heat of his body making yours sizzle up, all Gojo needs is only one of his massive palms to pin both your wrists wayyy above your head. Meaty thighs massaging up against yours to stop your jostling body. 

Lips twitching up into a smirk at the carnal hunger in your eyes, “Let me…help with that, yeah?” His gravelly words resound in your eardrums and make your thighs squeeze. The fat fringes of his digits draw slow lines down the side of your figure, memorizing. “S’a hero’s duty, after all.” 

You’re growling, “Do it. Do it if you’re not scar- ah!”

But that’s exactly what Gojo had been waiting for. 

Exactly the moment to make your pretty voice break, exactly the moment for him to tuck a finger behind your back and all but rip–! your dress from the back.

“Would ya look at thaaaat-” He’s snickering out in awe as your flimsy gown falls halfway through tatters around you, all along with your dagger. Revealing a snug suit that makes his mouth simply water. All gorgeous lines of your body that he can’t get enough of. “Always fuckin’ hated this suit.”

His sinful pants strike you in gusts when Gojo leans his admiring head down, down, down to push right into the valley between your heaving tits. “Made me s-soooo fucking hard every time I saw ya in it.”

Did you just make Gojo Satoru stutter?

No wait- even better, was that achingly hard outline bumping right between your legs what you thought it was?

He’s rubbing the swollen outline of his mushroom tip at the target of your hot core, drinking in that cutely surprised expression on your face. Something devilish. “Oh~? What’s this? I-if this is what it took to shut that pretty mouth, I’d have done it sooner.”

But what he didn’t account for was the way that you would take the initiative shutting him up. 

The way you would breach that almost-non-existent air between you two and crash your lips onto his. In French kiss so filthy that it makes Gojo moan–

“You’re better like this-” You spit between his strawberry pink lips, the taste of his bubblegum sweet taste now your most favorite. Cherry flavored, almost. “-when you shut up.”

In response, he’s nipping on your lower lip and draaaagging. Smirking at the adorable squeal that lets off from your ajar jaw, “Can’t even keep yer h-hands off of me, always knew you found me irresistible.” And Gojo doesn’t even need his other hand to entrap you now, pinning you with his muscled front. A sultry glissade of mere inches up n’ down up n’ down up n’- 

You could tell that he was big. 

So could that soft palm of yours, sneaking down to cop an agonizing feel of his rotund bulge. Fingers rovering generously along the damp crevice of his slit, “What was that?”

“Found me ir-re-sis-”

Harder. 

“Shiiiit.” He hiccups, head swimming. “Suck- suck on my tongue.”

You do. Making Gojo’s eyes glaze over at the twist of your pillowy lips, making him rut-

“Fuckin’ dirty little thing.” The rough texture of his tastebuds swirl across your own, and even through his mask you swear he looked fucked-out already. Taking off his suave gloves, he leaves one spank on your thigh. Two. “Mmm- spread them f’me now.”

You’re snarling, despite the furious throb you feel from your leaking cunt. “Who’d ya think you are to ngh- boss me around?”

“Have it your way then, girl.”

And when he says that shit, he means it.

Before you know it, he’s sitting on the capped curves of his knees with a loud bam! You’re grimacing for but a mere split-second at just how much it must have hurt, before realizing that Gojo doesn’t care.

It’s the last fucking thing on his mind once he’s gliding an open, calloused palm underneath one of your unsteady legs and wrangling it on top of his sculpted shoulders. 

You’re latching a hand through his soft, fawny strands with a yelp. “Asshole.”

“Witch.”

“Pussy.”

“Pussy, alriiight—” The borders of his short, manicured nails draw an invisible line down, down, down to coast the puffy fissure of your pussylips. Before pinching and tearing cleanly between the legs of your latex suit. Breathing deeply in- “There she is. Pretty girl…hey there, the name’s Satoru. I’m the stuff of your wettest dreams.”

You can’t even bite out a retort - a plea - before Gojo’s diving nose-deep allll the way into your drooling cunt. Nudging apart your gluey folds with his perky buttoned nose, lengthy tongue slathering your hole with a fat drag-

He’s basically glued. Addicted with only a single taste, and swerving his tongue to scratch up in solid, dizzying circles around and around your soppy entrance. 

“Sh-shit-” Your thighs break out in jitters, and he only responds with a firm tug to interlock your craned limb ‘round his neck. Making your spine bend the perfect curvature off of the cool wall, “-more. More.”

SPANK!

The rims of Gojo’s fingers burn into the globes of your ass, and he’s so unrepentant about it. So smug. Making such a spectacular show of letting your globs of slick pour down his tongue. 

Kiss-bitten maw hanging wiiidely agape to make you watch the thick rivulets of sap that hit the back of his awaiting throat. He’s dripping wet all the way down to his bobbing Adam’s apple, treacly splotches of juice hitting the floor in puddles. 

Gojo gurgles out something feral, still mushing his pert maw to your wet mound so you’re feeling each n’ every vibration. 

“Dooooown, kitty.” Another spank, and another steamy snog of his mouth. Though, this time he’s letting his pearly whites catch on your plumpened clit. Dangerously so. “Watch ngh- watch it, I bite.”

With a frustrated tut, you’re pushing his pretty features even deeper into your pussy. Making him pinch your sensitive nub between his teeth even harder. Slobbering a long drag from every inch of his pointed chin, to the very apples of his high cheekbones. 

“Maybe m’into that…Satoru.”

“Oh- Oh.” Through the bleary gaps in your eyes, you’re noticing that Gojo was blushing. Bright. Red up to the tips of his ears. Burning skin chafing up into your own, and you’re practically melting at his heat.

That sound was like heaven to him. You were like heaven to him. And Gojo’s dilated irises hold direct eye contact with you once he’s digging his round fingertips roughly onto your asscheeks. Resonating out such saturated squelches after squelches as his tongue laps every nook and cranny. “You’re gonna get it- fuck, you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

So many delirious moans rip out of you with every slash of his tongue, perking it in every right sensitive spot of yours - without even trying.

Mewling, “Toru- ngh- Toru.”

“Easy there, easy there.” He giggles out in a wet sputter right into your inner thighs, ragged voice all waterlogged with so many ounces of you and your sweet pussy. In the blink of an eye, you feel like you’re floating - only mere moments later do you realize that it’s because Gojo’s holding you up. 

With only one hand.

Relieving you of any thought other than jerking your cunt repeatedly on top of his open mouth in a sultry tempo. Back and forth. 

“Have no idea h-how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He spits into your weeping pussy - both literally and figuratively. Free hand darting upwards to push aside the glutinous barrier of your folds and spray it with a thick wad of spittle. Licking over the shiny sheen, “No idea. Always actin’ so ngh- high and mighty. Had to fuck my fist every time I fought ya, had to run off and- shiiiit cum to the thought of you all over my tongue.”

Gojo was babbling, and right now it was as if he started and couldn’t stop.

“Annoying fuckin’ girl.” He’s snarling, every syllable falling out before he can even think. The swollen point his thumb treks past your walls and catches on the fluttering orifice of your hole. “Ya just need to be eaten out reeeeal proper. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

Then you feel like you’re being split-apart, and you knew you were fucked. 

Because Gojo’s fingers were both long and girthy. 

Such a lethal combination that had you mussing up his silky bangs while you held on for dear life. 

His barreling inches crawl right past that first cozy outer ring, showering it with such lustrous layers of pure, slippery need. Pushing and pushing until they’re skirting to thrash right into the bulging area of your g-spot. 

And just when he’s pummelling your molten wall with a harsh strike, just when Gojo’s mouth parts at the pure ecstasy of finding it. Of how pretty you looked. 

You’re letting your own, too, in a frail whimper. ���Th-that all you got, Nightwing?”

“Ohhh, I love a woman that bullies me.” 

All that Gojo whispers into your cunt - low, almost reverent - before his touch turns deadly. Cock aching painfully, thighs squeezing together until his pulsing, hot shaft gets squeezed. 

You’re faced with the full force of his slick-covered fingers pumping direct hit after hit. Sending white-hot flashes of pressure straight from the stout ends of his fingerpads and right to your brain.

“That all I got? H-heh, that all I got-” He’s echoing your previous words like a mantra. Breaking. Octaves higher as if he was on the verge of laughing. “How fucking cute.”

“C-cute?”

“So fucking cute.”

“I-I’m not- fuck!”

Pinpointing his long index purposefully in a massage right up against your g-spot, like it was a button for him to toy and push. 

Gojo’s smile leers ever-wider as he holds it there, listening to the way your moans pitch creakily. “What’s that?” And you’re barely spilling off a few more syllables in response before he angles his wrist deeper to push down even harder. Making your entire body shudder, “What’s that? Yeahh, s’what I thought.”

You were so tight around him that Gojo’s forcing himself to bite his driveling bottom lip to hold back countless embarrassing whimpers. Because you were clinging onto him like gum, tugging his fingers back into your boiling hot depths every time he’s reeling back.

And the problem with Gojo Satoru was that he couldn’t decide. 

He wanted you. And he wanted it all. 

Couldn’t stop from alternating between scissoring his dexterous fingers into every ridge and crevice of your goopy cunt, and making out with you like he was parched. Lolling his tongue like he was drunk- all over your swooping slit and rubbing in tiny hearts on top of your hooded clit. 

“Need you. Need you s-shoooo fuuuckin’ badly.” He couldn’t even speak properly at this point. You’re flinching as a third finger slimily squirms inside your pussy. “Want it all.”

So fucking sloppy in ways you’ve never seem him.

Your dewdrops of slick coat the outside of his mouth and stick in delicate strings, growing thicker and thicker by the minute as he once more strikes your magical spot and makes your toes curl. Gasping, “Yeah- yeah, fuck. Take it, take it ngh- all, Satoru—”

You think you’re gonna snap.

“Upsie daisy.”

Basically being manhandled to lean your entire weight on his shoulders. You don’t think you’re even holding yourself up at all this point. Feeling every flex and ripple of the hero’s deltoids underneath your fleshy mounds.

You’re so loud - and not just from your mouth.

“Hell yeah. Talk t’me.” Juicy sloshes spring onto the edges of Gojo’s mouth after every gyration, practically devouring you. He narrows his lust-murked stare to your glistening hole, giggling - fucking giggling - at how your hips just can’t stay still. “She’s saying…ohhh she’s saying- saying she’s gonna be good f’me.”

You’re blinking down with dazed intrigue, watching with an empty head at the way that his motions only get faster. And faster. 

Pupils sprinting allll the way to the back of your heavy lids, “Close. Think- think m’so close, Toru.”

“Ya think?” He muses, drawing a bold stripe up your bruised and battered g-spot. One so hard that it has the corners of your lips flooding with a bubbling torrent of saliva, it has your eyes shuttering- “Oh, girl– I know. You’re cummin’ already, sweetheart.”

Shit- you were? You were. 

Head spinning, throat raw. 

And you didn’t even realize it with just how fucked-out you were on his long, lecherous tongue. Rendering your head permanently dizzy with those vulgar patterns he was drawing with it, both inside and out.

Your goopy walls tingle with the force of your high, ears popping with the pressure of those startling peaks after peaks. Ones that Gojo drags out gladly. 

“Cumming from the hah- the great Gojo Satoru, huh?” He’s groaning, tonality husked with a shiver of something predatory. Unstable. Needy. Smashing away over and over and over on your most tender spots, buzzing. “Cumming all over my mouth. Always was meant for this- meant for me.”

If you thought that the squelches from before were blasphemous, then you surely weren’t ready for the slurps that follow now. 

So loud. 

Slithering the curling tip of his tongue to slap down on your quivering entrance, he’s pounding your hole dually with a mean mouth and even meaner fingers. Merciless. 

You’re cumming and cumming and he’s stringing you along with every explosive ram and suck. Tired fingers pulling out of your hole with a wet plop! and lurching down to squeeze his achingly hard cock. Grinding the fat of his palm over n’ over across his length-

“S-soooo sensitive—” You’re sobbing out, eyes leaking hot tears once the crescendo of your orgasm pulls taut, powerful tingles rushing from where Gojo was latching his neat teeth onto your clit and biting. 

And not even wringing your fingers to scratch his scalp, not even draaaagging Gojo by his sweat-matted hair could get him to part. 

He wasn’t done yet. No. 

His chin hits the very back of your cunt as he targets your pussy with yet another viscous few wads of spittle. Scattering it all over your sloppy hole when he’d drunk up all your sweet sap and there wasn’t enough. “Wanna taste more o-of you. S’fuckin’ sweet, wanna taste more.”

Because to him it would never be enough.

Not even when you’d finally let your toes uncurl, not even when your cracked whimpers were turning hushed. Bated. 

Not even when he finally breaks his kiss between your legs with one last looooong slurp. Well, multiple. Gojo simply kept parting and coming back every few seconds with the most vulgar kisses because it hurt him to leave the very same pussy he’s been dreaming of since the day he first met you. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Gojo seethes out through rough pants. The soppy thwack! of wiry ribbons of drool from both sets of lips smacking him in the face. It lacquers all over his prettily flushed face and makes a mess.

Yet, you think he’s never looked prettier. 

And the only thing messier was that smile he was giving you - dopey, and crazed. With beads of syrupy slick hanging off of his cerise lips, “You…you got my mask all dirty, sweetheart.”

“Dirty” was an understatement. 

Gojo’s black mask was drenched, soaked through until every bit of his milky skin touching it smeared with a shimmery lamination of sap. You’d done such a number on him that when he hooks a thumb underneath, it lets out the most sinful squelch!

“Hear that?” You’re watching, speechless, once he tugs it off haphazardly. Impatiently. Ethereal white locks splaying out and over like a halo, “That’s the sound of ya being eaten out reeeal good n’ proper.”

And when Nightwing takes his mask off, you have to blink. 

Because you’d fully and completely thought that Gojo Satoru could never be prettier - but when he was like this? When you could finally see his face fully?

Shit, you’re feeling your heart hammer against your ribs with a painful ba-dump–! just by looking into his summer blue eyes. The cute blush painting his features even more evident, and you’re catching his nose crinkle. 

You’re pushing back the stray twines of his bangs sticking onto his prespired forehead. A touch that makes him shiver, a touch that makes his hardened cock twitch in his supersuit. “Never put that on a-again, I swear.”

“Ate that pretty cunt out and you’ve hah- fallen f’me already, hm~?” He’s wriggling his pale brows, and the look in his eyes is so enchanted that it leaves you momentarily speechless.

If you’d fallen for Gojo now, then he had already fallen for you a long, long time ago.

You hand on his hair tightens, searing. Angling his handsomely pussydrunken face until he’s looking up at you, “And who was saying they’ve been hngh- dreaming of eating my ‘pretty cunt’ for ages now?”

“I…”

“Shut up.”

And when you tell him to shut up, he shuts up. For perhaps the first time in the twenty-something years he’s been terrorizing this Earth.

Oh, for just how famed Nightwing was for his reflexes, Gojo barely sees it coming when you’re pushing him onto the muggy floor and collapsing right on down with him. Feverish. Needy. 

He was so fucking hard that you swear you could see the zig-zag of his inflated veins through that massive bulge. Through his clothes-

Seriously, you’re ripping through the tough latex-y fabric wrapping around his inner thighs with a smirk. If he got to rip your supersuit then you should only return the favor. 

You can’t help yourself, the very tip of your mushy tongue drips with a few pearls of saliva with just how badly you wanted him in your mouth. You’d seen the way that Gojo was huffing and grinding his cock as much as he could when he was filthily making out with your cunt.

Judging by the way he was jolting and moaning at your every touch, you were surprised he didn’t cum just from-

Oh.

He did. 

And from the startled look of awe on Gojo’s face, he didn’t realize he had, either. 

“Oh?” You’re skimming the fat plane of your thumb over his leaky orifice right in the middle, bawling out thick ropes of creamy white which slipped n’ slid allll down your wrist in generous heaps. “A-and you called me ‘cute’.”

Shit, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know where to look.

True to his word, Gojo was big - more than big, actually. 

His cock was oh-so-pretty, standing red and proud at something near nine or ten inches. Oodles of buttery seed dripping down the side and ready for you to lick up. 

Nestled above breeder balls, he’s lightning bolted with fat, rosé veins you couldn’t wait to feel scratch up your insides. A girthy circumference that made your poor knuckles ache to wrap around, so needy that every throb made your wrist jolt. 

So…sexy.

“Satoru…”

And something in your tone of voice seems to jolt Gojo into overdrive. 

He’s letting his meaty thighs crack open, displaying you with the attractive ripples of muscle. “C’mon, sweetheart-” A large hand softly cups the back of your unsteady head, “-clean up this- this mess you made.”

If this was any other time, you might’ve snapped back something about it being the mess he made himself. If this was any other time, you might’ve teased him for the teary cracks shattering his words.

But right now, you were striking the bullseye of Gojo’s round, coral pink divot with a hefty dump of saliva. Thumbing it right over his weeping middle and lazing your tongue tenderly all down the grooves of his veins.

You could feel him throb and buck underneath you, so turned on that you could practically taste it. 

“Gods. Fuck. Fuck, girl-” He’s spitting out through lowered lashes, watching your tongue flop out to lap ‘round and ‘round his mushroomy tip like your favorite lolly. “-like that. Just like that.”

Gojo tucks a thumb underneath the curve of your chin, prying your maw to fall open just enough so that he can tap-tap-tap his blushing, thick head on your tongue. So that he can spurt out a few more gumdrops of seed and watch them glisten all the way to your throat. 

He’s watching you with an open mouth,  “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, my girl. Now you’re gonna hah- take all of me, right?”

Your pussy twitches with interest at his words — “my girl.” And the only thing you can think to do is let your digits sift underneath his tender slit, grinning. “Make me.”

It’s all the confirmation that Gojo needs to lurch open your slobbering mouth even further and plunge his veiny cock into you. Hissing at the way your tongue drags underneath his sinking shaft, he burns red to the tips of his ears. 

“N-now now, play nice and say ‘ahhh’—” Your mouth was so hot. And it was working so many wonders on his fat cock that it was forcing him to gasp out tiny sobs. “Take me- fucking- fucking take me or god help me-”

He didn’t even know what he was saying.

Never breaking sultry eye contact, Gojo’s swabbing his cum around your plumped lips like a whitish lipstain. Fucking up feverishly, his trickling tip hits the very bottom of your throat and stays there-

“Ya like that?” He’s snarling out, perfect teeth pulled back on full display. You’re moaning into his tufted, snowy-white pubes at the sight of his glinting canines. “‘Course you do, course you do. F-fuck don’t know how many ngh- time I-I’ve imagined this. All because of you, nasty girl-”

Without warning, he’s pinching your nose together and you whine in answer. Crescents of your nails clawing down red, red lines all over his toned abs, “Alright alright- ngh- mostly because of you.”

He lets go, finally. Snickering at the steady tears that fall down your cute face. 

Fighting against his flapping lids to watch the way you’re bobbing your head in a primal cadence now. Your nose brushing up against his heated skin every time. A fat few rivers of drool find themselves glazing your lips, your chin, Gojo’s shifting pelvis in a puddle. 

He was so hot and weighty inside, and your jaw was starting to ache just from the sheer bulky fatness. Your cunt leaking - bawling - at the way his ballooned-up veins rub against the roof of your mouth up n’ down.

“You and that damn suit n’ those damn eyes a-and that-” He bucks up, up, up, core tensing sexily each time. Smashing the rounded curve of his tight balls against your chin. “-damn mouth. Now mine, all mine oh—”

Your fingers just barely graze over Gojo’s plump sack, making his precious, pinkish skin wrinkle. Making him gasp- “O-oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-” His head snaps upwards, eyes rolling to the very backs of his head. “-c’mere. C’mere.”

Maybe it’s because of the remaining aftereffects of your mind-shattering orgasm, maybe it’s because you wanted him so bad you couldn’t think; but you’re so pliable in Gojo’s big, strong arms.

He’s bending a few degrees to scoop you up in a mess of boneless limbs, all in one go. Sitting you all pretty and struggling to balance on his slender hips– his v-shape was mouth-watering. 

And your thighs fit so perfectly snugly on either side, glissading your pussylips up and down on his cylindrical shaft. You’re riding all along his bumpy veins, head bobbing at every probing spiral that pokes past your folds. 

“Fuck me.” Gojo whispers against your throat. Reaching over languidly to rip even more of his supersuit for you, all the way down his inner thighs, his chest, everywhere. For you to ruin. “Fuh-fuck me.”

Whining, “Give it- give it t’me, Toru–”

He blushes. 

You didn’t know who was yearning for it more. 

Gojo repeatedly spanks your slippery hole with the very rounded crown of his cockhead, sandwiching himself between your bloated lips. And the sight makes him grin, the sight makes him twitch- “Open. Open wiiiide, sweetheart. Tight fuckin’ thing.”

Your knobbly knees ricket as you splay them out shamelessly, “‘Nough teasing. Want it- a-and I want it now.”

Bratty girl.

Though, he always has loved that side of you. 

And it’s exactly what makes Gojo depart his hips off of the ground in a sudden rut and fill you up to your brim. Just the plump circle of his tip mazing past your entrance enough to render you stupidly speechless. 

You swear you hear him bludgeon just the few inches of his head into your channel with a wet plop! Before your ears ring with something even louder…even wetter. 

“Fucking- shit shit shit-” You’re almost letting your mouth sing with a whimper once his gorgeous eyes shutter closed, a cute pout smearing over your face. Gojo’s shifting, he’s restless, he’s planting his feet firmly flat on the floor and bucking wildly. Through clenched teeth, “This is- all- your- fault.”

Suddenly, you’re feeling something warm and thick soaking through your walls. Slathering ribbons of liquid sloshing around your wet inners and mixing with the waves of your aroused slick. 

Did he just…? Just from putting it inside? 

And, really, you felt so heavenly inside - what was a man to do?

Your gooey walls molding around his length like molten gold, it was driving Gojo crazy until all he could do was wrap his arms around the small of your back as if you were his lifeline. Panting out cloudy breaths against your face, he stares deeply into your eyes and cums-

Your eyes flap open alertly, “T-Toru– did you just-”

“Shut up.” He’s huffing, gnawing on his wobbly lower lip like chewing gum. To shut you up, he’s shoving your face between the plummy cushions of his pecs. Grunting when your tongue comes out to suck his rose pink nipples. “I’m just- I’m- ngh–”

Just fucking his globular wads of seed until you were overspilling, is what. Pumping the bottom of your pussy so full that you’re feeling him smear sticky streaks down your cervix, the gluey-texture making your back arch for more more more-

“Can’t help that this p-pussy is so fuck- filthy.” He’s trawling out syllables from the back of his hoarse throat, a thin line of saliva leaking from one end of that fucked-out grin. Eyeing the plapping of his cum pouring in bucketloads out of you and onto his skin, “That you’re so…”

Can’t help that he’s been dreaming of this since forever. 

Gojo didn’t have to say a word, because the massive puddle formulating from between your icing-topped folds was chatty enough. Really chatty, in fact, that the man finds himself nodding away blearily with every shrill squelch! from down below. 

Humming, “Mhm— real t-talkative, aren’t you, pretty girl?” His pants puncture with a few breathless titters, watery gaze flickering between your sweaty face and where he was disappearing. Depraved. “Nicer than her, too.”

Lips falling into a partially-offended, partially-delirious oh! your brows furrow, “S-so mean. Don’t make me- ngh- don’t make me g-get off, Satoru.”

“Get off, huuuuh?” He’s drawling, hands pushing you down even further along his blushing red cock. You were so insistent and fiery, it made him so much fucking harder. And it was cute, the way you’re flinching when his tip throbs even fatter. “If you wanna ngh- tap- tap out, jus’ say so, my girl.”

“Never.” 

“Never?”

Rolling those beautiful eyes of yours, “You’d tap out first.”

Fuck yeahhhhh, he was shifting his hips just a little to make you feel how much girthier you were making him. The clingy sides of your walls snatching on the way his crownhead pulls taut, stretching your innards to the very max. “No. You.”

He doesn’t know if you even realize just how much more damp you’re getting. A syrupy wet patch already formed and growing on his v-line, dribbling down to his twitchy balls. “Scared, Nightwing?”

“I’m not even trying, sweetheart.”

And with that said, only now do you realize just how true his words are. 

Two impressive hands interlace on the crown of your sticky scalp, pushing you- bullying you down like some glorified ragdoll. 

Your thighs twitch as if you were unsure whether to clench or spread. You can feel Gojo’s sweltering hot cock squeezing and squeezing his fully proud length inside of you - you didn’t even realize that he hadn’t bottomed out yet because he was simply so big.

But when he did finally fit all the way?

God, it felt like he was drilling his split-ended tip right into your lungs. 

“There we go- thereeee we go.” Gojo breathes out thickly, and it felt like something leaden in his tummy was finally unraveling after all this time. Finally stuffed inside your pussy. “Knew you could t-take me- heh. S’biiig, isn’t it?”

Really big. 

And every shallow bounce of yours made your pulse burst near your throat, stars sparking behind your burdensome eyelids when he pinpricks tiny speckles of pre on your most favorite spots. 

“Yeah yeah- ride me.” He grapples at your scalp and pulls. “Fuckin’ ride me. S’all yours n’ I wanna see you ngh- milk it.”

“Gods- ohhhh gods.” You’re shrilling out in a strained pitch when he jerks upwards and clashes into your g-spot, your nails claw ragged lines on the carpet as if you’d just been thrown to the wolves. Stupid now. Hips jerking away from his tantalizing pace-

“No running.” Gojo spits, pained. One hand curling around your throat and dragging you down to smack the backs of your thighs against his weighty balls, the other cupping your face delicately. His long, textured tongue laps up the salty pearls of your tears with looooud slurps. “Wh-where the ngh- fuck do you think you’re going?”

You didn’t even have an answer because every possible one was being fucked out of you. Brutally. 

One sharp jab. Two. Three into your tender alcoves and you feel like collapsing, your front melting into his toned one, drool spilling out in spit-loads. 

It’s all you can do to gyrate your waist back and forth in sloppy circles to meet his pace. Looong figure eights that made Gojo’s thighs shudder, and your clit scratch his creamy happy trail. There were so many thorough inches being fed into your cunt, probing deeply. Over and over and over- 

And no matter how full you were he’d keep rutting and rutting. Like he couldn’t stop. Rotund head sagging down your cervix to leave streaks of pre and he was still pushing.

Gojo bores up at you with glazed eyes, saliva-glistening lips parted ever-so-slightly while he pounded up into you as if in a daze.

You’re swearing his dilated pupils have formed into hearts- “Mmmm– love you, my girl.” He carries out a tender kiss on your forehead, and a rough squeeze on your throat. Jostling your lolling head back and forth ever-so-slightly, to dab his digits in a seeping puddle of slick and push past your lips. “Love fucking you. Being haaaaa– fucked by you…”

It’s not often that anyone can catch Gojo Satoru off guard.

But you’re not just “anyone.”

With your honed expertise, all it takes is one jackhammered thud! into the back of your pussy - two - before you’re flipping your ravenously glissading bodies over. 

“Then f-fuck me properly, Toru.”

Maybe he heard your words through the static-y buzzing in his head, maybe he didn’t. Either way your tone makes something inside him twitch, full-bodied. 

And you don’t think Gojo even registers it beyond a stuttered ohhh–! at first, you don’t think he even realizes the way he’s immediately sprawling you out flat on your back and bending you into a rude mating press. 

Still not slowing down. Still not faltering. 

Ah, you don’t know if you’re a genius or just plain stupid. Because you still manage to yelp, “S’that- s’that it?”

As if on primal instinct, he’s letting out a growl near your mouth. “Hah- haaah– Y’know…I-I’m reeeeal flexible, my girl.” Your calves burn with exertion once he throws them unceremoniously over his shoulders, core tensing in a way you can’t help but ogle. “Real flexible.”

At first you didn’t understand why he was telling you this. At first.

Before Gojo drags his large feet up, up, up until he’s planting them where you can see - sweaty thighs lugging forwards where he’s bending you in half and then some. 

It was so cute how pliable you were underneath him, manhandled to every whim and want and need-

This brand-spanking new angle was everything. 

Thrashing into your springy cervix - hard. Stretching out deeply-seated sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. It makes you feel so fucking filthy at the sting of his papping balls bruising your ass like never before. 

And his tip is so greedy, feeling the swashing splash of his own seed dripping all over your walls and still bursting to erupt with more. He could tell he was close, aligning himself to crash into his favorite target of your g-spot. 

“Fuck–” Your mindless legs threaten to close - not that he would ever let them. “So much. Fuck me, p-please.”

“What was that?”

“Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please!”

Gojo’s hunched over, seethingly red in the face. Ivory bangs half-way covering his intensely half-lidded stare, stray spatters of perspiration hit your chest like bullets. 

“Gonna ngh- fuck you properly.” He spits, hands ghosting over your tummy - namely that globed bulge he was fucking into you. A mere nudge of it with his thumb leaves Gojo’s breath leaving his lungs in a sizzling woosh! Sculptured chest vibrating, “Gonna breed you properly. Gonna…” 

You’re flinching when fingers waft over your nubbed clit, the stark volts of electricity prompting your ass to hit back even rougher against his sharp pelvis. 

“Want it, Toru.” Wobbly arms wrapping around his flushed neck to pull him in close. He looks at you lovingly, while he fucks you like he hates you. “W-want you to ngh- breed me.”

And that does it - for the both of you.

Gojo Satoru’s breath hitches with a cry, balls achingly tight. Needy. “Gonna make you m-mine.”

Running headfirst into your highs, it hits you like a tidal wave. You don’t know where you’re seeing white from; the flurries of stars speckling your vision, or from the torrents of cum Gojo pours out past your sloppy entrance. 

“Your p-pussy–!” Gojo bursts, drilling into you as if he was crazed. Fat tip swirling around your pretty insides with decorative ribbons of pure white, his cum seeps into you thickly and you swear you can feel him well up the door to your womb. “O-ohhhh your pussy your pussy your- p-pussy, takin’ me so well.”

“Fuck me-” You tug on his pink lips with your teeth and it makes Gojo empty out another few webbed streaks of sap into the bottom of your pussy with a thud! Brows furrowing, “Deeper.” Even though he was so deep you think you might burst. “Harder.” So hard you felt raw. “More.”

You were already overspilling, the throes of your burning hot orgasm just barely letting you register the splat-splat-splat of his cum pumping in n’ out of you. 

Two of his slender fingers urgently scoop those few escaping globs back through your pussylips, Gojo’s girth so wide that he doesn’t even have to try to plug you full and tight. 

“A-all safe and sound.” He’s patting at the cumflated outline on your tummy, cylindrical and round. Your walls were so plump and tight with him that just the simplest dig had you squealing. “A-all…”

And Gojo looked like he could purr if he could. 

All fucked out and satisfied, the pussydrunken grin on his face seemed permanent - and so was that tender glint in his eye. Peeking up at you through long lashes, he leans his head over to listen to your juddering heartbeat, “All mine.”

Your tummy lurches, and you find yourself smiling before you can stop. But it’s not like you wanted to stop.

In fact, you didn’t want to stop at all. 

“That last one’s a tie.” Your voice scratches the favorite crevices of Gojo’s brain; so mushy and melted that it takes a long while before his lips drop into an understanding oh! You sweetly peck his lips, “Rematch, Nightwing?”

Fuck. 

His poor, overworked cock twitches.

Fuck. 

And of course, it was a rematch with the two of you.

Of course, the one rematch turned into two. Into three. Into four. Into- you’d lost count after five, and you were sure right now that you couldn’t even do any maths past that.

After breaking Naoya Zenin’s loveseats, after splitting his desk literally in half. Eventually, you’d either forgotten about the man himself and your fate, or you just didn’t care. You were so fucked dumb that all you can cry is a broken, “Sa-to–ru!”

Because if there was one thing that Batman taught in his rigorous training scheme, it was stamina. 

Gojo was taking you from behind right now- well, that was being generous. 

He was slumped down over you until his abs were liquefying down your arched spine, head buried deep into the clammy crook of your neck. Swirling his sensitive cock all around your tenderized insides, thighs trembling where he was pinning the both of you down onto the floor. Too sloppy and fucked to even try anywhere else.

“M’here—” Gojo drawls out, heavy tongue stumbling over the sounds. He pats the cute tummy bulge that he’s responsible for first, and then your gushing pussy. Pulling you to him, he really was acrobatic, “M’here. Toru’s h-here, my sweetheart.”

Fuck- those last two words make him jetstream out a sweltering few beads of seed. He couldn’t even cum properly anymore. 

Driving into you until every voluminous mass in his body was now packed intensely between your snug walls, he shifts inside of you with a sloooow gyration and feels the knotted mess he’s made. 

“My sweetheart–” Gojo’s biceps bulge where he’s shoving your head into the soft carpet, into the pond of saliva that just won’t stop leaking from your parted mouth. His words depart in a cracked plea, “My girl.”

“Y-yours.”

Maybe you’re cumming, maybe you’re not - you don’t even know, at this point. 

Half-lucidly aware of the faint tingles shooting up your spine, and making your temples throb. Gojo himself feels out of control, hips reeling back, back, back to slam into your jiggling ass. 

He’s pawing himself a rough handful of your fleshy mounds once he throws his head back and lets his aching shaft jolt. Straight from his drenched base, all the way to his overstimulated tip- exhausting out one bead of pre. Two. 

Before Gojo cums dry.

“O-oh.” His teeth snag near your pulse, wet splatters of tears soaking your skin. Something animalistic twinging at the back of his cottony mind at the way you literally milked him until he was dry. Despite himself, he laughs. High-pitched. Crazed. “S’a- tie- s’a tie, I went e-easy on you…”

Somehow, you’re managing a grin. “My hero~”

And Gojo was just about to open his mouth - maybe to counter back something nonsensical, maybe to ask for a rematch over n’ over until he passes out.

But what happens instead is that overly familiar metallic gate explodes open.

You have to blink away the clingy fog in your eyes in alarm, and you’re embarrassed to admit that it took longer than you thought. Dammit, he really did win that last round- ah, rematch.

Still stunned, you can barely even dredge up some semblance of dignity as a towering man in a red helmet and skin-tight black suit walks in. Past his sexy biker vest, and those muscles upon chiseled muscles, you think you see- yeah, it really is. A red Batman logo. 

Red Hood. 

A low snicker sounds from underneath his mask, swiftly being taken off to reveal a man so pretty that you feel your jaw slacken. 

He runs a hand through silky, waist-length black hair, amethyst eyes glinting with amusement and something…more as he takes in the sight. Long lashes fluttering, he lets go of a specialized machine gun you assume was used to break down your cage. “Yo, Satoru.”

“Suguru.” Gojo gruffs out in a condensed gasp, though he makes no move to stop. None at all. Still balls-deep, and rubbing his tip down your spongy cervix. “Wh-what- fuuuck, don’t squeeze like that, my girl- took ya so ngh- long?”

Red Hood- Suguru, waves his other hand airily, only then do you see the knife clutched in it. The extremely…bloodied knife. “Ah, y’know~ Had to clean up some messes. Toji wanted revenge on the Zenins, the usual family drama.” Eyes flashing, “He’ll be up once he’s done to ah…join us here.”

Oh god, was the entire Bat Family here? You get the distinct feeling that this was not just “usual family drama.”

But you can’t say a word when the other man bores his piercing gaze onto you next. Tone smooth and syrupy, “So…Prowler, I’m assuming, by the ripped up costume?”

You feel your skin heat. “The one and only.”

“Geto Suguru, gorgeous.” He pulls out a tiny spherical gadget that looked exactly like the one Gojo had been toying with hours- days? ago. “I already know your name, Toji and I heard it over and over. Which, by the way, you should remind that idiot Satoru to turn his microphone off.”

Ah, that explains a lot. And wait- it was on this whole time? 

Shit. 

While Gojo only huffs out a pant of laughter, planting yet another deep jackhammer into you, you feel the apologies bubble to your lips. That is, until- 

“Unless you want someone to feel…” Geto licks his lips slooowly, bangs swooning over his sleazy gaze. You watch with widened eyes as a hand falls to his bulky belt, carnally. “-left out.”

A/N. Mhm what happens when ya let a girl listen to Nightcrawler.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Every time I see anything about Europeans not having screens on their windows I remember that one post “this is why you got the plague”. I cannot read anything about Europe and window screens without remembering that post, and honestly, I am still confused as to why people there don’t have screens

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this

“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples. 

“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look. 

He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.

“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.” 

“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.

His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.

There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.

“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?” 

“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”

There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip. 

He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.” 

Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-

“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.

He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.” 

“H-he-”

“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.” 

Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.

“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.” 

He shook his head and sighed.

“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.” 

Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.

Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own. 

You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes. 

“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”

You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.

“I’ll think about it.” 

“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?” 

He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.” 

Ideally not.

-

The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.

“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.

You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”

“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.” 

Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.

“W-what are you talking about?”

He paused, looking up. 

Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face. 

“What happened to you?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.” 

“I just spoke to him this morning-” 

“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.” 

You frowned “I-I can’t just-” 

“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”

“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.

“Good luck.”

You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you. 

After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.

Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed. 

You had nothing to give John Price.

It was all gone.

You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned. 

The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-

A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.

You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.

Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.

Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out. 

Had Ewan come to his senses? 

You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you. 

The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.

The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.

“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.

“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”

He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though. 

Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table. 

Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor. 

“S’good, Love. eat up.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in. 

“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.

He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.” 

You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you. 

“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast. 

His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.” 

Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze. 

“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.” 

“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up. 

You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort. 

“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.” 

“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl. 

“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.

“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.” 

His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”

You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen. 

“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.” 

You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.

“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.

“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”

“That’s-”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”

You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.

“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.” 

You nodded.

“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”

Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette. 

“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back. 

He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”

You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop? 

It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point? 

Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest. 

He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss. 

“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”

You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.

“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. 

His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”

-

So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.

John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?

You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong. 

Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.

“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.” 

He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around. 

“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.

Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way. 

“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.

his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.

“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”

“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.

“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?”