#he's just a different brand of cruel

[lavandulawrites]

Hello! I found your writings about yan!Dottore & I am a brand new fan!! You are such an awesome writer 😁

Since requests are open, I was wondering if you could write some headcanons/drabbles about how the Genshin men (including Dottore my fave) would react if their darling, who was pregnant with their child, tried to run away? Saying "I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!"

Yandere Genshin Men With a Pregnant Runaway Darling

Yandere Ayato, Dottore, Lyney, Neuvillette, Wriothesley x female reader (separate)

Thank you!<3 I only wrote for five of them, but I’m thinking of writing for more of them in some other parts:) (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Warnings: imprisonment, manipulation

Word count: 2819

Ayato

You ran and ran as fast as your feet could carry you. You needed to get to safety. Both for yourself and for your unborn child. Your bare feet were drumming over the wooden floors.

The Kamisato estate was like maze. The long hallways seemed never ending.

When you finally reached the door that led out to one of the gardens, you were filled with relief. You slid the door open and was welcomed by the heavenly sea breeze. Your joy, was however short lived.

Standing in the garden admiring the purple sunset was Ayato. He turned around and smiled gently. He motioned for you to join him and before you knew it, your feet had brought you by his side.

“The sky is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” his eyes turned upward towards the endless sky.

You followed his gaze. The sky was in fact extremely beautiful. The purple colour the same shade as Ayato’s eyes.

The man besides you was cunning and as cruel as a snake, but he was undoubtedly the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. His dark lashes fluttered as his gaze shifted to you. He remained silent for a while, just taking in the sight of you. He often did just that and it made you nervous, since you could never be completely sure as to what exactly ran through his brilliant mind.

“I’m glad you fell for my little trap. If you hadn’t, I would have to enjoy this sunset all alone. Sunsets are best enjoyed by the side of someone you love, wouldn’t you agree?” his melodic voice coiled around your mind. Enveloping you in a sense of serenity.

You quickly snapped out of it. “I want to leave” your voice low, but your words clear as day.

Ayato hummed at your words “Why is that?”

“Because I’m more like a prisoner than your wife” you snapped.

“A prisoner? What gave you that idea?” he raised a brow.

“Don’t play stupid Ayato” you sneered. “You’re not letting me leave no matter what. Doesn’t that sound awfully a lot like a prison to you?”

“I’m protecting you and at the same time I’m keeping what’s mine far away from prying eyes. I’m doing you a favour” his smirk completely gone and replaced by a cold glare.

“I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!” you screamed, not caring about who could hear you.

“Don’t think I’ll ever let you leave me. When you said yes to my proposal, you sealed your faith. It’s not my fault you were unable to think about what the future involved” he smirked at your scared expression. “Don’t cry, I mean you no harm. That much should be obvious.”

Dottore

The dining room was decorated in an attempt at making it cozy. The grand chandelier that hung over the dining table casted a warm light over the table, almost making it homely. The plate in front of you was barely touched. You were hungry, but you didn’t have the time to finish your meal.

You glanced up at the butler who was standing by the door. His eyes was glued to a spot on the far wall and his posture was rigid.

Your cleaned your mouth with the napkin before your rose from your seat. “I’m finished with my meal. Please tell Dottore when he returns to come to my chambers” you told the maid as she silently cleaned up the dishes.

She bowed “Yes madam.”

Your heels clicked against the polished wooden floors. You had to quickly change into different shows and more practical clothing.

You quickly opened the bedroom door and hurried to your huge closet that was the size of a small room. You changed into some thick trousers and warm boots with white fox fur.

You quickly pulled in your coat and a scarf. You opened the large windows and you peered down. You pulled on your hood and your mittens before you ventured down the ladder you had found in an abandoned closet in a part of the house that was rarely ever used.

The ladder creaked underneath your weight and you prayed that it would mange to hold you. Both of you.

You landed into the soft snow and you quickly ran down towards the gates.

The tall wrought iron gates were impossible to climb, especially if one was pregnant, but you had luckily borrowed the key from one of the butlers.

You twisted the key and the gates opens with a load groan. You could smell your freedom.

You locked the gate behind you before you walked down the hill that the house stood tall and proud on top.

The snow glittered in the moonlight and green-purple aurora danced over your head. The sight was so beautiful you almost wept.

As you wandered down the hill you got completely lost in the beauty of the winter landscape. You knew it was foolish, but you hadn’t been outside in so long.

The sound of hoofs snapped you out of your daydreaming. As you raised your gaze you were met with the sight of your husband’s beloved steel grey stallion. The stallion snorted hot air towards you. It looked like a beast at it stood tall in the moonlight.

On top of the proud animal was Dottore. His gaze sharp and would cause anyone who was on the receiving end of it to tremble. You were no different.

“What are you doing out here in the cold?” his voice colder than the cold winter wind that ruffled your hair.

At your silence he only sighed. “You are truly a lost cause. Are you seriously going to cause your unborn child harm in order to escape? You are even more foolish than what I thought” he scoffed as he made the horse circle you.

You spun around in order to keep an eye on his movements. “What makes you think I want to stay with you? Your arrogance disgusts me!” you sneered. “I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!” your voice echoed through the treetops that surrounded the hill.

“Watch your tongue” he spat.

Your escape attempt had been a complete failure.

Dottore had reprimanded you for hours when you had been brought back inside.

You fiddled with your hands in your lap, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“If I ever catch you trying to escape ever again, there’s going to be dire consequences. You’re not going to accidentally harm my child. Our child. Do I make myself clear?” his tone stern.

Your eyes fixated on his neatly polished shoes. You nodded and muttered a low “yes”.

He gripped your jaw and forced your head up. “If you disobey me I will have to chain you to the bed and I really want to avoid that. So be a good girl.”

Lyney

The purple cat-like eyes of the magician was narrowed in anger and hurt. He had just caught you as you had sneaked out of the house with bag packed with your clothes and necessities.

The living room was empty except from the two of you. His younger brother and sister were out on business.

The record player in the corner by the fireplace was playing the soft tune of a ballet he had taken you to when you first started dating.

Lyney was sitting in front of you on a red arm chair. He was resting his head on his arms. His gaze faced down as he thought on what to say to you.

The only thing that separated the two of you was the coffee table. Normally you would have taken you your time to clean it, but not today. Multiple cards were littered across it accompanied with some face flowers. The mess was surprisingly beautiful.

“I don’t understand how you could do something like that to me” his voice low. “I had it all sorted out. I have talked to Father and she has nothing against your pregnancy and our relationship. In fact she supports it. She knows how important family is after all.”

“But you had to try and ruin it. I really don’t understand” his violet eyes met yours. They were filled with more emotions than what you could possibly make out.

“Lynette and Freminet even said they can take care of the baby if the two of us have plans or need some time for ourselves. Yes, Freminet is still a teenager, but he’s still fit to look after a child. He often take care of the younger children in The House. And Lynette has always had a soft spot for baby’s” his voice was getting louder.

“You don’t get it do you, Lyney?”

“Get what exactly?” his eyes scanned your features for something.

“You’re a cruel man. You have locked my away just because you think it’s for the best. You haven’t even bothered to even ask me what I want!” your voice was getting louder and louder by each word that left your lips. “I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!” you stood up form the couch. Your finger pointed at him. “You disgust me.”

His mouth fell open in disbelief. Crystal tears welled up in his eyes and he furiously tried to blink them away. “What?” his voice was weak by hurt. “I’m trying to protect you! Why don’t you understand?” tears were now falling from his eyes as he had fallen to his knees in front of you.

It was a pity full sight, but he couldn’t care less. “Family is what matter the most to me! And you! You are a part of my family now and so is our unborn child!”

You tried to step back, but his hand was tightly gripping your thigh.

A broken laughter escaped from his lips and a rose to his feet slowly. His eyes crazed as they met yours. “You’re clearly unfit for making your own decisions, but worry not. I will help you. And together we’re going to raise the sweetest little child one could ever dream of.”

His unhinged voice and manner sent chives down your spine and you could feel the imaginary cage that wrapped itself around you. You were trapped between the claws of the beast-like cat, with no escape.

Neuvillette

The entire nation of Fontaine were searching for you. You would be lying if you said you were surprised. The judge could be awfully convincing when he wanted to.

Since your escape it had been raining non stop. Heavy rain poured down from the sky undisturbed. The rocks on the forgotten path you had chosen were slippery, and you had to be careful.

In the distance, from the town you had a pasted hours prior, you could hear the loud voices of the search party they had organised. Hounds barked as they made their way up the mountain. You quickly picked up your pace.

After an hour or so walking through the rain you finally found a small abandoned cottage. You were filled with relief when you noticed that the door was unlocked.

It smelled of mould and you felt bad for your unborn, but you had no other choice. The windows were dirty, but intact. You slumped down on the old couch. Your body was aching and you were so tired.

You did not know how much time had passed when you awoke to the sound of a fist pounding the creaky old front door. You rose to your feet with such fast motion that you knocked your elbow against the wooden armrest of the couch. You hissed in pain and clutched it as you made your way to the hallway.

You hid behind the door to the bathroom as you peered out the window by the door. You couldn’t see anyone.

The pounding continued and you were afraid whoever it was would break down the door if this continued.

“Who is it?” you meekly asked.

The pounding came to an halt and a gruff voice answered you. “I am from the neighbouring village. We are looking for the Iudex’s wife.”

You were about to answer when the door broke down. A tall and sturdy man with a bear that reached below his collarbones entered. “I apologise miss, but I need to search the cotta-” his voice trailed off when his eyes fell upon you. His eyes widened to a state you were afraid they would roll out. He backed away slightly and shouted over his shoulder “I found her!”

You were about to silence him but it was too late.

The man who found you brought you out to the little courtyard. Your eyes widened in fear when a pair of pale lavender eyes stared back at you.

“Wha-what are you doing here?” your voice was shaky with fear. You tried to back away from the tall dragon, but the search party blocked your path of escape.

“How could I not personally participate in the search of my own wife?” Neuvillette’s voice soft. He turned to the villagers “Please give us some space.”

The villagers nodded and quickly left.

As you stood all alone with your capture on the overgrown courtyard you couldn’t help, but think about all the choices you had made that had lead you to this.

“Why did you leave our home?” his deep voice had normally brought you comfort, but now it only brought you fear.

“Why? Any sane person would escape a madman such as yourself. You have taken everything from me and you still ask for more” you spoke with sudden braveness.

“I am not taking anything from you. You’re clearly not completely aware at the moment. But worry not, I’ll take care of everything. Just like I always have” his lips twisted up into a gentle smile.

“Oh really? I don’t believe you. I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you! Why don’t you understand?!” you were suddenly in front of him. Your finger jammed against his broad chest.

“Your words hold little meaning, my love. It’s my child too, do not forget. I have every right to be apart of its life just as you do. And besides in a matter of time you will have forgotten your… conflicted feelings” his big hand gently wrapped itself around your much smaller one. “I will make you happy. Just you wait” he gently kissed the top of your head. His kiss similar to the gavel he used to seal the fate of the poor souls in the Opera Epiclese.

Wriothesley

The Fortress of Meropide never got any more welcoming, no matter how much time you had been there.

You had tried to climb the stairs up to the surface, but Wriothesley had been quick to drag you back down again.

He had been eerily silent as he led you to his private quarters.

“This is your fourth escape attempt this two weeks. Are you not getting tired?” he sighed. He was leaning against the kitchen table, his arms folded over his muscular chest.

“I understand the Fortress is not the best place to raise a kid, but I have bought a house close to the entrance on the surface. I have made the arrangements so that we can rotate where we both stay. I will of course always stay with you in the house. I know it’s not optimal, but it’s the best I can do.”

“It’s not enough” you muttered.

“We will have to make it work.”

“Why? I didn’t ask to be sent here. I don’t care about you and the Iudex agreement. I didn’t agree to any of this” you raised your voice.

“There’s many thing in life that I haven’t asked for. You will manage” Wriothesley’s voice was laced with uncharacteristic anger.

“I will not! I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!” your loud voice echoed inside the kitchen.

At your words something in Wriothesley snapped. “A monster you say?” he barked out a laughter. “I have been nothing but kind to you. But if you think that makes me a monster, I wonder what you’ll think of me now” his eyes colder than his vision.

Wriothesley dragged you inside your bedroom. “You’re not going to leave this room before I say you can. I will use the spare bedroom” he pointed to the bathroom. “If you’re thirsty between meals, you know where to find water.” With that he slammed the door closed. The sound of his key twisting sent a pang through your chest.

Escape had never seemed so far out of reach as it was now. You found yourself longing for the outside and the smell of the wildflowers that littered the green meadows of Fontaine. Maybe the house Wriothesley had promised you on the surface didn’t sound so bad after all.

[butterymangowrites]

ten years in the making

paring: bakugou katsuki x fem reader

warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, no-quirks au, high school love confession, unrequited love turned very requited, almost non-con threesome, feels like cheating (but technically not), no cheating though, fuck boi bakugou, pining reader, obsessive/possessive bakugou, running away, biting, marking, creampie, breeding kink, angst, toxic relationship

word count: 6.2k

You still had the love letter you handed to him when you were both in high school. His spiky blonde hair was pretty under the spring sun, red eyes examining the envelope in your hands with a disgusted look on his face. 

On the rooftop of the school building, the wind blew extra hard. The chill of winter that lingered in the breeze made your face cold, but it was the rejection from Katsuki that numbed your whole body. 

“Take that shit away,” he sneered. “Be lame somewhere else. I don’t like you.” 

It was pathetic how you fixated on him because he helped you once from a petty thief who tried to steal your wallet. You shouldn’t have liked him that much, not when he was so clear in his stance on how he felt about you. But you were also just a girl, and girls had crushes on Bakugou Katsuki—you were just one of many, but no doubt the most pathetic one. 

Cause while others grew out of their crushes eventually, you did not. And Katsuki, being the spawn of the devil that he was, started to see you as some sort of entertainment. 

You followed him through university, enrolling in the same one. You begged your mom to stay at a dorm near campus, the same dorm Katsuki told you he would stay in. He lied. You knew on the moving day because he texted you photos of his new place from the front of the building to the room with an obviously different layout. 

The text said, ‘lol you really thought u got me huh?’ 

That sentence needed commas, and you… needed to get a grip. Yet, you did not. 

Still trying to be close to him, you went to every party he went to, even if it meant you had to see him with a different woman each time. He never stuck with one, telling you he was easily bored and that was why you and him would never happen. Because you were a soppy, hopeless romantic who would wait for him like a dog waiting for its owner to come home—his words. 

“When will it get through your thick skull, dog?” Katsuki rapped on your forehead with his knuckles. “You’re not my type.” 

Well, his type exited the room just now, leaving only you and a very naked Katsuki in it. He loomed over you menacingly close, trying once again to talk some sense into you, albeit in a very mean fashion. Tonight, he was particularly cruel. After texting you to buy him a box of condoms—stating a specific brand, flavor, and size—he made you sit and watch until the very end. 

You pretended to pay attention, but what you really looked at was the wall behind the scene playing in front of you. 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten.” You changed the subject, ignoring his hot breath that fanned over your face.

“Yeah, mom misses you like hell,” he jeered. “How did you do it, inserting yourself into my family?” 

It was simple, actually, just offering to drive him home for a monthly family visit with a gift for his mom and dad every time, without fail, even though he got his own car. His mom, Mitsuki, never trusted his driving skills anyway, saying he was too reckless. So she was grateful for you, to the point of inviting you over for dinner as thanks whenever you dropped her son home, and you accepted the kindness. 

Katsuki would roll his eyes, but he let it all happen, cause why would he say no to a personal chauffeur? All he had to do was sit prettily and blast his one-hour playlist until the car was parked in front of his childhood abode. And after eating and helping with the dishes, you would be gone, back to your own family house a couple of streets away—convenient. 

You knew you were just a tool to Katsuki, his lackey, but you were also as stubborn as a mule. 

And as dumb as a clown… 

After many years hounding for Katsuki’s attention, you finally got it when you were both twenty five. The first time he kissed you, he was drunk in your apartment. He was frustrated with a colleague who screwed up an important meeting with a potential client and decided to come rant your ears off with two packs of beer—one for him, one for you. 

You never thought the night would end up with him pinning you to the floor, his mouth devouring yours and his hands popping the buttons of your work shirt until your bra-clad tits showed. 

“Thought you would follow me anywhere,” said Katsuki, red eyes locked onto you from where he was, face nestled between the soft mounds of your breasts. “But you chose a different company, live far away from me, texting seven times in seven months. Traitor.” 

“You’re heavy.” Your words struggled to come out. From when he used to be lanky and the same height as you, he was none of that now. The growth spurt hit him like a freight train. In the blink of an eye, he grew into a giant of a man, tall and filled with muscles, even more so now that he was in his salaryman era. You wondered how he still found time to work out as often as he did when you barely caught any sleep. 

After graduation, you both landed jobs in different companies. And if you were being honest with yourself, you would say the reason you accepted the offer was partly because running after Katsuki and answering his every beck and call started to… tire you. Forced by duty and responsibility, it helped you distance yourself away from him. Cause Lord, you doubted you could have done it on your own.

Getting his text today saying he would come visit, you were dumbfounded, even thinking it was a joke til you got another text an hour later saying he arrived.

You shouldn’t have let him in, shouldn’t have reconnected. You were almost off the noose before he came and adjusted the knot, tightening it. After that night, he came visit once a week on Friday. Kisses slowly evolved into soft touches, then heavy petting, and finally—sex. 

Fucking your brain out, that was what he did most of the times, leaving your ass red and face wet from crying. On rare occasions, it was slow, deep, like he wanted to mold you into the shape of his cock. But all was intense, asking for eye contact and name-saying, and it was Katsuki who did the asking, which surprised you to no end. 

“You wanna come home? Mom and dad miss you,” mumbled Katsuki one autumn night. It had been three months since that first drunken kiss. “They got a new dog. But old people are always lonely, hell knows why.”

With that, not only him, but the monthly visit returned, too. 

Their dog was a loudmouthed chihuahua named Katsumi. It barked at you non-stop from the moment you got out of the car, louder when Mitsuki raced out the front door to hug you. After dinner, it found you and Katsuki in the laundry room with its master’s teeth nibbling down your neck and barked snappily, making Katsuki jump.

When you let out a roar of laughter, his eyes widened with a look of what seemed like wonder. His pupils dilated when he leaned down to take your lips in a fierce kiss. For a moment, everything was perfect. 

Had you mentioned being dumb? 

A month later, there was a knock on your door. Katsuki hips slowed down mid-pounding before he stepped back from you and the bed, leaving you empty. 

“Keep your ass up. Don’t fucking move.”

You only let out a soft hum as a response, not understanding why or who would be here at this hour. Were you too loud? Maybe someone was here to complain. You pondered, face still down against the soft mattress with your rear up as instructed. Katsuki would handle them, whoever they were. 

“Well, I see why you never call anymore, Katsuki-kun.” 

The voice was close, too close—its owner was in the bedroom with you. When the realization hit, you bolted, shooting out of your position and scooting back, all the while pulling the duvet up to shield your nakedness from the newcomer���s eyes.

She was a woman about your age and height, standing at the foot of the bed in a skimpy dress. 

“Do me a favor. Shut the fuck up,” said Katsuki, confirming they really did know each other. 

It was like your brain stopped functioning. You saw Katsuki walking towards you but was too slow to think what your next move should be. So you let him pull you to him by the duvet because you wouldn’t let go of it. When he sat you on his lap, you felt something wet gliding down your cheeks.

“Hush now, princess.” He wiped the dripping drops with both of his thumbs. “You seriously thought our relationship was exclusive? You thought you fixed me?” 

Another set of fat tears cascaded down when he kissed you, seasoning the kiss salty. 

“Seven months, seven texts, no calls,” he said. “Who do you think you fucking are, leaving me like that?”

You knew, you knew it was too good to be true. And when he turned to the other side to kiss the woman who was now naked and sitting on the bed—your bed–beside him, you also knew it was time to let go. The silly crush, the well-kept love letter, the admiration that you should have weaned off long ago—they all needed to go. 

Getting up from his lap while he was distracted, you gathered your clothes off the floor and left the bedroom without turning back. You got dressed in the living room and closed the front door silently when you left the apartment. You didn’t want him to hear, not wanting to cause a scene, not wanting to see him anymore. 

You were sitting in the car in the apartment parking lot, trying to find a hotel to crash at when you got a text from Katsuki.

‘you thought you got me huh?’ 

You blocked him. 

There was only a month left on your apartment’s lease; you would give a notice to your landlord tomorrow that you would move. Everything would be alright, you told yourself. Katsuki might never bother you anymore since he had got what he wanted—your absolute humiliation.

It was different from that one time he told you to stay and watch him rail the life out of that girl when you were in college. At that time, you knew you were nothing to him, knew he did that to hurt you. This time, you thought you were something to him. And it hurt, a thousand times worse to realize that you weren’t, and that he still wanted to hurt you. 

—

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Those were the only words spinning around in his head since you were gone, really gone. You walked out of that door so fucking demurely. Even when he stopped kissing his ex-booty call to listen, he didn’t hear you wail or see you come crawling back. 

So he texted, leaving the girl he called here to demean you to quickly type on his phone. When the message was marked ‘read’ but got no response, he cursed, “Fuck!” 

“Come on, Katsuki-kun. Let’s have some fun,” the girl whined. 

“Sh!” He shushed her, still tapping the screen.  

She probably looked at him like he was possessed by an evil spirit, but he couldn’t care less. 

‘Who did you think you were? My gf? Lol.’

He was so in a hurry he forgot to type in lowercase. 

‘Lovesick foll’

‘*fool’

‘Where u going’

‘Dont wanna watch’

‘?’

You didn’t read at all except for the first text. That made him get off the bed and get dressed, running out of the apartment to punch the elevator down to the first floor. When he exited the building, your sedan was already on the street; he saw the taillights, remembered the plate. It got farther in each second that passed, and there was not a darn thing he could do about it. 

Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck shit, fucking fuck. 

For some reason he knew, this time, you were gone for good. Not an absence the next day at school after he told you he lost his virginity to some girl in another class, not the seven months with a few texts to check in with him. This time, it was for good. 

Like hell he was gonna let that happen. 

—

You ended up staying at the hotel for a week, scared Katsuki might still be lurking around. While you knew he got his biggest fill of breaking you this time, you wanted to be sure. Then, as soon as you found a new place, you moved out. 

At work, you asked your boss, Aizawa, for a transfer to another branch, telling him it was for personal reasons. You swore you saw him squint his weary eyes, but after asking you a couple more questions, he agreed nonetheless.

“If it were stress, it’d be no different in another branch. Hope you know that,” Aizawa drawled. 

“I do, sir,” you replied, tired from the poor quality of sleep your situation and the hotel bed gave you. 

“And as soon as possible, you say?”

“Yes, sir,” you affirmed. “Please.” 

The transfer was done in one week, all thanks to your boss. 

Restarting your mundane life, it took two months for you to regain some sort of peace found in everyday’s routine—waking up, going to work, coming home, sleeping, waking up again. There was no contact from Katsuki, only the ghost of his taunts that came hand in hand with the memories of his caresses you could not dispel remained, making guilt creep up your spine every time you touched yourself to climax imagining it was his hand. 

You would find someone else. You and Katsuki, it was ten years in the making. You were fifteen years old on that rooftop, confessing to a boy you thought was the most beautiful person in the world, having no clue how your action would play out. It would not be possible to banish those ten years in two months, no matter how despicable he was to you. And that was a shame. 

It took one phone call from Mitsuki to disrupt your normalcy. 

“I just wanted to know how you were doing, honey.” said Katsuki’s mom, sounding worried. “It’s just—you’re gone again, like those months. And Katsuki won’t tell me what’s going on, which means something must have happened. I need to—I—”

She was trying to find words, and you didn’t want to interrupt. 

“I need to know you’re okay.” She finally let it out. “Just come visit, honey. You don’t have to bring my son.”

“We miss you.” 

It was those words that brought you to the Bakugou house the following weekend. 

“Oh, honey.” Misuki stopped before you, eyeing you from head to toe. Katsumi barked incessantly, all the while trying to sniff the bag of fresh-baked cookies you bought for the family. When the woman beckoned you to come close and enfolded you in her arms, you teared up a bit. 

“That airhead of a son,” the older woman grumbled. 

Getting in the house thwarted all the cold delightfully. You put your coat on the couch next to where you sat, waiting for the tea Mitsuki said she was going to get. You always liked the Bakugou house, asking Katsuki to walk him home every day just to see it from the outside. He never let you in. Ironically enough, it was never him who invited you in, it was his mom. 

Where was Mitsuki now? You looked around for the matriarch, but instead, you saw Katsuki. 

“About time you showed up.” 

There was so much fighting, so much push and pull, and trying to run away, and crying for help; yet, no one came. Katsuki had to carry you on his shoulder to go upstairs because you resisted profusely and refused to walk on your own. 

Door closed, lock clicked. A second later, you were dropped on his bed unceremoniously. You had never been in his room before and didn’t want to now. But since there was no choice, you took the opportunity to look around, taking everything in. 

His room was so… boy. A drum set in one corner, an expensive-looking gaming PC in another with a shelf filled with mangas and action figures next to it, posters of his favorite anime character plastering all over the walls. 

You remembered he liked All Might, the blonde-haired hero from a shonen manga you didn’t read but knew every detail from Katsuki’s ceaseless babble. You even broke into your savings buying a dozen raffle tickets till you won the big prize—a large figure he said he was saving up for—and gave it to him as a birthday present. 

He probably didn’t keep it. 

“Don’t be mad at mom, okay? I was on my knees begging her for help. That was on me,” Katsuki spoke softly, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Old hag hit me so hard dad had to intervene. But I’m her son. You understand, right? She would never abandon me.”

It was him between you and the door; you just needed to get past him, unlock the door and run. Slowly, you got out of the bed to stand on your own feet. The moment they touched the floor, however, was brief. Because Katsuki leaped from where he stood, taking him only two strides before he got you again. 

Back on the bed, you fought him tooth and nail, punching, kicking, biting, while he tried to sedate you with a soothing voice. But there was nothing soothing or gentle about this man—a monster. You saw through him. 

His grip on your wrists was immovable, anchoring you to the bed with one hand. He caged your body with his, examining you like a predator sizing up its prey, his presence all domineering, demanding obedience. 

“Shhh, settle down. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he coaxed. 

“Let me go!” 

All you could move now was your legs, which you did to your best ability, but to no avail. Katsuki waited it out, allowing you to try however you want to get away without saying anything. Eventually, you stilled, so exhausted you couldn't move anymore. 

“There, there. That’s my good princess,” he murmured, his usual harsh features softening. 

Frustration brought tears to your eyes. It took less than you thought, easier than expected, to suck it all up and spill everything that occupied your mind. 

“What do you want? What do you want from me, Katsuki? I'm sorry I confessed to you that day. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. But please—please.” Your voice got hoarse and lost at the second please. You had to cough to get it back. “I have learned my lesson. You and me, it will never happen—will never work out. I know that now. I get it, believe me, I do,” you choked through your tears, pleading. “I won't like you anymore, Katsuki, so please—let me go.” 

“Like me?” he reiterated. “I thought you loved me.”

“What?” 

He sighed, his free hand searching for something in one of his sweatpants’ pockets. When he pulled his hand out, you saw a letter—the one you gave it to him and got rejected. All these years, it had been kept with you, safely in your trinket box. Now, it was in his hand, opened. He finally accepted it, but at what cost? 

“I need you to read it to me,” he commanded, “out loud.” 

“Please, don’t make me do this.” 

“Listen,” he said. “I’m going to let go of your wrists and give you this letter that you wrote for me, and you’re going to read it—word—for—word.” He used the envelope to brush down the bridge of your nose. “If you tear it up—if you do, princess—I’m going to make you rewrite it. And it better be as good, if not better, than this one.”

He let go of your wrists and gave you the letter. 

“Oh, and if you run,” he added. “I’ll catch you, and we start over. Clear?” 

You nodded and took the envelope, hands shaking noticeably when you took the letter out. Everything was under Katsuki’s observation. He sat astride your thighs without putting all his weight on you, waiting patiently. 

“To Katsuki, if you are reading this, that means you accepted my letter, thank you!” You wiped tears out of your eyes to see better. “I know you get a lot of letters like this. It must be a bit of a hassle reading love confessions everyday, right? But please bear with me, I will try to keep this—” 

Interrupted, you looked past the letter and saw Katsuki lifting the hem of your sweater up and leaning down to place a kiss on your exposed stomach.

“Go on,” he prompted. “Don’t mind me. Don’t stop.” 

“I will try to keep this short,” you continued, completing the last sentence, trying to ignore the fact that your jeans were being unbuttoned and pulled down. “You know, girls in our class often say they love your hair, your eyes, but a lot of them are scared of your personality.” You felt his breath through your panties, hot. “I disagree. I think you are nice, brave, and kind. And don’t get me wrong, I love your hair and eyes too.”

“You’re cute, baby,” said Katsuki as he pried your legs open. Without taking off the underwear, he licked your pussy through it. 

“Katsuki!” 

Dragging his tongue up, he mumbled, “Keep reading.”

“And I love you.” You read on and saw his eyes roll back at that specific sentence. 

Suddenly, he switched from licking to sucking, making the crotch all wet with his saliva. You were preparing to read the next part when he made it all the more difficult by moving aside the damp fabric and rubbing his face into your naked cunt. His nose, lips, chin, all soaked in your embarrassing glossy juice. You cursed yourself for giving in, for getting wet. 

“Did I tell you to stop?” 

You let out a sob, raising the letter in your hands up again to read. 

“I know we don’t know each other well, and this feeling is not reciprocated—”

Why did he have to slurp the juice like that? He made it hard, so hard for you. 

“I’m—just a classmate after—all. But what I said, I said it with—a sincere—heart. So even if—you don’t love me back, please—let me keep—this feeling, I promise I—will treasure it.”

Panting sharply, you stopped before the next paragraph when you felt his tongue massaging your clit. Grasping his hair with both of your hands, you forgot you still held the letter. There was an audible scrunch when it was crumpled up in one of your fists.

Katsuki stopped dead in his tracks, glaring up from below; his red orbs seemed redder all of a sudden. “Did you just crumple the letter?” 

You pulled your hands back quickly when you realized, strengthening out the paper as best as you could. The creases weren’t that bad. You showed it to him, ensuring that it was still intact. 

He relaxed. You released a held breath. 

Back to concentrating on the handwritten texts, this time, you vowed to not look at him anymore and would just just read through everything as fast as you could—getting it done. Nevertheless, when he was back on eating your pussy and pride out, it did not get easier, Katsuki still managed to make you writhe like your life depended on it. 

“One more thing, I don’t know if you remember, but thank you for—saving me that day in front of the mini mart.” You tried to recall the event, the beginning of everything. “The thief would have—hurt me, and I would have lost—my wallet.” 

And it was just that, just you trying to yank your wallet back from the thief's hands, the popsicle you just bought lying on the ground, melting. The store staff was on the phone with the police—you heard it—but they didn’t come out. Katsuki did. 

When the thief was about to lay his hand on you, the blonde haired boy whom you recognized as your classmate kicked him in the shin. Moving fast, Katsuki then slammed his school backpack on the thief’s head, once, twice, thrice, on and on until he knocked him out. 

“You were my hero.” You read the last sentence, finishing the letter as he finished you.

You set the paper down on your side, finally freed from the evidence of your teenage self’s stupidity. Feeling weightless from the orgasm, all you could do was stare at the ceiling. After what felt like forever, Katsuki appeared in your field of vision, hovering over you, now shirtless… and pantless. You weren’t aware when he took them off, too lost in your own world. 

“You can't just stop loving me,” he said before bending down to kiss your cheek, then whispered, “Take responsibility. Be true to your words, dumbass.” 

“Katsuki, you’re being selfish.” You turned your face away, fleeing him.  

His red eyes sharpened. “After all this time you have showered me with love and attention, and you want to—take it away?” 

“There will be others who love you and give you all the attention you need,” you argued. “I’m not that person.”  

“No! Fucking no! Shut up!” he barked, turning your face back to him and silencing you with a kiss. 

Even with the heater warming up the room, the cold air that seeped through the walls and windows still reached your naked form. After being rid of your sweater, bra, and drenched panties, the only warmth you could find was from Katsuki’s body. And he made sure to share it with you so generously. 

Pain after pain, bite after bite. Katsuki would not stop no matter how desperately you begged him to. Your skin was his canvas, not only your neck, but your cheeks, breasts, belly, arms, thighs, calves; they were tender and hurt to touch. You would have to refrain yourself from looking into the mirror for too long, maybe. Luckily it was winter, this way, nobody would bat an eye if you covered yourself up like it was minus twenty celsius. 

“I’m gonna fuck you raw, okay? Haven’t fucked anyone since you left. You gotta take care of me, princess.” 

“Don’t bullshit me,” you returned. “You fucked that girl.” 

And it still hurt just thinking about it.

“Did not.”

Even so, had he gone mad? He sounded like it. Wearing condoms was the strictest rule of his when it came to sex. As far as you knew, he never broke it once, not for anyone, not for you. But you could be wrong—you didn’t want to—because now, he actually looked eager to go through with it, fucking you bareback.

Too risky, too intimate. 

“You’ll regret it. Please just—think before you act.” 

Trying to reason with Katsuki, you also attempted to move away. Big mistake. Catching you by your thighs, he forced himself closer and wrapped your legs around his waist. Then, he placed his unshielded cock on your folds and pushed it down a bit for the head to slither in, just the tip, nothing more. 

“Katsuki, no!” 

“Katsuki, yes,” he said, mockingly, and shoved it all in.  

—

The bed shook and squeaked annoyingly from how hard he rammed into your tight weeping hole, but the moans you were trying, but not so successfully, to suppress were so adorable he was able to overlook it and focus on you instead. He never knew his bed did this, never brought anyone home to fuck before. 

He almost spilled in the first five minutes, having to slow down to prolong the feeling of being wrapped and rubbed by a pussy, skin to skin. And you—lying there with your brows frowned and tits bouncing—did not help shit. Trying feebly to push him away when he swooped down for a kiss only stirred up his excitement, making him go rougher until you gasped and gave in.

What a soft and tempting little lamb you were. He wanted to brand you with his cum and give you his fucking name, knocking you up with a couple of brats for you and him to take to school and hear a teacher address you as Mrs. Bakugou with his own ears.

Since the day you handed him that letter, you had never been anyone else’s but his. Must have been fate, he didn’t know, didn’t care about a what-if either. His only regret was that he could have had a taste of you sooner, but he would call it a story arc and leave it at that—he had you now anyway. 

“Say my name, princess,” he demanded.

“Kat—suki.”

“Again.”

“Katsuki!”

This was worth it. The tirade of rebuke his mom delivered to his ears and the smacks on the head while saying she never taught him to be like this when he came clean about what he did to you—all was worth it. 

“I’ll get her back, mom,” Katsuki convinced. “We’ll get her back.” 

“You better.” 

It was convenient that his mom already liked you as if you were the one who popped out of her vagina and not him. Well, they were the same in that aspect. Who would have thought it would come to this day, the day he wanted to trap you in his home, when just a decade earlier, he would never have had the slightest idea of granting you the permission to step past the front gate. 

“She’s a good kid,” his mom commented. “The same girl who walked you home and bought you that All Might figure, no?” 

“Yeah.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. 

“Aha.” 

“Will you help me or not?” he asked, irritated. He had been kneeling at her feet for like fifteen minutes. 

“Watch your tone, boy.” Mitsuki’s voice hardened. His dad’s hand over her shoulder rubbed gently to calm her quick temper down. 

“Tch!” 

The tiny mutt chose that moment to strut into the living room, stealing his mom’s attention. She leaned down to pick it up and put it on her lap. It looked down at him, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Conceited little fucker. 

“You know why I named her Katsumi, Katsuki?” 

“Oh, don’t give me that shit.” 

“Katsuki,” his dad said in a reprimanding tone. 

“She reminds me of you, angry for no reason, always bark, bark, bark. It gets lonely around here, so why not.” Mitsuki smiled, scratching her new child’s head. “And you—remind me of her.”

Katsuki squinted his eyes, kinda knew where this was going. 

“A dog, waiting for its owner to come home.” 

She was not wrong. 

“Yes, I will help you, son.” 

A series of bangs on the door broke through the memory and his euphoria. He just came, hard, pouring his pent-up, ripe seeds far up your cunt, and someone wanted to butt in now? Katsuki huffed, but refused to get up and find out who wanted what, dead set on keeping you plugged up. 

Another rapping on the door, then a voice followed. “That’s enough, Katsuki. Let the poor thing out.” 

Of course, it had to be his mom. 

“Go away, hag.” 

“Bakugou Katsuki!” 

“We’ll be out!” 

Just not now. He omitted, and it worked. Mitsuki carried a string of grumbles and footsteps with her, leaving nothing behind. Katsuki turned to you, still under him, in time to see you avert your gaze away. Cute. 

“Can I go now?” you asked. 

“No.” He changed positions, turning over onto his back and getting you on top of him, cock still snug inside your walls. He hoped he didn’t spill a single drop.

“Katsuki, I don’t want to fight anymore.” 

“Then don’t, baby.” 

“I can’t live like this. Please”—you pleaded with your eyes—“don't hurt me anymore.” 

He couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at your frail tone. Looking at you, he saw a woman with dark rings under her eyes, beautiful, but she looked like she had seen better days—a stark contrast to the girl who held out a letter towards him on that spring day, wind in her hair, kindness abundant enough to share. 

Before he knew it, words were out of his mouth. “I wish I had hurt you less.” 

It would not have been possible for him to not hurt you at all. He knew himself well enough to believe otherwise. He also knew, for certain, how he would like the story to go. 

“Do you still love me? Like you wrote in that letter.” he whispered. “Am I still your hero, princess?”

“You don’t”—you gritted your teeth—“have the right to ask me those questions.” 

“I’ll be yours. I want to.” And fuck, he really did, just thinking about it woke his flaccid cock up, rigid again inside of you. Putting his hands on both of your asscheeks, he grinded you up and down. “Do you still love me?”

You kept quiet, unyielding, only small, faint gasps could be heard. 

“Guess that’s not important.” Katsuki decided. “I’ll keep you first—fuck the answer out of you later.”

Panic flashed upon your expression at his declaration, and gasps turned into lustful whimpers when he started slamming your hips up and down his erect shaft.

“How long are you gonna make me wait? A year? A decade? As revenge, maybe?” He took your sweet mouth, hand pressing down the nape of your neck to keep it still. “House will be full of brats by then, but take your time, princess.”

“This will never work out. It won’t. It won’t,” you cried, shutting your eyes tight. “I can’t share you.”

Katsuki didn’t know why, but you not wanting to share him was sexy as shit. The mere thought of sharing you, however, made him want to put something on fire. Was this jealousy people were talking about? It burnt like a bitch. 

“Who said anything about sharing?” he grunted, slapping your jouncing ass, making you squeal. “And this goes both ways, princess. Don’t think I would let anyone touch you.” 

He was pissed just imagining it, which was nowhere near healthy, but who wanted that. He just wanted you, in any way he possibly could. 

“I’m—I’m gonna come,” you spluttered, convulsing around him. 

“That’s it. Come on my cock, baby. Make your man proud.” 

Your velvety walls tightened, constricting his cock and milking it when ropes of cum shot out. 

Sucked dry and spent, Katsuki closed his eyes and tried to rein in his breath. When he reopened them, it was to check if you were still with him—you were, resting on his chest with one cheek against it. Out of cuteness aggression, he pinched the other side.

You let out a short screech. “That hurt!”

The thought of marking you reared its head, biting where it hadn’t been bitten yet, hurting you a little more. But he stifled it, saving it for later. 

Steering himself to another matter, he said, “You never texted me back.”

“I blocked you.” 

“Figured.” Katsuki nodded. 

“Deserved.”

“Unblock me.”

You sighed.

—

The messages wouldn’t go through even if you unblocked him. That was how the application worked, which was fine with him. Scrolling through the one-sided chat, he could sense urgency and desperation through each letter, and some messages actually sounded mental. It would be for the best if you didn’t see them. 

‘Answer’ 

‘i didn’t fuck her, she left. Now fucking answer’ 

‘come back, i wont be mad. where u at.’ 

‘I am still at your apartment, u. didn’t come back. where r u’ 

‘i fucking found your letter. i’ll find u too’ 

“You—kept my present?” 

Katsuki looked up from his phone to your towel-swathed form, fresh out of the shower. Following your line of sight, he was directed to the bottom of the bookshelf where an All Might figure was set—his seventeenth birthday present from you. It was one of his top favorites, but he would never tell you that.

“I’m not stupid enough to throw things I like away, I’ll have you know.” He scowled and went back to scrolling on his phone. 

‘so u moved away huh?’ 

‘need you. don’t wanna fuck my hand anymore :(’ 

‘never mind, bitch’ 

‘u love me huh?’ 

‘Pathetic’ 

‘didnt mean that’ 

‘need u’ 

‘i'm an attention seeking whore who abuses your love to get the validation i want.’

‘sorry’ 

‘there i said it.’ 

‘now come back’ 

Yeah, you didn’t have to know any of that.

[gloomwitchwrites]

could you do one about all the members of 141 if the reader is super sensitive during sex, squeaks and squirms, cries but she likes it she’s just very responsive

Sensitivity during sex is subjective as everyone is different in that regard. So, here is my little offering to you, anon.

Content & Warnings: unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), dirty talk, missionary, established relationship, teasing, overstimulation, cowgirl, mirror sex, vaginal fingering

John “Soap” MacTavish: Soap is a bit of a tease. (wc: 374) Kyle “Gaz” Garrick: Kyle talks you through it. (wc: 457) John Price: Wants you to watch. (wc: 404) Simon “Ghost” Riley: Simon pins you down. (wc: 391)

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is a tease.

“How’s that feel, love?” he croons with a mischievous smile.

You whimper. Gasp. His hands upon your skin are simply too much.

Without an answer, Johnny goes down on one elbow, changing the position. He’s not even thrusting anymore, simply holding himself inside you, keeping your legs spread wide over his large, muscled thighs.

“Can’t use your words?” he mocks lightly as the tips of his fingers tenderly graze over a hardened nipple.

At the same time, he sinks a bit further, thighs spreading slightly, pushing your legs even wider. You’re unable to do much but writhe and wiggle beneath him. He always does this. Always teases. He loves how sensitive you are, and how your body comes alive beneath him. All the little sounds you make, all the sharp shakes and shivers, only motivate Johnny to draw forth more.

“What will happen if I touch you here, hm?” he asks, his hand dipping between your bodies. When Johnny says “here,” he runs his finger around the place your bodies meet.

Your cry is loud, and it only becomes louder when he trails upward to circle your clit. His name is there, on the very tip of your tongue, but each touch is a zap, stealing your voice.

But this touching and teasing isn’t cruel. You love every second. It only makes the end that much more electric.

“And here, love? What would happen?” he murmurs.

While still moving over your clit, Johnny leans forward, his tongue circling and then sucking your nipple into his mouth. Your body immediately contracts, every muscle tensing then relaxing. A little shiver rattles up through your spine and out to the edges of your limbs. It causes you to squirm, the sensitivity nearly overwhelming.

But there is nowhere for you to go. You are not only pinned to the bed by Johnny’s upper body but by his cock.

Johnny releases your nipple, his mouth forming a smug smile. “Suppose you need some relief, yeah?”

You curl into him, fingers digging into his skin. Johnny brushes your hair out of your face, and that too makes you tremble.

“Lie back,” he soothes, and you melt, molding to the bed as he flattens himself above you.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle talks you through it.

“That’s it. You’re doing so well.”

“That’s my girl. Look at you.”

Kyle delicately guides your legs toward your chest. You’re bent at the knees, trembling, breathing coming fast and heavy. Every touch of his is like a brand against the skin. It is an overwhelming tsunami.

“Kyle,” you beg. “Please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Maybe for it all to end even though you crave the sensation.

“Gotta control that wiggling love.”

“I—I can’t,” you whimper, thighs trembling as he puts you into position.

Kyle parts your pussy with his fingers and you cry out. He tuts and then inserts two fingers. Your hips instantly buck and your back arches, wanting to escape from him.

“No no. None of that, love.” Kyle lightly presses down on your stomach, holding you still as he curls his fingers up and drags them, repeating the motion.

Again, you cry out, and then tears sting your cheeks as you claw at the bedding.

“Control your squirming and I’ll give you what you want.”

“You’re awful,” you whimper, every muscle in your body twitching, wanting to move.

“Do what I say, love. Know you can.” You inhale and Kyle chuckles softly. “That’s it. Good. Exhale. Again.”

He has you repeat the process until the muscles in your limbs calm.

Kyle’s hands retreat, and then he reclines beside you, rotating onto his back. His hand palms the base of his cock, stroking gently.

“Get on top, love. Hands on my chest. You control the pace.”

With a gentle tremble, you swing one leg over Kyle’s thighs, straddling him. You do as he instructs, placing your hands on his chest and angling your hips. He guides himself to your entrance, the head of his cock pushing in, stretching you wide, the sensation shooting up your spin and as well as to the tips of your toes.

“I know you can take it. Fuck, love. That’s it. Good.”

You slowly slide down on him, groaning loudly, nails digging into his chest as you impale yourself on him.

“Oh—fuck.” Kyle’s hands are on your thighs, running up and down them in a caress.

It takes every bit of your concentration to focus on the rhythm of your hips. You’re overly sensitive, and this position reaches deep, hitting that sweet spot every time you come down on him.

“Kyle,” you beg, but it’s without meaning. You just need to talk, to say something, to verbalize your need in whatever way you’re able.

His answer is a groan. “That’s it. Fuck, love. You feel amazing.”

Slowly, your eyelids open, and you’re greeted with a beautiful sight.

“Don’t fucking stop,” he says, one hand sliding between your breasts.

John Price

“Look at yourself, love.”

You are unable to move. Unable to squirm.

John has you spread wide over his thighs like a sacrificial offering. His knees are bent toward the ceiling and just parted enough that you cannot move your legs while draped in his lap. He’s got you impaled on his cock, and he is downright fucking smug about it.

While the motion of your legs is useless, you also don’t have your arms. John has them propped above your head because he doesn’t want you touching him or himself. His own muscles forearms snake up and over your upper arms. It allows you no control, but allows John everything. He can touch your breasts like this. He can touch your clit, your neck, and whatever else he wants.

John rocks and rolls his hips, dick appearing and then disappearing back into your pussy. All you can do is flex your hips a bit but it isn’t enough. You are completely trapped. At his mercy. And the sensitivity is overwhelming.

Without any control, you have to submit to John, and while you love it, it only rockets every ripple of pleasure that much higher.

“See what I have to do,” he murmurs into your ear. “You can’t stop moving.”

Tears bloom in the corners of your eyes like tiny dewdrops. You are far too sensitive for this. John is pushing you into overstimulation.

John nips at your earlobe and you gasp. “Look,” he prompts.

The closet door is open. Not by much, but enough that the mirror that hands on the inside faces the bed. Within, you see yourself, and John. You see how splayed out you are, how needy and pathetic you look in his arms.

“Look,” he says again. “Want you to watch.”

It takes all your effort to focus. Every time John rock his hips upward, his brush of skin against you is fire. It causes everything in you to react and jump. But you cannot writhe. Cannot move.

And that only makes you more frustratingly coiled with untamed need.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyelids heavy as you gaze upon the spot where your bodies meet, and how much your body stretches to accommodate him. You can see how your chest heaves, the tightness building and overwhelming your senses.

“Now you see what I see,” murmurs John as his hand delves downward to give you some relief.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Quit your squirming.”

“Then don’t be cruel,” you moan, nearly jumping out of Simon’s arms when he sharply thrusts upward.

Simon’s teeth nip at your throat and this time your body jerks, almost sending you out of his lap.

“Stay still,” he growls, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

“You know how sensitive I am.”

“I do. Fucking love it.”

Simon wraps his arms around your waist. It’s an embrace, and yet there is power behind it, the muscles there tensing with anticipation. You inhale, and your exhalation is stolen from you.

Simon twists, and you go with him, rolling onto your back.

You squeak loudly only to be pinned against the bed. “Simon—”

He crushes his lips to yours, his tongue delving for your taste. The only sound you make is a whimper. “But sometimes,” murmurs Simon against your lips. Your squirming gets in the way.”

Using his body weight, Simon drives in at a harsh angle, hitting that sweet spot deep inside. That vibration of pleasure ripples outward, and your body reacts as it always does. But you cannot writhe and wiggle. Simon is too heavy, and he knows this, which is why he’s pinned you.

“Oh—fuck. Simon. Plea—. Please.”

“Please what?” laughs Simon softly before moving inside of you again.

The only reply you can make is a strained moan.

Simon grins, completely smug. “Tuck in, love. I’ll give you something to squirm about.”

Simon wraps your wrists up in one hand, pinning them above your head. He starts to thrust in earnest, his free hand holding the side of your throat. He watches on as tears come to your eyes. Your body wants to move, to buck and arch against him, but you are completely trapped.

Simon leans in, kisses the spots on your cheeks stained with tears. The only thing you can move are the bottoms of your legs. You wrap your ankles over his bulging calves and cling.

Every stroke and brush of his skin against yours is a roaring fire, rocketing you toward overstimulation. Words fall from your lips but they are elusive, just white noise in your ears. You know that you’re crying, that you’re speaking to him, that you’re attempting to move.

But Simon is relentless, claiming every inch of your body like he always does.

taglist:

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@coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado

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@kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi

@lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

@tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior @glassgulls

[vampiricgf]

— v. lycaon | BRAND NEW CHERRY FLAVOR

warnings : fem reader, ignore that we don't know his age exactly im guessing, ruts, knotting for the first time, rina is mentioned but only because she's meddling, fingering, masturbation, begging, reader is smaller than him, reader has a tramp stamp, virgin lycaon, cervix fucking, biting/marking, blood/blood licking, creampie, crying, sorry if I missed anything

wc : 2.5k+

this is so long im sorry im too obsessed with the idea of him being a virgin lmao >.< also sorry if there's mistakes it's not edited so

He thought upon hiring you on with Victoria Housekeeping things would largely remain the same, the only difference being having one more person with whom to split the existing workload of clientele contracts and commissions. An easy choice thinking of himself and Rina, the primary adults within the company.

It had been difficult as of late, he could acknowledge that, balancing taking on the bulk of the work while the companies other two employees attended their schooling and other engagements that typically keep younger people occupied. And truly he didn't mind it, it was the duty of those older to pick up the slack, allow youth it's time to blossom and explore.

That was not the issue, though. The issue was you.

Not your work performance, no that was impeccable. You had impressed him enough during your interviews but in practical work you went even beyond that, showing an exemplary aptitude for even the most banal tasks. The picture of a perfectly competent maid and (occasional) hollow raider. Even able to both meet and exceed his own impossibly high standards per all the glowing reviews he receives from clients, truly you were a fantastic addition to the company.

The problem arose months ago, when you two had been tasked with a more unconventional commission involving a hollow. Of course danger was always ever present in those ether soaked spaces, both from the impending malformed creatures that called them home and from the levels of ether itself. The risk of warping and twisting the body into a cruel mockery of what once was, imbibing it with sickness.

It was the first time you'd actually worked side by side, he'd asked you to come with him as a sort of test not because he thought he really needed the backup. See how you'd been progressing, what you were like on the job, that sort of thing. A completely normal request for a boss to make, all things considered.

What had not been normal was allowing himself to be caught on the back foot, surprised. You were... painfully distracting to him. A major shortcoming on his part, it was nothing you were doing overtly to draw his attention in such a laser focused way it just seemed like he had a bizarre inclination to keep his attention on you. The way you walked, that delicious sway of your hips. That thing you did when you were thinking, running your thumb across your bottom lip. The smell of shampoo clinging to your hair and wafting over him every time you so much as turned your head. Sugary, faintly floral. Horribly distracting.

Giving some stray hati a prime opportunity to pounce. Neither of you had noticed them creeping up on your perimeter, stalking you both as you picked through the skeletons of abandoned, crumbling homes and businesses. You too busy nervously chattering away and him too busy thinking about how much he enjoyed the sound of your voice.

One moment there had been nothing and in another there was everything happening all at once. Their predatory howls, the initiation of combat. The ring of your weapon as it hit against their stone manes, the crunch of his ice against newly exposed flesh. His eyes frantically trying to keep you in his line of sight at all times, take advantage of the path you left in your wake to give the finishing blow, giving yet another perfect opening for one of the creatures to tackle him full force, the brute strength of it slamming against his side and laying him out shamefully against cracked concrete, knocking the air from his lungs in a painful squeeze.

But there you had been, like some kind of avenging angel from artworks of the old civilization. Your features were highlighted by the look of sheer anger as you mercilessly dug the weapon in your hands into the creatures back, ripping away its advantage and successfully dispatching it within seconds. He could feel how wide his own eyes were, but felt too much acute discomfort to bother trying to mask his own awe.

Not since he was a pup had he needed rescuing.

Not since he was once so pathetically, terribly young had he felt so immediately endeared to someone else.

You were on your knees beside him, fussing over him, eyes sweeping around for any signs of injury or blood. He knew there was none, would have smelled it immediately, but nevertheless he allowed himself to enjoy your ministrations. The way your hands so carefully hovered over him, trying to be mindful of thiren preferences for touch while also trying to be caring, attentive. It was sickeningly sweet of you, made him swear for a second he could taste it in the air, feel granuals of sugar grinding within his teeth. He wondered if your lips tasted even half as sweetly.

"Are you hurt anywhere, should we leave the hollow? An emergency exit is understandable, right? If you're hurt?" Your eyes met him, practically welling over with concern.

He had wanted to hold your face in his hands, soothe you. Almost immediately he'd been gripped by the horror of his own impropriety.

Clearing his throat he took the hand you offered as leverage to get back on his feet, taking note of your warmth, the surprisingly strong grip of your fingers, before you withdrew. Soft, yet capable. Beautiful.

"There's no need. We can continue on with the commission." It took a monstrous effort to keep his voice neutral, act as if nothing of note was running rampant inside his head.

From the on the feelings he had towards you only grew, like a beast growing fat off plentiful prey. Every glance from you, every accidental touch of hands, every moment of conspiratorial laughter shared between you at something silly one of the others had done. Months and months of feeling his heart rate grow increasingly erratic every time your lovely voice would sound out in the mornings, always a perfectly cheerful greeting towards him and the others before you began your work.

And so here he is, mid rut and miserable. Thrusting into his own hand, as he's done so many times before, feeling the sweltering heat in his bedroom and bubbling frustration in his head at the feeling of tangled sheets and the distinct lack of any partner to be thrusting up into.

He'd called into work, voice twinged with embarrassment because how on earth had he forgotten about his incoming rut? Well, he knew how. Because you consumed almost every moment of his waking inner thoughts, distracted him to such an insane degree he failed to fill his suppressant prescription in time. Thankfully Rina hadn't needed details, always too clever by half, but it didn't stop him from feeling intense shame rolling through him even just knowing someone else knew what exactly was going on with him.

Sickness, uh huh. Try so horny and hard he could crack a brick wall in half. The thought made him feel so erratic he couldn't help but grab a nearby pillow, pressing it to his face, feeling his now neglected cock throbbing as he bit the soft down surface so hard he could feel his teeth punching right through the material.

You, you, you, you, you.

All he wants is to lap at what he's sure is the sweetest taste in the world nestled between your legs, feel your body stretching and accommodating his size, tell you how he's going to give you his knot and watch your pretty eyes glaze over and your breasts bounce in time with his thrusts, dig his teeth into your neck, your chest, make you squeal and squirm so he can pin you down-

A few distant, tentative raps against wood.

Did he imagine that?

Tap, tap, tap.

No, no he didn't. Who would be knocking in the middle of the day? Oh god, what if it was a neglected client that had tracked down his address? Someone angry one of the girls had forgotten or completely ignored their commission? His breathing was strained, nearly wheezing as he rushed to make himself somewhat presentable, cringing as he struggled to slide trousers over his impossibly obvious erection. No time to brush down his severely disarrayed fur. How humiliating.

As he scrambles for the front door, flinging it open so hard it nearly crashes against the wall, he freezes.

Why the hell are you here? How do you even know where he lives?

Your eyes go impossibly wide as you take him in, the awkward silence ballooning in the space between you and he's acutely aware of how crazed he must look as his claws dig into the metal of the door handle.

"I'm... I'm sorry for dropping in it's just that- well, Miss Rina told me you were sick and I kind of... begged for your address so I could come check on you, I'm sorry-"

You cut yourself off from rambling, picking at your nails as your eyes flit around nervously.

Of course Rina would give you his address, mischievous as she is. She knew exactly what was going on with his little juvenile crush, his rut. Calling in probably gave her the idea.

But all that was far from his most pressing concern at the moment. You couldn't be here, absolutely not. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore that familiar shampoo scent, trying to ignore the way you look especially lovely, how easy it would be to yank you inside and just-

"I appreciate your concern, but I'll be perfectly fine. I just need to rest." Blunt enough to make him feel bad for rejecting your kindness but the boundary needs to be in place before he does something highly inappropriate. You're coworkers, not casual friends. Every thought he has about you is crossing a line.

A snide inner voice comes out of the blue and he can't focus on what you're saying, too consumed by shame.

As if you'd even know what to do with her anyway.

It must show on his face, although you misunderstand it, because you give him a look of naked concern and he's snapped back into focus. "Do you need me to call a doctor for you? I have my car, I can take you to White Waves if you need to go Lycaon it's no problem-"

"No, no it's nothing that serious." He's losing control of the situation, needs to get you out of here.

"Well, at least let me make you tea or something to eat, please. You look like you haven't eaten all day." Your worried tone makes his pathetic resolve crumble easily, like it was made of sand.

Against his better judgement he relents, awkwardly stepping to the side to let you in the door and a part of him preens at the way your scent immediately compliments his own, mingling in the space as if you inherently belong there. If he had the energy to feel it he'd be embarrassed about the state of his apartment, in disarray as it is. But you don't pay any attention, immediately finding your way to his kitchen and digging through his cabinets like you've done it a thousand times.

Watching you makes him even harder, throbbing and aching so acutely in his pants that his vision momentarily goes fuzzy at the edges. You look so domestic, so relaxed. A bolt of jealousy fires off in his brain, white hot, at the fact that numerous clients have gotten to see you in a similar way before him. Your casual clothes aren't helping him keep control of himself either.

Jeans that accentuate the swell of your ass, the shape of your hips. A tank top that's ridden up slightly, exposing a bit of your stomach as you stretch up to reach the higher spots in a cabinet. He wants to run his tongue over your belly, lick his way up to your chest, leave little love bites across your throat. As you turn to the counter beside the stove he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on your lower back and his jaw flexes so tightly he's shocked his teeth don't shatter in his mouth. He never knew you had one, but it certainly suits you. He wants to know if you have any more, in any hidden places.

"You should lay down, I can bring this to you when its finished," you say it so gently but he can't bring himself to move away, to risk missing a single glimpse of you.

He says nothing and you don't try to press him, to your credit. But when you can't quite reach the top of another cabinet, where hes kept tea tucked away neatly, his instincts to help take over before he can register that his body has moved beside you, hand going over top of yours to easily grab the box. But the way your forearms brush on the way back down makes him drop the box, a shockingly loud clatter that causes a dozen deep fissures to spread in his mind.

He's got ahold of your wrist before you can react, keeping you so physically close to himself that if he took a half step forward you'd be chest to chest. He can smell sugar on your breath, see the red twinge on your tongue from candy you must've had on the way over.

It doesn't even register that his eyes are closed, that your mouth is on his, that his tongue is lapping up the secondhand taste of cherries as it slides across yours and your fingers grasp the rumpled fabric of his shirt. It's like a moment suspended in cut crystal, refracted in a thousand different ways to the outside observer, a million different angles of this one frozen scene, and he wants to hold it forever in his hands.

Hold you forever.

But you pull away and his first instinct is to follow after you, body bending even further to chase your lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Your bodies remain impossibly close as you speak, his eyes never leaving your lips, memorizing the curve of them.

"I don't- I didn't mean-" you're struggling and he can't bear it, can't bear the thought that this one beautiful moment is tainted by the nature of your overall relationship as employees, even worse is that he truly doesn't care. It should scandalize him, shame him in some way, but it doesn't. That fact feels extremely far removed from his current reality and the feeling of even more blood rushing to his lower body.

He cuts you off bluntly. "How much do you know about beast thirens?"

You gape, having been cut off with what is to your view an extremely out of place question but he's hoping you'll follow the thread. "What?"

"How much do you know? Because Rina wasn't exactly... truthful with you." His eyes skirt away from your face but hes committed to telling you what's going on. "I'm not ill, not in the way you're thinking. I'm, well, going through what's called a rut." There's a heavy pause. "The need to... mate."

He cringes internally on the final word, finally meeting your eyes and watching you put it all together. Your own eyes are adorably wide, but you don't pull away from him and that takes him by surprise. He'd figured the second you knew you'd be in a rush to leave, probably drop a resignation call to Victoria Housekeeping on your way home.

But you don't do any of those things, merely taking it in and continuing to let your eyes travel over his unkempt appearance and he's even more aware, if that's possible, of how needy he feels. Any longer without relief and he just might need to take himself to White Waves Hospital. But that's not your problem.

"I mean... That's just a natural thing for you, right? It's not like you're some perv," you laugh nervously, "and maybe- maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you had a little... help?"

His brain feels like a damaged, glitching bangboo. Are you seriously offering this?

"What I'm trying to say is that I- I like you, and I don't care that we kissed. Well, I care but I'm not upset by it. And I'm not upset that you're, like this right now," you gesture with your chin, "and if you need someone then... I can help you with it. If you want." You finish in a rush, clearly embarrassed and something rears its head deep in his stomach.

There's no more room for coherent though as he finds your lips again, nipping at the bottom one before taking advantage of your little gasp to slide his tongue back in your mouth. He turns you slightly, so your back meets the edge of the countertop with his hands massaging at your hips, groping obscenely at your ass. The barrier of your clothes is frustrating, making him growl low in his throat before he's deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them, fingers trembling at you help push them and your underwear down to puddle at your ankles.

You squeal as he lifts you easily to set you atop the counter spreading your legs in his firm grip while your own fingers curl around the marble edge of the counter, gasping as he kisses and sucks against the flesh of your inner thighs as he makes his way towards your pussy. He can smell how aroused you are and it spurs his instincts on, despite the sliver of anxiety working against his lust.

He's marveling at you, sliding two fingers through your wetness, spreading you to see the way you glisten with the slick liquid and he can feel your eyes on him.

"I've, I'm sorry, I've just never been with anyone." The last half of the sentence is heavy on his tongue, one crimson eye shyly avoiding your own before you reach down to cup his face in one hand.

The small smile on your face is sweet, purely gentle and it eases the nerves gnawing at his stomach.

"Never?" He shakes his head and you tilt your head to the side, "Then just watch for a second."

And it's mesmerizing, the way your fingers delicately dip down into your own wetness, dragging up to your clit before your fingers start slowly circling. He watches intently, watching the way your pace slowly builds, your hips twitching ever so slightly at the stimulation before you move back down and slide those two fingers inside yourself.

And the sight is like something religious to him, totally enraptured at the way your pussy swallows the two digits, the way your head tips back and your lips part in a silent sigh. It's not long before the soft squelching sound of your fingers scissoring against your walls reaches his ears, making them flick as he zeros in on it.

With a breathy laugh you pull your hand away but before it gets out of reach he grabs it, bringing your soaked fingers to his mouth before locking eyes with you, tongue tasting every bit of yourself that lingers against the skin.

He thinks your demonstration was a good enough starting point, no longer too nervous as his tongue starts licking long stripes up your pussy and you let out a high pitched sound at the contact. It makes him eager to please, focusing all his attention on licking and sucking at your clit while his fingers find your entrance.

The stretch of you is better than anything his imagination could've conjured up, feeling your walls part around his digits as he gives a few experimental curls and strokes. He can hear you nearly choking on your own noises above him and it sends satisfaction oozing through his body, washing over him like thick drops of syrup.

But he's impatient, whining against your cunt and you seem to know what he needs without him even voicing it. Just another reason to be so enamored with you.

You drag him up to stand, hands urging him to strip and he does so gladly, nearly jumping out of his own skin he's so flush with excitement at having you soaking wet and ready to take him, right there in the middle of his kitchen.

It makes his head spin as his cock springs free, groaning as he feels the air against his overly sensitive girth. Your mouth opens slightly as you take in the sight of him and that earlier shyness returns with a vengeance, but before he can speak your hand wraps around him, barely able to grasp all of him. The surge of pride is something he's entirely unfamiliar with but he relishes in it all the same, desperately wants to please you.

"Just try to start slow, okay?" You say, breath hitching in your throat as you guide the head of his cock through your folds before positioning him at your entrance.

And he takes the lead flawlessly, one hand against the counter to anchor himself and the other gripping your thighs, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers as he pushes in. It's torturous, the howling need to just slam right into you as he feels his head sitting heavy and thick inside you, your breathing already ragged and your eyes fluttering closed.

But he knows this requires patience, for the moment. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, hurt the trust you've placed in him, so his hips move barely an inch at a time and the feeling of your body reshaping itself around his cock is one hundred times more incredible than just his fingers.

What a pathetic comparison his hand ever was, the real thing will never be beaten out. Your whimpers increase in frequency as the head of him kisses your cervix, his swollen knot nestled tightly between his own body and your slick pussy. As he looks down at your connected bodies he can't help but wonder if you'll even have the ability to take it, but he doesn't get to give it much more thought because you start slowly wiggling your hips, encouraging him to move.

And once again he follows your lead like it was the only role he was meant for, pulling out with agonizing gentleness before pushing himself back inside you and he can't help the way his mouth drops open, the way his eyes screw shut. Does it feel like this for everyone, like they've died on the spot and been given an express ticket to heaven?

He doesn't have the wherewithall to feel any embarrassment at the way he's panting, nearly drooling on you, the way he's keening and growling like some fledgling but you don't seem to mind it. Not with your fingers digging into his fur, your legs loosely locked around his hips, the way you say his name in a half gasp.

His fingers slide down between your bodies as you pull him closer, into a heated kiss made of teeth clacking together and tongues pushing against one another. He swallows your every noise as he starts playing with your clit, just the way he watched you do it earlier. Rubbing sticky little hearts against it and nipping at your lips as your legs jerking, the muscles straining and flexing beneath the skin.

His canines scrape a path from your mouth to your jaw to your throat as his hips pick up speed, jostling your body with so much force your cries take on a higher pitch and your fingers pull at his fur sharply, only adding to the overall sensory delight. He tests your tolerance with his teeth, shallow bites in between sucking on the skin of your throat, groaning as he feels your hand slide up to cup the back of his head, feels the flesh pull taut as you let your head tilt even further to the side.

Giving him permission. His mind is swimming through a black sea of pure instinct, running his tongue over the flesh in silent apology for the pain you'll experience but he won't pass up the opportunity. You're allowing him to indulge, playing to his base instincts. How could he not gobble up the bait? And with that loose thought his canines dig into you, the fine points of them puncturing the skin and a trickle of iron washes over his tongue.

You cry out, pussy immediately squeezing him in a stranglehold at the same time your fingers yank at his scruff but it's not to stop him, it's like the string of a bow being pulled all the way back. Your toes curl in midair, practically sobbing as your hips buck wildly and he thinks this must be it, this must be what a human is like when they cum.

Later he'll examine the fact that you came at exactly the moment he inflicted that little bit of pain on you but for now he's lost in it, hips moving in no particular rhythm anymore as he fucks you through your orgasm, fuck you through the impossible tightness of your cunt, and he can feel it like a second heartbeat fluttering in between your legs as his tongue slides against the blood threatening to drip down to your breast.

And all too soon he feels his balls tightening up, his knot throbbing in time with the pulsing of your cunt and his movements are cruel now, all fueled by pure instinct as he grinds and fucks into you with shameless desperation. His knot needs to be inside you before he cums, he can't spill anywhere but inside you.

And his clumsy, less than elegant method works when he feels that tight ring of muscle at your entrance stretch to its limits and the almost too snug pop of all of himself finally sliding inside. You hiccup on a particularly loud sob as it does, legs snapping against his hips with such finality he doesn't move against your hold, remains standing as his body shakes, his cock twitching as sticky spurts of cum flood your pussy, whining at the way your walls practically suck it all deeper inside, milking him so much it's overwhelming.

It goes on for so much longer than he ever thought possible, the sheer amount of cum making him feel dizzy, like he's lost blood and is teetering on the edge of passing out. But he can't focus on the feeling, instead guiltily kissing every part of your face he can, trying to wipe away the saltwater tracks and then cradling your head against his chest as you bury your face in his fur, feeling the way you're trying to even out your breathing.

You speak before he can, his tongue like a wad of wet cotton in his mouth.

"How- how long are we stuck together?" You manage to force the words out unsteadily, pulling back to meet his gaze before nuzzling your face against his jaw.

His heads still spinning as he answers. "I don't really know," he breathes in harshly, "I'm sorry if its uncomfortable."

He can feel you shake your head. "It's not," your voice becomes shy, still thick with the aftermath of your orgasm, "I like the feeling of you inside me."

He can't help the dopey smile that crosses his face, fingers stroking down your back as he ignores the way his legs shake, the way his knot pulses. When you're no longer tied together he'll need to lay down before he collapses on the spot.

Already that thought invites visions of clutching you to his chest while you straddle his hips, cock thrusting in and out of you at a volatile pace all over again. He'll make it up to you once the fog of lust is lifted, but you most likely won't be leaving this apartment in the coming days.

He'll have to remember to call in for you tomorrow, sure to hear Rinas smug voice on the other end of the line.

[creamflix]

PERSEPHONE — ryomen sukuna x female reader [chapter 1]

summary: ryomen sukuna, ruthless tycoon of the alcohol industry, is used to crushing rivals. but when his former meek secretary walks into his office as his newest competitor, he’s blindsided. you’ve transformed into a powerful force, ready to go head-to-head in a high-stakes battle for dominance. as tension rises between you — both in business and something far more dangerous — sukuna realizes this fight might cost him more than just his empire.

content warnings & tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, business tycoon sukuna, mentions of depression and alcoholism, angst, slow-burn, mentions of other jujutsu kaisen characters (suguru geto, choso kamo, yuuji itadori) - this takes place in the same universe as my upcoming salaryman!choso fanfic

word count: 6,203 words

notes: and the award of best liar goes to.....in my defense i needed a break from all the smut writing, so please! please, enjoy the first official chapter of an impulse project. there will be multiple parts to it, so worry not! and please, grill me in the comments. get as critical as you can get, i need the advice. thank you for reading!

masterlist

"you’re fuckin’ shit at your job! pathetic, you hear? if i see you here ever again, god so help me, you’ll never find another job again."

those words still echoed in your mind. sukuna's sneer, the disgust that dripped off every syllable. that day, three years ago, you were swiftly replaced, just another disposable pawn in his empire. it wasn’t that you lacked skills. in fact, you were precise, efficient — everything a good secretary should be. but no one could keep up with him. sukuna’s fiery temper was like a storm you never saw coming. always brewing, always on the verge of eruption. the minute you faltered, even slightly, he was there, leaning over your desk, barking down at you like you were nothing.

the flashbacks always left a sour taste in your mouth, but you weren’t the same cowering woman anymore. back then, the memory of his cruel words had left you teary-eyed in the restroom stalls, wiping away mascara smudges and biting back sobs. but after you left, you swore you’d prove him wrong. you refused to be just another forgotten casualty in sukuna’s warpath.

and now, you had your own wine company.

persephone.

sukuna found the name laughable at first, but the numbers? they didn’t lie. your brand was making waves, quickly becoming a sensation in the high-end wine scene. it wasn’t just some trendy label either — it had substance. the quality was undeniable, and the industry was taking note. especially his industry.

“fuckin’ ‘persephone,’ huh?” sukuna muttered under his breath, leaning back in his sleek office chair. he was alone, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest, his expression unreadable. “she’s really givin’ me a run for my money now.” he chuckled, but it wasn’t from amusement. it was that low, dangerous sound he made when something — or someone — was starting to piss him off.

he was the king of the alcohol game, dammit. ryomen had become a powerhouse in just four years, dominating the market with everything from vodka to rum, sake to whiskey. his brand wasn’t just a name; it was a status symbol. people flaunted his bottles like designer bags. you had ryomen on your bar? you were in a different league.

but lately, his sales were dipping in a very specific category. wine. your wine.

“you’re tellin’ me,” he grumbled, looking at the sales report, “that some chick i fired is takin’ a bite outta my profits? unbelievable.”

his current secretary, a polished woman with the demeanor of a robot, stood nearby, silent. she knew better than to interject when sukuna was simmering like this.

“it’s just wine, boss. nothing we can’t —”

“shut the fuck up,” he snapped, cutting her off. “i’ll tell you when it’s ‘nothing.’ right now, it’s a goddamn problem.”

his thoughts raced. part of him hated the fact that you were even on his radar again. you, the same woman who used to flinch when he raised his voice, the one who could barely get out an apology without her hands trembling. he could still remember how you’d stammer through excuses when he’d tear into you for something as simple as a typo in an email.

“god, she was useless,” he muttered to himself, leaning forward and running a hand through his pink hair. but then, a frown crept across his face. useless… or just unlucky enough to work under him?

he shook his head. no, he wasn’t going down that road. feelings, regret, all that emotional bullshit — none of it mattered. it only got in the way of the goal. sukuna was focused, driven, and nothing could pull him off track.

except maybe you.

he hadn’t dwelled on it much back then, too busy building his empire. but now, here you were, with your fancy brand and your goddamn ‘persephone’ label, threatening the wine segment he’d dominated for years.

“she must think she’s somethin’ special,” sukuna muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips. “bet she’s struttin’ around now, huh? all high and mighty.”

he could imagine it — you, standing in front of a boardroom, confident, assured, looking down on everyone the way you probably thought he’d done to you. but that wasn’t going to last.

he rose from his chair, walking over to the window of his penthouse office that overlooked the city skyline. night was starting to fall, and the lights of the city below twinkled like stars.

“well, brat,” he said quietly to himself, voice low and dangerous, “you better enjoy it while it lasts. ‘cause when i’m done with you, you’ll wish i never fired you in the first place.”

he smirked at his own reflection in the glass. maybe he’d underestimated you back then. maybe he’d been too quick to write you off. but that didn’t change the fact that he was going to crush you now.

and this time, he wouldn’t even need to raise his voice.

saying that you were fucked was the understatement of the century.

the alcohol industry? you picked it on purpose — almost like tempting fate itself. it started innocently enough, with your last paycheck crumpled in your hand, drowning your sorrows in ryomen wine — the same wine you used to grab for sukuna when he’d bark orders at you. you swore you could still hear his voice every time you cracked open a bottle. the sharp aftertaste didn’t help, either. you switched to other brands when your wallet allowed: cloudy bay sauvignon blanc, stags' leap cabernet sauvignon, anything that felt like an escape from his shadow. but your funds ran dry faster than you expected, and soon enough, you found yourself back at your mother’s place, sulking like some NEET loser who couldn't face the real world.

and sukuna? that scumbag was true to his word. not only had he fired you with no remorse, but he made damn sure no one else would touch you with a ten-foot pole. rumors spread fast, and he made sure every single one painted you as the problem. you couldn’t get a job to save your life. so, you hustled. babysitting, tutoring, walking dogs — you did whatever you could just to scrape by. but it was humiliating, feeling like you were clawing at survival while your old boss sat on his throne, sipping his overpriced sake and not giving a second thought to you.

the worst part? you craved a drink. every time you got a little extra cash, you were tempted to blow it on just a bottle of something — anything — to numb the exhaustion. but your mother’s concerned eyes on your gaunt face made you stop. she was already worried enough.

then, one night, as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone in your cramped childhood bedroom, you stumbled across a buzzfeed article: "how to make your own wine in ten easy steps!"

it was absurd — who the hell makes wine from scratch? but you clicked it anyway. the gears in your brain started turning as you read it over. step by step, you memorized every detail. the next morning, you raided the supermarket like a woman possessed, stuffing your cart with grapes, yeast, and whatever else you could get your hands on. you were going to make your own wine, because if you couldn’t afford it anymore, then screw it — you’d just make the damn thing.

you spent hours in the kitchen, your hands moving frantically, following the recipe to the letter. and somehow, against all odds, the first batch tasted… good. like, really good. your mother, usually uptight about everything you did, even cracked a rare smile when she tasted it.

“this is actually delicious,” she admitted, setting the glass down. “you should bring some to my gardening club next week. the ladies would love this.”

it was a small suggestion, but it lit a fire in you. making those first few test bottles for her friends? it wasn’t just a distraction anymore. it was the first real sense of purpose you’d felt in months. and when they praised it — truly praised it — you realized this wasn’t just a hobby. this was your way out. your way to rewrite the script that sukuna had burned into your life. you weren’t just going to survive. you were going to live.

what you didn’t expect was for your little wine experiment to become such a big hit. 

the ladies from your mom’s gardening club practically lost their minds over your creation. they praised your "natural talent" for winemaking, showering you with compliments and, more importantly, money. they insisted you make more, some even handing over cash in advance just to guarantee their next bottle. you were floored. you could practically hear the sound of money flowing in as you eagerly took order after order, working day and night in your makeshift wine lab — your old side hustles as a barista and a dog poop scooper long forgotten.

now? you were a businesswoman, and damn if you didn’t love saying it. your mom did too. she proudly bragged about you to anyone who would listen. whenever someone asked that tired, familiar question — "what’s your daughter been up to these days?" — your mom would light up, puffing her chest with pride as she told them all about her daughter’s successful wine venture.

time blurred as you threw yourself into your work, orders coming in steadily, and with them, a steady income. it wasn’t long before you had enough to take your mom out for a nice dinner — your treat. the look of pride on her face when the waiter handed you the bill? priceless. you didn’t even feel the pull to drown your sorrows in alcohol anymore. sukuna’s wine? fuck that. the high you got from creating something that people loved, the thrill of turning your passion into profit — that was better than any drink could ever be. but, of course, ambition is a funny thing. once you start getting a taste of success, you start wondering — what if i could get higher?

that’s when suguru geto crash-landed into your life. literally. 

one day, his car broke down in front of your house, a random stroke of luck that led to something unexpected. what started as a quick fix turned into a fast friendship, and in just a week, you went from being casual acquaintances to best friends. turns out, suguru’s aunt was part of your mom’s gardening club, so you two started seeing each other more often, and he quickly became your biggest supporter.

“you know,” he said one afternoon, lounging on your couch, “you should make this a real thing.”

“it is a real thing,” you laughed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“no, i mean like — patent it. sell it in supermarkets. let the whole damn world know about you.”

his words struck a chord in you. you stared at him for a moment, your mind spinning with the possibilities. could you really do that? could you take persephone to the next level?

“i don’t know, sugu,” you murmured, biting your lip. “that’s a lot of pressure. i mean, i’m doing fine as is —”

“fine?” he cut you off, grinning. “you’re thriving. don’t sell yourself short. you’ve got something special here, and you know it.”

his confidence in you was almost overwhelming. it made you wonder — what if he was right? what if this little wine brand of yours wasn’t just a side gig anymore, but something bigger? something that could rival even the big names like… ryomen.

the thought sent a chill down your spine. sukuna.

no. this was your time. your success. and this time, it was on your terms.

your confidence, once sky-high, was quick to deflate as reality hit you like a brick wall. how the hell were you going to get the money to start? you weren’t exactly rolling in cash, and even with all the orders you had, it wasn’t enough to cover what you needed to expand. you were, in every sense of the word, still a nobody in the business world.

sitting on the couch, your mind raced, spiraling through all the worst-case scenarios. that’s when suguru, ever the calm one, leaned back casually and smirked.

“honey, you forget,” he said, shooting you a knowing look, “my talent is breathing money.”

your eyes widened. “you’re seriously gonna fund this?”

“why not?” he shrugged, the confidence in his voice unwavering. “i know you’re serious about this, and i’d rather bet my money on you than anyone else. plus,” he added with a grin, “this is gonna be fun.”

his belief in you left you speechless, and soon after, your mother chipped in too, offering up what she could. “you’ve got something special here,” she said softly, her eyes shining with pride. “we both believe in you, and you know what you’re doing.”

with their help, you pooled together just enough to get things rolling, investing everything accordingly. you finally gave your company a name — persephone. it felt like a declaration. this wasn’t just a passion project anymore; it was your shot at proving yourself, at rewriting the story that sukuna tried to burn into your life.

you managed to get your first stock sent out to the supermarket you used to work in, thanks to your old manager who, having tasted your wine himself, vouched for it without hesitation. he agreed to stock your goods on a trial basis, just to see how the public would respond. you sent the stock out tentatively, crossing your fingers and hoping against hope that you could sell out, just maybe.

you spent that afternoon waiting for a response, nerves gnawing at you, until exhaustion pulled you into sleep. you weren’t prepared for what you’d wake up to.

when you blinked awake, the first thing you saw was your phone screen flashing — seven missed calls from suguru and three from your manager. panic gripped you as the worst thoughts raced through your mind. what if something went wrong? what if people got sick from your wine? what if —

you quickly dialed suguru back, your heart hammering in your chest.

“y/n!” his voice came through, excited, breathless. “you’re not gonna believe this. your entire stock? sold out in four hours. people are demanding for more! even the other supermarkets are calling in, asking for you!”

you blinked, the words not fully sinking in. sold out? your whole stock? your mind spun as you processed what he was saying. a rush of disbelief and euphoria flooded your senses all at once.

“i — what? are you serious?”

��dead serious,” suguru chuckled. “this is just the beginning, y/n. your life’s about to change, and fast.”

and in that moment, you knew — this wasn’t just a lucky break. this was it. your life was about to change forever, and sukuna? he wasn’t looming over you anymore. you were about to loom over him.

all of this was just one year ago. persephone blew up like dynamite, becoming the “it” drink with gen z practically overnight. people everywhere dubbed it “the hot girl drink,” and it spread like wildfire on social media. celebs, influencers, and even rappers were endorsing it — rihanna, beyonce, hell, even international actors from countries you never thought would give you the time of day. your pet project had turned into a full-blown empire, something you never even dreamed of. the insane part? it wasn’t just a fad — it was here to stay. persephone was the new, unbeatable champion of the wine industry, holding the number one spot for the entire year. nothing — and no one — could touch you.

market experts were scrambling to crack the secret behind your success. every business magazine, blog, and analyst was pouring over the data, trying to figure out how the hell a tiny, unknown brand could rise to the top so quickly. when forbes asked you to explain it, your response had been simple:

"all you need is a little bit of love in the mix. that's why everyone loves us."

love? bullshit.

sukuna scoffed, slamming the magazine down on his desk as he glared at your interview in the newest issue of forbes. his eyes burned with frustration as he scanned the glossy page, your face plastered on the front cover — forbes, of all things. he remembered when he was the one on the cover. and now it was you, alongside some other guy, suguru geto, your so-called "business partner." his hands fisted the edges of the magazine as he forced himself to read through the article, bile rising in his throat.

"fuckin’ love," sukuna muttered under his breath. "what a load of crap."

what really pissed him off wasn't the fact that ryomen wines had dropped to number two in the market. no, they were still crushing it in vodka, rum, and sake — dominating, even. sukuna still smugly held onto that victory, and in truth, ryomen's other sectors were thriving. but it wasn’t about the numbers.

it was about you.

you, of all people, had stolen his top spot. the quiet, cowering secretary he’d dismissed without a second thought had somehow clawed her way up to rival him. beat him. and that, more than anything else, was what grated on his nerves. it was like a personal insult, like every bottle of persephone on the shelves was a slap to his face.

he didn’t understand it — couldn’t wrap his head around how you, someone he once considered nothing more than a weak, insignificant nuisance, had built something this big. this powerful. it was unthinkable.

but it didn’t matter. because if there was one thing sukuna hated more than losing, it was losing to you.

“get ready,” he muttered, tossing the crumpled magazine into the trash. “this ain’t over.”

he wasn’t about to let you bask in your victory for long. oh no, sukuna never did well with defeat, and you were about to learn exactly what that meant.

sukuna’s sundays were always a mixed bag when his brothers came over. on the one hand, he secretly enjoyed not being alone, the house filled with chatter and energy he rarely allowed himself to admit he missed. on the other hand… they had their quirks, quirks he didn’t always have the patience for.

today was no exception.

“oii, nii-chan!! is it true you’re cooked?” yuuji’s loud voice rang through the kitchen as he leaned over the counter, his face full of boyish excitement. at eighteen, fresh out of high school, yuuji was all energy and enthusiasm, completely missing the tension in sukuna’s glare.

“we are not cooked, brat. now scram!” sukuna growled, his patience already wearing thin. it wasn’t that he didn’t like yuuji; he loved the kid in his own harsh way. but today was not the day to bring up the one topic that had been gnawing at him for weeks now — persephone.

yuuji, of course, remained completely oblivious to his brother’s thinly veiled rage. “dude, we need to try it out — for sampling purposes, of course!” he corrected himself quickly when sukuna’s eyes darkened, the older man’s low growl sending a shiver down his spine. choso, standing quietly by the side, let out a silent sigh of exasperation that went unnoticed by both of them. as the eldest brother of the three, choso was used to playing mediator between sukuna and yuuji’s endless energy.

“talking about that cheap wine in front of your brother? seems like choso here isn’t teachin’ ya manners, brat,” sukuna scoffed, throwing a sharp glare at choso. but choso wasn’t fooled by the display — he knew sukuna well enough to recognize the silent plea in that look. sukuna wasn’t just angry; he was frustrated and on edge, and right now he needed choso’s help to avoid losing face in front of their younger brother.

choso, ever the calm and rational one, stepped in smoothly. “sukuna’s right, yuuji. why don’t we try some of his wine instead? ryomen’s pretty coveted, you know. you can even tell your friends you’ve got the inside scoop on the best stuff,” he suggested, his voice soft and persuasive. he knew yuuji’s weak spot — flexing on his friends — and wasn’t above playing that card to steer the conversation away from persephone.

yuuji’s eyes lit up at the mention of flexing to his friends. “yeah, that’d be awesome! ryomen’s, like, top-tier,” he agreed quickly, the previous excitement over persephone fading as he eagerly darted toward sukuna’s personal bar.

“but only a sip!” choso called after him, his tone firm but affectionate. yuuji grinned and gave a thumbs-up, too eager to care about the warning.

as soon as yuuji was out of earshot, sukuna’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his scowl remained. “thanks,” he muttered under his breath, leaning against the kitchen counter with a scowl that barely concealed his relief.

choso merely nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “you should really tell him what’s bothering you, sukuna. pretending it’s not a problem won’t make it go away.”

sukuna’s jaw clenched at the suggestion. “i’m not pretending anything,” he shot back. “just not giving that cheap wine any more attention than it deserves.”

choso didn’t argue — he knew better than to press sukuna when he was like this. but even as they heard yuuji clattering around in the bar, talking excitedly to himself about the bottles he found, choso couldn’t help but wonder how much longer sukuna could keep up this front before the tension snapped.

soon enough, sukuna bid choso and yuuji goodbye, grunting a half-hearted “good luck” to yuuji for his academics and giving a curt nod to choso. it was their silent agreement to continue taking care of yuuji, a bond forged through the ups and downs of their unconventional family. deep down, sukuna wished his brothers could stay longer, but he knew his work environment would be more chaotic than conducive to yuuji’s growth. the kid needed some normalcy, a chance to be a teenager without the weight of sukuna's world pressing down on him.

choso had that normalcy. he had a simple job and quiet life waiting for him back home, something that balanced him out in a way that sukuna hadn’t found in years. as he watched them leave, sukuna couldn’t help but wonder what life could have been like if he hadn’t run off at twenty-seven, leaving his twenty-two-year-old brother to shoulder the burden of raising a thirteen-year-old yuuji all by himself. it felt like a dick move, something no older brother should do. but he’d made up for it in his own way — by rapidly building a name for himself in the alcohol industry, ensuring his brothers were taken care of.

the weight of those thoughts pressed on him as he closed the door behind them. he had sent ample money back to support choso and yuuji, ensuring they lived comfortably and never struggled. yuuji’s education had never been compromised, and sukuna took a twisted sense of pride in that. everything he did — every deal struck, every bottle sold — was silently for them, though he’d never admit it out loud. they knew, though. they understood the sacrifices he’d made and the lengths he’d go to protect them.

leaning against the closed door, sukuna let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. the house felt empty now, the echoes of yuuji's laughter fading away. but he was used to this emptiness. it was part of the job, part of the life he’d chosen. yet, as he glanced at the bottle of ryomen wine sitting on the counter, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind grew louder. persephone was thriving, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a business — it was a challenge, a direct competition that tugged at his pride.

he shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. no need to dwell on that right now. there would be time to strategize, to find a way to reclaim what he’d lost. for now, he had work to do, deals to make, and a reputation to maintain. but the tension lingered, a constant reminder that the game was far from over.

every business professional and their mother had heard of the forbes awards — one of the highest honors in the industry, recognizing outstanding achievements in categories like innovation, leadership, and entrepreneurship. it was a big deal, and of course, sukuna was invited. how could he not be? he was the face of ryomen, and ryomen was synonymous with him. it would have been a moral sin to overlook his presence.

but alongside him, in a stunning twist of fate, you were invited as well. your heart raced with excitement as you entered the grand hall, arm in arm with suguru, who wore his usual calm demeanor. the ambiance was electric, filled with murmurs of anticipation and the soft clinking of glasses. you felt like you were floating, clad in the prettiest gown you’d ever worn, the fabric hugging you in all the right places. your excitement bubbled over as you and suguru chatted animatedly, sharing whispers and laughter about the event.

sukuna sat a few seats ahead of you, his presence commanding attention even before the ceremony began. he glanced back at you and suguru, his brow twitching in annoyance. that bastard, he thought, irritation prickling at his nerves. was he annoyed because you were here, or because you were here with suguru? who the hell does he think he is, cozying up to you like that?

he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the stage as the lights dimmed. why the fuck does it matter? sukuna knew he should be above this, above whatever twisted emotions were gnawing at him. but it was hard to shake the feeling that your success was a direct challenge to him. persephone had blown up like a wildfire, and now here you were, practically glowing next to some random man.

the announcer’s voice boomed, echoing through the hall as the first award was presented. sukuna’s mind raced. everyone in this room is waiting to see me win. his heart pounded as he thought about the years of work, the sacrifices he made to build ryomen into what it was. these people need to remember who the real titan in the room is.

he couldn't help but steal glances at you, laughter dancing on your lips as you leaned into suguru’s space, that smile of yours bright enough to rival the stage lights. you think you’re some kind of star now, huh? the thought twisted in his gut. you don’t know what it took to get here.

as winners were announced, the crowd erupted in applause, and sukuna forced himself to smile politely, though inside he was a storm. you’ll never be more than a little brat who got lucky, he told himself. and yet, here you are, basking in the glory that should have been mine.

with every name called, the tension in sukuna grew. he could feel the eyes of the room shifting between him and you. they’re waiting to see what i do next, he mused, resentment and determination colliding within him. they think this is the peak. they have no idea what’s coming.

the night was still young, and the real competition was just beginning.

“and this year’s forbes most innovative company award goes to — y/n l/n & suguru geto for persephone!”

you sat there dumbfounded, too shocked to move, even as cheers erupted around you, your name being called echoing in your mind like a beautiful melody. suguru was beside you, his excitement contagious as he urged you on, “y/n, we won! go on, what are you waiting for?”

you won. you really won. the gravity of it settled in, and you felt a rush of emotions. you hoped your mother was tuned in tonight — oh, who were you kidding? your mother and every other mother in the room had tuned in, probably with their phones in hand, eagerly documenting the night. your mom's hourly reminders of “forbes award show tonight, my daughter is winning” played in your mind like a comforting mantra.

it took all your physical strength to push yourself up from your seat, legs trembling as you shakily walked toward the stage. the camera panned in on your nervous expression, capturing the moment for the world to see. when the award was handed to you, a giddy laugh escaped your lips, a blend of disbelief and joy.

“i — i don’t even know where to begin. i’m just… i’m just someone who started out in her mother’s kitchen.” the crowd chuckled, and you caught a glimpse of suguru, his face radiating pride. “and here i am, getting an award from forbes.” the room erupted into cheers, and you could feel the warmth of their applause wrapping around you.

“i….i made it, mom! i really did, i—” your eyes inadvertently wandered, locking onto sukuna, who was seated a few rows ahead. his expression was thunderous, livid anger practically radiating off him, his tattoos appearing to shift in the dim light as he stared you down. if looks could kill, you were certain you’d disintegrate on the spot.

for a fleeting moment, you felt like that meek little secretary from years ago — the girl who cowered at his angry words, whose confidence had crumbled under his disdain. your breath caught in your throat, palms clammy around the award that suddenly felt like a shackle, the blaring stage lights pressing down on you.

“t-thank you,” you mumbled quickly, and with that, you rushed off the stage, confusion buzzing in the air as people murmured about your abrupt exit. suguru’s brows furrowed with concern as you settled back into your seat beside him.

“hey, what’s wrong? talk to me,” he whispered, his hand finding yours beneath the table, offering a comforting squeeze.

“i saw him,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the reality of your win overshadowed by the weight of sukuna’s gaze.

the moment hung in the air between you, an electric tension that made your heart race. you had won tonight, yet the thrill felt tainted, as if sukuna’s presence had darkened your moment. suguru's grip tightened, grounding you, but the storm brewing inside you was harder to quell. this victory should have felt like a celebration, but instead, it brought the ghosts of your past crashing back, threatening to overshadow everything you had worked so hard for.

you should be counting your lucky stars that you exited the stage as soon as possible because if you had stood there for even one more minute, holding the award and basking in the stage lights, sukuna would have popped a blood vessel.

how could you — of all people — have won the award? it felt like a cruel joke, a slap in the face to all the hard work ryomen had poured into every drink they crafted. sugary excuse of a wine — that’s what he thought of your creation. it didn’t matter that you had poured your heart into persephone; to him, it was a mere distraction, a gimmick that somehow managed to catch fire while he’d been left to stoke the flames of a legacy he had built with his own hands.

sukuna’s jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to reign in the rage bubbling beneath the surface. what the hell did you do to deserve this? it wasn’t fair. i revolutionized the industry, he thought bitterly, a storm brewing in his chest. i put everything into ryomen, and yet here you are, stealing the spotlight with your little pet project.

he couldn’t even pay attention to the next awards being given out; they were just a backdrop to the humiliation he felt. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. he scanned the room, trying to gauge the reactions of others. do they think this is a joke? he wanted to scream, to lash out at anyone who dared to think persephone was on his level. the mere thought of you being lauded for your success twisted in his gut like a knife.

you didn’t know the sacrifices it took to build an empire, he raged inwardly. you didn’t endure the sleepless nights, the harsh decisions, the pressure of making a brand that people could depend on. to sukuna, ryomen wasn’t just a company; it was an extension of himself, a representation of all he had sacrificed for his brothers, for his future. and now, you had waltzed in and claimed an accolade that felt undeserved.

every cheer from the crowd felt like a taunt, a reminder of how far you had come and how deeply he loathed that it was you who had taken this honor away from him. you’ll never be more than a flash in the pan, he promised himself, a mantra to ease the burning rage. i’ll make sure of that.

his mind raced, plotting and scheming as he gripped the armrest of his chair, knuckles white. i need to show them who the real titan is. he had to reclaim his dominance, to put you in your place. it didn’t matter how many influencers endorsed you or how popular your product became; this was just the beginning, and he would not be overshadowed by someone he once considered insignificant.

as you settled back into your seat, a shaky smile still lighting up your face, sukuna's gaze hardened. this isn’t over, he vowed silently, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and resolve. you may have won tonight, but I’ll be damned if i let you steal my thunder.

days had passed since the forbes award show, but the victory felt hollow for sukuna. sure, he walked out with an armful of awards: the stevie awards, recognizing achievements in management and customer service; the international business awards, celebrating excellence in global innovation and leadership; and the business excellence awards, which honored outstanding performance across the board. it was a haul that solidified his status as a titan in the industry. but even with all that, his mind was consumed by the nagging echo of your name.

how the hell did you manage to steal that one award? it nagged at him like a splinter, refusing to be ignored. it didn’t make sense. even though your win seemed like a mere trinket compared to his accolades, it felt like a theft — a theft of something more precious than gold.

wasn’t it enough that i built this empire from the ground up? he thought, frustration simmering just below the surface. i sacrificed everything to get here, and you — of all people — come in and claim a piece of the pie? it infuriated him to think of you standing on that stage, giggling with disbelief, so carefree and unburdened by the weight of the industry that he had shouldered for years. i’ve earned this!

flashbacks from the award show rolled through his mind like a montage — standing on stage, the lights shining down on him as he accepted award after award. the applause ringing in his ears, the pride swelling in his chest as he shook hands with industry leaders, the kind of recognition that validated every sacrifice he had made.

“congratulations, sukuna,” one executive had said, clapping him on the back. “you’ve really outdone yourself this year.”

“what can i say?” he had replied with a smirk, “i’m just that good.”

yet, while those moments should have felt triumphant, all he could think about was you. that fleeting moment when you stood up there — why couldn’t he shake the image of your smile, your shocked expression? it stirred something within him, an unsettling mix of envy and anger.

you didn’t earn it, he seethed inwardly. you didn’t work your way through sleepless nights or the pressure of making decisions that could sink a company. you just made a drink and got lucky with some influencers.

he wanted to dismiss your success as a fluke, but something about it gnawed at him. why does it bother me so much? he questioned himself, feeling a surge of confusion mixed with annoyance. you weren’t a threat, you were an annoyance, a temporary blip in the industry. yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were becoming something more — something significant.

the thought of you overshadowing his hard-earned victories was infuriating. i won’t let you steal my thunder, he promised himself, his resolve hardening with every passing day. he could not let the narrative shift. this isn’t over; i’ll make sure everyone knows that ryomen is the name that matters, not your little hobby.

but as the days turned into weeks, sukuna found it increasingly difficult to focus solely on his empire. every time he turned on the news or scrolled through social media, your name surfaced, wrapped in praise and admiration, while he was left wondering how you had somehow infiltrated his thoughts, stirring up feelings he had long buried. it’s just a phase, he told himself, clenching his jaw. i’ll crush this little competition of yours. soon, no one will even remember your name.

but deep down, a flicker of doubt loomed. what if they do?

comment on any of the chapters to be added to the taglist, please have your age displayed or your request will be ignored! thanks (: produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[kitasgloves]

Zero idea if its been asked already but can you do a Dazai x innocent golden retriever gf, i just know that man has the biggest corruption kink

alright folks we're back at it again!

— ♬ NSFW

As I have stated previously in a drabble, I'd like to think DAZAI OSAMU can get sweetly sadistic with an innocent/golden retriever type of gf. He views your purity and naivety as a sweet little treat for him to feast on and devour. You have the most sparkling personality that rivals the sun. And Dazai is greedy, he likes to keep sucking in your warm innocence until you run dry.

He adores your enthusiasm and free thinking. You're like a breath of fresh air with the way you smile and cling to him. Dazai's ego inflates when you praise him for how clever and knowledgeable he is about various things. Sometimes, he'd treat you like a little kid and talk to you like you're a toddler, cooing about how you're too naive for the world.

This bitch would tease the fuck out of you. He likes to make you pout and hear you whine. He'd make fun of every little thing about you. Your massive height difference, the way you snort when you laugh, and every silly habit you have, he'd pick on it all. Dazai can get obsessive with tracking all your likes and dislikes. He probably keeps a little notebook with lists like your favorite flavors, most hated dating spots, the books you found interesting, the brands of your underwear, etc. This mf keeps track of everything and keeps receipts so it's impossible to keep a secret from him.

Speaking of secrets, Dazai knows every told and untold secret about you. He loves to get into your personal space. He wants to know what makes you laugh until you cry, what makes you blow a fuse, what makes you blush like a strawberry, and especially what makes you cry in pleasure. The brunette would gaslight himself into thinking he's not that cruel. No, he's a sweet and loving boyfriend who adores his bright girlfriend! Yep, he just wants to corrupt your innocence, it's not that cruel, right?

"Hghh—Oh—Osamu—"

"Stay still for me"

He whispers against your ear. Dazai leans back to admire your naked and sweaty figure on the bed, your hands gripping the sheets, your legs spread apart, and his limber fingers fucking deep into you. He chuckles as he watches you turn away with a flushed face as he fingerfucks your wet cunt. The squelching sound of his fingers curling in and out of your pussy filled the room. The way you were so reactive with every movement of his fingers made his pants tight.

"Look at you, sucking in my fingers like a greedy little whore"

"...I'm not—ah!"

You go crossed-eyed when he brushes against that special spot inside of you again. Dazai pulls his fingers out to hear you whimper. He's been at it for an hour now, fingerfucking you only to pull away when he can feel you coming close. Tears have been already rolling down your cheeks with how much you plead for him to make you cum already. Dazai smiles darkly as he goes to caress your breasts before delivering a sharp slap on your cunt.

You flinch and shuddered in pleasure when that delicious stinging sensation stimulates your clit. He slaps your pussy a couple of times until it turns puffy.

"Osamu, please!"

"Please what? Come on, use your words, honey"

"Please make me cum already!"

"Hmm, I don't know. Do you deserve it?"

A cruel smile spreads on your boyfriend's lips as more tears begin escaping your glassy eyes. You looked so precious and pathetic begging for him to make you cum that he almost loses his restraint. His hand goes to grab your jaw before sneering down at you.

"Does a slut like you deserve to cum?"

You sobbed and nodded frantically. He clicks his tongue.

"Answer me properly"

"Yes! Please, I'll be good!"

Fortunately, Dazai grants you mercy as he slips his fingers back inside of you again. You throw your head back and moan when he starts to rapidly finger you. Your vision goes blurry as you struggled to catch your breath with how deep and fast his skilled fingers was fucking you. The brunette watched you with unblinking eyes as he felt your juices trailing from his fingers down to his wrists. The way you clenched around his fingers as your moans went up into an octave signaled an overwhelming orgasm from you.

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Osamu—"

Dazai watched breathlessly as your release crashed down on you with you gushing around his fingers. He holds his breath as you squirt immensely during your orgasm. He tries to bring out more by rubbing your clit which makes you overstimulated as your eyes rolled back. The moment you regain your vision and catch your breath, you realize that you have stained the sheets and your boyfriend is staring at you hungrily.

The next thing you knew, Dazai was hastily slipping off his pants and aligning his cock with your wet entrance. You try to push him back, telling him you're too tired for another round but he dismisses you by shoving his cock inside your cunt. Dazai's eyes almost rolled back with how tight and wet you felt. Immediately, he grabs your hips and sets a brutal pace.

"Hah—sl-slow down! Shit, I can't—"

"Shut the fuck up and take my cock like the pathetic slut you are"

He grins devilishly when you are unable to reply with how your jaw is slack and how drool is seeping down your lips. Dazai keeps aiming his cock deep until it bruises your cervix, every thrust violently rips out the oxygen from your lungs. You looked perfectly fucked out. His sweet innocent girlfriend is fucked dumb by his cock. Your hair was tangled, your cheeks were flushed, and your eyes were glassy.

Your boyfriend keeps pounding into you, mindlessly reveling in his pleasure as he used you like a fucking sex toy. Eventually, you begin to clench around him again but he decides to slow down his pace. You stare at him wide-eyed before your lip begins to wobble.

"Aww, were you going to cum again?"

Dazai teases. You hiccuped as you started to sob.

"You have to make me cum first, slut"

The brunette switches the position with him lying down and you on top of him. He was ordering you to bounce on his dick and make him cum. Eager to please him and reach your release, your steadied your thighs and began bouncing on his cock.

"Hah! Fuck, you look like you're made to bounce on my cock"

He muses. Dazai watched as your ass slapped against his thighs. The tip of his dick kept kissing the deepest part within you. He watched with wicked amusement as your thighs began to shake with every bounce as your hands desperately clawed on his stomach. You began to grow tired as you abruptly stopped making him click his tongue.

"What a pathetic cockslut. Do I have to do everything myself, hm?"

"Please, Osamu, I can't—"

Suddenly, Dazai thrusts his hips upwards making you squeal and throw your head back. His hands fiercely grab your wrists as he continues to thrust upward into you. He laughs at how absolutely cockdrunk you were letting him use you. Sooner, Dazai's thrusts began to go sloppy as he gritted his teeth.

"Shit, gonna cum! You better take all of it like the cumslut you are"

With every moment the tip of Dazai's cock abuses your cervix, it brings you close to your peak. His grip on your wrists tightened and with a couple of hard thrusts, his seed spills inside of you. Your orgasm followed next as your eyes rolled back and your thighs quivered. You collapsed on top of Dazai as you tried to catch your breath. The exhaustion consumes you though as you fluttered your eyes shut.

"Looks like my cute little slut got tired"

Dazai brushes your hair back and pulls his cock out, he could see his excess cum dribbling out of your cunt as his eyes glimmered in delight. All he could think about as he watched you sleep was more ways to make you cry and beg for him to make you cum again.

[wilwheaton]

What the actual fuck, Larry David.

So I heard about it, but didn't watch it until now. Holy shit it's even worse than I thought. What the fuck is wrong with that guy? Elmo is, like, the best friend to multiple generations of children, and is currently putting mental health and caring for others in the spotlight.

And Larry Fucking David ... did ... that? And thought it was going to be ... funny?

What an asshole. What a stupid, self-centered, tone deaf asshole.

Hey, fucko: First of all, you aren't even in the segment, but you just decided to barge in and draw focus because ... why? You couldn't stand that a puppet brought people together in a meaningful way that you can't? You couldn't stand that your appearance on national television to promote your wildly successful series was delayed for a few seconds while the adults talked about mental health?

I really want to know what raced through his tiny little mind, and why there was no voice or person who spoke up to stop him.

You know who is watching the Today show with their parents? Kids who also watch Sesame Street. Elmo is an avatar for children all over the world. Children who are too small to understand Elmo is a puppet will know that a man attacked him for no reason, and that will frighten them.

Elmo inspired a deeply meaningful and important moment of collective support among disparate people who have been struggling through the traumas of a pandemic, daily mass shootings, the rise of fascism and everything associated with Trump's violence and cruelty.

And shitty idiot Larry David couldn't stand it, for some reason. He had to indirectly tell everyone who opened their hearts to a Muppet that they were stupid, and he thought it was a good joke to physically attack and choke this character who is beloved by children and adults alike.

I've been bored by and totally over Larry David's brand of being an asshole to everyone because they had the temerity to exist around him since the day it started. It was easy to just ignore him. But this thing he did was hurtful, it wasn't funny, and his bullshit non-apology tells all of us everything we need to know about him.

Larry David strikes me as a person who mocks and belittles people who are vulnerable and sensitive, who is cruel because he enjoys it and is untouchable. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's who I see whenever I can't find the remote and he's on my television.

By contrast, Elmo and the Muppets teach and model that kindness and empathy aren't weak or stupid or any of the things people like Larry David and my dad think they are. Elmo and the Muppets teach children to be gentle and kind, to celebrate our different cultures and to embrace all of our complicated feelings.

I hope that, when the dust settles, Larry David's appalling behavior will be a footnote to a larger story about how, for just one day, a Muppet made a difference by helping all of us who are struggling feel just a little less alone and anxious.

A man who would belittle and mock that isn't much of a man at all.

[mystra-midnight]

Holy Roar

summary: eddie watched your face—the way your mouth twisted and tears dripped from the corners of your eyes because of the over stimulation. he listened to your wild breaths and felt how your body begged for mercy while your soul screamed for more, more, more.

tags: 18+ only. unprotected sex; p in v. praise kink. pet names; good girl, sweet girl, baby. overstimulation. mentions of squirting if you squint. teeth-rotting fluff. eddie being a simp for his girl. soft!eddie but also hints of mean/dom!eddie.

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: eddie might not be religious but he's pretty sure heaven is between your thighs. requested by anon, thank you so much. <3 i needed a reason to be sappy and sweet today after all the drama going on. also, for the record. this was meant to be a drabble but evidently i have no self control.

Eddie Munson wasn't religious, but he did believe in heaven.

He'd swear up and down that he'd seen heaven, and no one had been able to convince him otherwise. The truth was, when he was buried in the tight warmth of your pussy with your arms wrapped around him, he could hear the sound of angels singing. It was a beautiful melody, a crescendo that rang in his ears and brought him to tears.

When he was with you, wrapped in the velvet embrace of your walls, his face hidden against the slope of your neck, the world would melt away. Nothing else mattered in those moments. He wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t a freak; he was just Eddie, and you were just you, and when he moved in you, the holy dark moved too.

And when you came, trembling and twitching beneath him, with pretty moans and whimpers pouring from your kiss-bitten lips, it was like he was born again. When he watched your features twist with rapture, he saw the world through brand new eyes—eyes that were filled with the vision of only you, an angel come to life beneath him, your holy light shining so brightly that he wasn’t sure you were real.

He often had to remind himself that you were.

Sometimes Eddie had to pinch himself just to convince himself that you weren't a beautiful, haunting illusion about to slip through his fingers. It was why he touched you with greedy hands at every opportunity. He touched you because he could, gripping the fat of your thighs, the curve of your hips, the pudge of your stomach, your tits, your cheeks, and your hands.

He was never cruel. Firm, yes; mocking, sometimes, but he could never hurt you. Eddie would hold you with strong hands that never stilled unless he was pounding into you, forcing unholy moans from your pretty mouth.

And unless he was kissing you, his tongue in your mouth, twirling and dancing with yours, he couldn’t stay silent. Eddie loved to whisper sweet nothings in between searing kisses. He would growl in your ear while carving his way to your guts. He would babble mindlessly as he chased his orgasm, fucking you through one, then a second, and then a third.

Some nights he was wild and untamed, whereas others he was kind and gentle.

No matter what, it was always a religious experience.

And tonight was no different.

Eddie had you on your back with your hands pinned above your head; he was holding both of your wrists in one of his larger hands. Your legs were around his waist, and the heels of your feet were pressing into his backside to draw him deeper as he rolled his hips and found that sweet spot that made you sing. Tears ebbed at your lash line, and he chased each one that fell with an eager tongue.

It was a cool evening in Hawkins, Indiana. Sometime past ten, a light rain had settled over the town. Eddie could hear the pitter-patter of droplets as they hit the roof of the caravan, the slide as they cascaded down the awnings, and the splatter as they hit the ground. The window was open, and a cool breeze was playing with the curtains, leaving his sweat-slicked skin goosepimpled.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured. His voice was rough and heavy with lust. “Can’t believe you’re mine,” he continued, mumbling the words against the slope of your neck, where he scrapped his teeth over your racing pulse. You arched beneath him when he dragged a ringed hand down your body, cruising from your throat to your chest, where he paused to brush a thumb over your peddled nipple before tugging on it a little meanly.

He listened to the way your breath hitched and the needy moan that tumbled past your lips when he moved his hand lower to the apex of your thighs. Eddie Munson was a simple man who loved you in this state—cock-drunk and floating in the clouds.

He loved to watch you come undone for him. He loved the way your back would arch, the way your muscles would tighten and flex, how you pulled him in and pushed him away when the pleasure mounted, and the way you couldn’t seem to get enough air while riding each orgasm. He couldn’t get enough of you; he was addicted to you.

“Bet you’re sensitive, baby.” Eddie said, gliding his pointer and ring finger on either side of your clit, which was still buzzing from the last orgasm he’d pulled from the depths of your soul. He felt you twitch beneath him, heard the sharp intake of breath, and heard the muffled whine that escaped your pretty mouth. “But look at you—still s’fucking wet. You’ve soaked the sheets, girl. But you're gonna cum again, aren’t you? Good, I need to hear those pretty sounds.”

He posed it as a question, but he wasn’t asking. Eddie took advantage of your delirious state, licking a long, wet strip up the column of your throat and moaned deeply as he savoured the sweat-slicked taste of your skin. Eddie didn't care that you were sweaty, that you were dishevelled, or that you were making a mess of his sheets. He cared that you were here and that you were beneath him.

He watched your face as he rolled his hips, his cock piercing through your velvet walls and his balls slapping against your ass as he drove deeper. Your lips parted in a perfect 'o', and you squirmed, straining to close your legs only to find his slim waist holding them open as a familiar heat sparked to life between your hips.

“I can’t.”

He said the words with you, as he already knew that you would say them. Eddie Munson was a menace that ruled your life, and you were a marionette on a string, so sweet and eager to please him. He could play you like a fiddle. He knew what words built you up and which ones sent you tumbling down again. As though to prove this, he circled his fingers around your clit, slick with arousal, left, then right, then spread them again, trapping your clit between his fingers with just a hint of pressure.

You keened loudly, throwing your head back and exposing your throat—an invitation that he quickly accepted. Eddie smeared hot, wet kisses along your skin, listening to the whimpers and whines that spilt from your lips as he rubbed your nub, enjoying the way you tugged at your wrists and writhed beneath him. “S’too much, Eddie. Eddie, please, please.”

You sounded so pretty when you begged; your voice was breathless and ethereal as you begged for something you couldn't decide on. Mercy or more—you didn't know.

But he did.

"You can," he replied. Eddie buried his face against your neck, his hot breath balmy against your skin, as he nuzzled his nose below the curve of your jaw before sucking a dark mark into your skin. "Just one more, I promise, baby, then I'll let you rest." It was the devil's lie, one that came easily from his tongue.

Eddie Munson was an addict, and you were his drug of choice. In truth, he knew that he would be going to hell, so he was going to enjoy heaven while he could. He kissed you without warning. Hard, slowly, thoroughly, just because he could. It made you moan and made your toes curl.

“Need you to cum again—fuck—just one more, that’s all I want."

“Mhmm, okay,” you whimpered, high-pitched and breathless, as he moved his fingers in tight circles around your nub, switching direction once, then twice. And then he moved. Eddie sat back on his haunches, threw your legs over his shoulders, and pulled you closer so that he could drive deeper, until you felt him in your lungs.

Your obedience and willingness made him smile. Eddie licked your calf, his teeth scraping teasingly at your ankle. Your pussy clenched hotly around his aching length. "You're such a good girl, aren’t you? S’fucking pretty, s’fucking sweet. Fuck, I love you,” he rambled, lost in the moment. The taste of you swimming in his mouth and the sight of you flooding his eyes were too much for him to bear.

You were beautiful; an angel trapped it in a rhapsody of pleasure—all his. Eddie pulled out slowly, your velvet heat clutching at his cock. He watched with wide and wondrous eyes as your hole clenched and winked at him, but it was the combination of pre-cum and slick dripping from you—the way it slid down the crack of your ass and joined the mess you'd made of the sheets—that broke his resolve.

The groan that clawed up the back of his throat was something feral and all-consuming, calling to something buried inside of you. Your answering whine was desperate. Eddie grabbed your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, so that he could watch the blissed expression in your eyes as he filled you again, hard and to the brim. "Look at you, girl, so cum-drunk that you're leaking on my cock. My pretty, perfect girl."

Time began to slow down. Heat slithered like a snake through your veins, slow to start as it set your body aflame, and then faster, striking with venom and fangs until your eyes rolled so far back that Eddie was sure you'd see your own brain. You were in a trance, and it was no one but Eddie’s fault.

You couldn’t answer him, even if you had wanted to. Each time he fucked into you, his cock spearing through your walls and reaching the depths of your being, the air was forced from your lungs, leaving you breathless and floating higher in the sky. He left a trail of wet kisses along your ankle, lapping at each bite with an eager tongue while he found your mound with the opposite hand, thumb swiping left and right, then, round and round, your clit.

The piston of his hips didn’t slow when you pushed against his abdomen, nails scratching the surface of his skin as though you wanted to burrow beneath it and live there. Eddie watched your face—the way your mouth twisted and tears dripped from the corners of your eyes because of the over stimulation. He listened to your wild breaths and felt how your body begged for mercy while your soul screamed for more, more, more.

“Too much, Eddie,” you gasped, all breathless and sweet. Eddie smiled down at you, a beautiful lopsided grin that had the snake in your veins pulling tighter. It was so tight now that you thought you might die—that your bones would break and your heart would give. But the look in your eyes—that sly come-hither stare—told him you needed that release almost as much as you needed to breathe.

"You're going to be a good girl and cum for me, yeah? You're squeezing my dick so tight, baby, you're going to fucking break it.” Eddie chortled. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripped from his nose, and landed on your chest as he bent to brush his mouth against yours. Your legs fell from his shoulders, knees coming to rest in the crook's of his arms as he shadowed over you like a perfect machiavellian devil.

His lips smashed against yours in a kiss made entirely of tongue, teeth, and saliva. It was messy, sloppy, and desperate, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips when you finally parted. Eddie was lost, chasing his own release that was hurtling towards him like a semi with its brakes cut.

And then it happened, all at once and without warning.

One moment you grabbed at him, clawing at his back and pulling on his hair, and then you were breathless, your limbs locked and your head thrown back. It was like the sky split open and a bolt of lightning speared through you, connecting with that sweet spot Eddie was abusing, only to arch throughout your body. You came screaming his name, and it was the sound of heaven, and he rejoiced.

"You're so good to me, sweet girl," Eddie said. His lips left a trail of blistering kisses from your chin, down your jaw, and to your neck, where he hid his face against your sweat-slicked skin. His breath was wild and balmy as he panted against your skin. His muscles twisted and knotted as the force of his impending orgasm grew. "I'm going—fuck—I'm going to marry you. I'm going to put a ring on your finger and buy you a fucking house."

And he meant it. If there was one thing on God's green earth that Eddie Munson was completely and irrevocably certain about, it was you. He was going to make you his wife. He was going to give you his name. He was going to give you his kids.

He felt you grab him again, your nails reclaiming their position on his shoulders as the world started to fade into background ambience. A haze overcame his vision, glowing orange from the fire raging within him. And then the tension in his body broke, ricocheting through him with the force of a hurricane.

Eddie speared through your walls one last time before settling deep within you, so deep that you could feel him pressing against the back of your throat. His weight above you was like a weighted blanket that is smothering but comfortable. It kept you grounded while you ride the coattails of your orgasm. Eddie came with a guttural groan, his abdominal muscles flexing as he filled you with thick ropes of his seed.

Seconds slid into minutes before he withdrew and collapsed to the bed at your side. The sheets were a mess at the foot of the bed, and the sound of the rain was louder now. The room smelled like sweat, sex, and fresh rain. You were both quiet as you floated through the clouds, content to lay side-by-side and let the silence bloom. There was nothing either of you had to say—the moment was already perfect because, while Eddie Munson wasn't religious, he did believe in heaven.

And with you, he felt born again.

tags: @hideoutside

[hanasnx]

" DON'T BURY THOUGHTS THAT YOU REALLY WANT " — katsuki bakugou.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established coworker relationship ノ sexual and suggestive content: dirty talk ノ degradation: m+f receiving ノ body shame joke.

You’ve known pro-hero DYNAMIGHT for years now, and he just started paying attention to you in ways you notice. Admiring him from afar was easy, but closing in was another matter entirely; working alongside one another got you in the same proximity, and he was forced to acknowledge you. He treated you like any other person he meets, and after studying him, you figured out an in.

Instead of a simple, “I’ll kick your ass!” from him when you’ve pissed him off, you’ve devised your own special language with him. Miraculously, he doesn’t seem to give you the impression you’ve gotten the best of him. Instead, you’re rewarded with hateful but sexual confessions. Now when you piss him off, his and your special brand of understanding and humor have turned a violent warning into a disgusting promise. “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.” he tells you.

If anyone was listening in, they’d think you and him have entered some romantic relationship, completely inappropriate to your professional standings. On the contrary, you’ve trained him to speak to you in a way that pleases you without him even knowing. Now your banter with him consists of angry flirting, and he still believes he’s making threats. Out on the battlefield he shamefully critiques your poor choices with something along the lines of, “Was gonna fuck your brains out tonight, but it looks like my job’s already done!”

You wear it proudly. You’ve managed to get the great Katsuki Bakugou to do what you want him to. After a long, arduous process groomed by your consistent schedule with him, spending time together observing him as you work alongside one another, you’ve done it. In place of him calling you a simple idiot, he tells you you’re lucky you’re hot.

A “fight” with him, looks like a horny situationship from the outside, publicly debuting your desire for one another like PDA-obsessed freaks. You delight in it, while he remains oblivious. At least you thought he was. More and more, he leans into this little share of humor you two have going on, wit that leads you into suspicion.

“You look like shit. Maybe if you slept over at my place, I would’ve tired you out enough to get you to bed at a decent time.” Bakugou notes, passing you as if he’d relayed the weather. Brows furrowed, you pivot your head to watch the back of his while he strides on. It’s unusual that he’d phrase it that way, regarding it as opportunistic rather than domineering. You shrug it off under the basis he’s just evolving the jokes, he’s not extending an offer.

The next day isn’t so different, sitting across from him at the table in a meeting you’re both early for. His body language is lax as always, an elbow hooked behind a corner of the chair, his glove at his belt, legs spread far. Taking up as much space as possible, whereas your hands are clasped neatly on the surface in front of you. You can tell he’s reading you, those crimson eyes unapologetically scrutinizing your erect posture and a cruel grin stretches one side of his mouth. Sighing impatiently through your nose, you call him out on being a creep. “What? What’re you lookin’ at, Bakugou? You want me or something?” you call upon that unique sense of sexual humor, hoping to trip him up.

No such luck. He snickers, and leans back in his chair to cross his thick arms across his wide chest. A pose that leaves you gulping, and he visibly notices how your eyes wander for a milisecond. “Whatever guy you’re fucking is doing a shit job because you’re still a bitch with a stick up your ass.” Has he been cooking that up this whole time? He looks mighty pleased with himself.

“Don’t be a pig, Dynamight. Who I’m sleeping with is none of your concern.” you retort, and you’re not beating the bitchy allegations. You stick your nose in the air in spite of yourself, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him teetering on the back legs of his chair. So you peer at him a little more deliberately while you’re faced away. “Unless you want a piece, that is.” A much more subtle flirt, gauging his reaction to such a timid offer.

Meanly, he scoffs. “‘A piece?’” he parrots. “What, a piece? Of that little thing? The fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh? Ass like that you’ll have to work for it.”

“Bakugou!” Somehow, he went a little too far that time. A pang of hurt is uncharacteristic to experience, and yet it twists your heart. You mask it, trying to match his energy in a way you can manage. “Are you just gonna comment on my body or are you gonna do something with it?”

“Oh, I’m gonna do som’thin’ with it, alright. I’m gonna do som’thin’.” A greedy expression shifts his features, eyeing you up like you’re a meal, a prey. Maybe he's catching on to you... And before he can explain and you can rebuke, other heroes enter the meeting room, and all four legs of his chair land with a slam.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[deadsetobsessions]

Once more the hallucinations hit, and once more I am here writing it out.

My brain is fucking terrifying and I want out, so bad. This came to me in the form of a nightmare.

Also, please don’t take the timeline into consideration, because I have no idea what’s going on. Again, nightmares and dreams tend to not have the best coherency when it comes to plot and timelines. The reincarnation doesn’t have a name, I was too busy feeling terrified. Shit in parentheses was how I experienced the nightmare. Everything else is just me adding sprinkle sprinkle.

——

Ra’s al Ghul.

Talia al Ghul.

Two names that she had been aware of, in the peripherals of her hyper fixation. Two characters meant to enhance the story of the Dark Knight. Side characters, on a good day. Perhaps, a main antagonist on a better day.

On a bad day?

Main characters. Real, living people. Real, living, breathing assassins.

Unfortunately, they’re her new family. One she remembered coming into, bathed in a pool of blood and screams.

She was not a baby.

She is now, a baby. The first of Talia al Ghul’s children. The eldest, once Damian al Ghul was born.

Swaddled in emerald green and gold silks, she was presented to a man with silver streaked hair and a receding hairline. He too, was robed in green and golds.

“A daughter, Talia?” He rumbled, the smooth Arabic flowing out of his mouth failing to hide the acrid disappointment. The child, past the haze of confusion of suddenly being deported from her own adult body into one of a helpless child, felt a stirring of irritation. It’s good she learned the language, because now she knew exactly how Ra’s felt about her. The child grumbled a displeased sound. Not that she would have ignored the fact that her grandfather was Ra’s al Ghul. (He smelled like moth eaten fabric and blood- but I think that was because my cat accidentally scratched me.)

“My apologies, father.”

“Do not tell the young detective of this. Had it been a son, perhaps things would have been different. No, a daughter would only hinder him.”

Talia bowed, hands tightening on her daughter. “May I raise her, father?”

“A resource is still a resource. Go ahead, Talia.”

“Yes, father.” Talia took the dismissal and bowed before leaving.

On her way back to the room with the reincarnation’s crib, Talia al Ghul stroked her daughter’s head.

“I wish you were born a boy, my daughter. I am sorry my beloved will never know of you.”

The reincarnation looked at her new mother. She’s young, the woman-child realized. A teenager.

“You’ll have to be useful, my daughter. Your grandfather is not so kind as to keep the useless. I… do not wish for your death,” her mother muttered.

Great. She got new life and it’s already in danger.

——

She learned to swing a knife. Swords. She learned and devoured the teachings. She learned to be useful.

But then they asked her to take the life of a man who did her no wrong.

Her baby blues clashed with her grandfather’s Lazarus green.

She was still young. A child.

“No.”

“No?”

“He did no wrong.”

“He failed, granddaughter.” Ra’s smiled down at her, patronizing. Cruel. “Perhaps you possess your father’s heart, and you are foolishly sentimental, as women and children tend to be. But in the end, you are an al Ghul and you will obey. Plunge in your blade and I will reward you.”

The reincarnation looked at the man kneeling in front of her, resignation and a hint of pity in what little she could see of his face.

She’s already died before. What did she have to be afraid of?

“No.”

They tried to beat the weakness out of her. It didn’t work.

——

The reincarnation stared at the mirror, left alone in an opulent cage of gold and emeralds and precious stones that meant little to her now.

Her hands traced her back, small fingers finding purchase in soft skin. Her mouth opened fruitlessly, noise refusing to escape. She still felt the burning magic, the brand her own blood had carved into her skin and soul because she refused to kill. The chains her grandfather had shackled around her with magic and cruel amusement.

She had killed him, in the end. Obey, or be punished. Her body had moved without her permission, the reincarnation a prisoner in a body that refused to do as she commanded. The knife swung, a life taken, her hands dipped in red.

She learned a valuable lesson that day.

There were things worse than death.

“This is an order, granddaughter.”

The Magic had flared a searing heat at her neck, forcing her to kneel on broken legs. Ra’s loomed above, authority in his voice. She was bound to obey, regardless.

“You will never speak another word of affection, you will never speak another word to anyone unless I allow it. Perhaps this will teach you of your folly, and your place in this world.”

The loss of her freedom and the fear that came with it was a bitter and devastating lesson.

——

Ra’s al Ghul was so much worse than what little she knew of him.

She was right to be afraid for herself.

Her mother had worried, when she’d withdrawn and refused to speak to her. Even if she could, the reincarnation would not have wanted to. The reincarnation had felt furious, back then, when she thought of Talia. Her mother who refused to protect her. Her mother, who claimed she loved her but refused to see the chains Ra’s wrapped around her neck. She who plied the reincarnation with a supportive hand but forced her into the fighting pits.

But, as the reincarnation stumbled out on bruised and used legs from Ra’s al Ghul’s meeting chambers where he had allowed his business partners to partake in her, she realized that Ra’s was a monster in a human’s body and her mother was a victim of his making.

The lesson Ra’s taught her that day was that if she was not useful, if she did not kill, he would take what was left of her and make use of her.

Hate flared in her heart, and the beginning of Ra’s downfall began the day he let her go from the chambers alive. Injured, but alive. Injured and violated, but alive and furious.

——

She carved her hate and rage and helplessness and fear in the bodies of the people he bid her to kill. Her silenced screams were expressed in the way she splattered blood, the way she covered herself in it. A killing machine first, a stress reliever second, and a child… wasn’t on the list of things she was allowed to be.

His enemies were felled, one after another. He gave her his approval, something she detested.

But still, she continued, bodies racking upwards, tens turning to hundreds, hundreds edging into thousands.

The red in her ledger became ichor and guilt. Her language became violence and obedience.

“You have become a sharp tool, granddaughter.”

She was a genius, after all. And now, she could not disobey. A blade that Ra’s believed will never point towards him. She kneeled. She obeyed.

“Thank you, grandfather.” Her words were only allowed to come out- without searing, terrible pain- when she was thanking him. She tried not to do it as often as he wanted. He thought he broke her when he read the obedience she carved into her body language.

But she never bowed. Never. Not to him. Never.

——

“My weapon could learn much from your granddaughter,” David Cain sat across from Ra’s, wine in their stupid goblets. How she detested the green and blacks he’s seen fit to dress her with. She’s dressed provocatively, not of her own choice. She doesn’t have much of those- doesn’t have much in ways of choices- these days.

She was twelve, and Ra’s al Ghul deserved to die.

“Her combat is a higher form of what my daughter has achieved. How did you do it?”

When Ra’s began to reply, she slipped away.

She found the girl. She found… the cage- the black box- the child was placed in. The child flinched from her when she opened the metal box, fear only easing as the reincarnation kept her body language neutral and kind. (It was pitch black, and about the size of like, a closet. No light. Only from whatever door the box had.) (Cass’ hands hurt from banging on the walls to be let out)

David Cain’s daughter, her mind whispered, the memories of another life once more making itself known.

“Cassandra.” She whispered, regretting it immediately when pain wracked her body. She fell to her knees as the punishment for disobeying an order slammed into her.

The girl looked at her in concern, but did not move closer. The reincarnation stared at this girl and saw a reflection of herself.

David Cain would be here for a month. She will free Cassandra in those days.

——

The weapon stared at the girl in front of her, kneeling in pain.

She did not understand.

-

The girl came back. Water. Food. Kind.

The weapon felt warm. The girl was quiet. No sounds. Good. The weapon knew the girl understood. The weapon thinks that the girl is a weapon too.

-

The girl comes back, again. This time, she makes a sound. It hurt her, but she did it again. The weapon understands when the girl points at herself and repeats the sound. The sound means the girl. The girl expects something from the weapon.

The weapon makes the sound, flinching to see if the owner will come to punish it. The girl purposefully sits, relaxed but vigilant… and protective. Of the weapon?

The weapon relaxed. It repeated the sound, pointing at the girl.

The girl smiles, in pain. But approval. The weapon feels- the weapon is warm, like under the blanket. Approval.

The girl teaches her to make sounds but the weapon communicates without it. It does not like the sounds, does not need them, but the girl seems to think it’s important.

The weapon likes the girl, so the weapon learns. They still understand through no sounds, through reading each other.

-

The girl comes back, silently. Secretly. The weapon does not notify the owner. The weapon feels- does not want to.

The girl- the girl with the sound- she says a different sound. Her body tells the weapon that it’s important, this sound.

And when the girl points at herself and says her own sound, then points at the weapon and says that new sound again, the weapon begins to understand.

The girl had given the weapon her own sound.

“Cass—n- ra.”

“Cass,” the girl said, and Cassandra understood.

“Cass.” Cassandra pointed to herself.

-

The owner wanted- wanted Cassandra to end a life. Cassandra watched the owner kill and gesture to the dead thing.

Cassandra did not want to.

When Cassandra is placed back into the pitch black box, she waited for the girl.

The girl came.

“Don’t want.” Cassandra clung to her, reading the welcome and the sadness in the girl’s body. Cassandra tucked her face into the girl’s shoulder. She is cold. The girl is warm.

The girl hugged her back. The girl understood. Sadness hardened into lines of determination. Cassandra felt… light. Felt hope.

-

Cassandra slipped away from the place, water in her pack for the dessert and money to run from the country. The girl stayed behind, seeing her off. The girl tells her to never come back.

Cassandra did not want to leave the girl behind, but the girl could not go.

“Be free, Cass.” The girl had whispered through the pain. “For the both of us.”

——

Her grandfather knew. He allowed David Cain to break her, not kill because she was of use to him still, as a lesson. She found that she hated his lessons. But, she hated his attention more.

And still, she could not regret. How could she, when Cass trusted her with what fragile hope she had?

So, she lets him beat her, and provokes him with smirks and fearless eyes because the longer he’s focused on her, the more time Cass has to run.

Then, he gets too angry, and insults Ra’s, whose eyes grew cold. Her grandfather gestured and while she usually hated the command that followed that gesture, she could not feel that hatred now.

She got back up, legs broken and arms twisted once more, and attacked David Cain.

Ra’s would not follow Cass. Not when she was not his business to deal with, and not when David Carin’s fury amused him so.

David Cain would not follow Cass. Not while she still drew breath. The reincarnation stood, and threw herself at one of the best assassins of the century.

She tore his throat out with nothing but her teeth. She felt, for once, not like a monster. Not even when Ra’s nodded in approval and ordered for David Cain’s broken body to be cleaned up.

——

She’s been granted a mission in New Jersey, once her months of discipline- of torture- ended. She does not get ordered to find Cassandra. She’s fourteen now, and as silent as ever. Her mother had adjusted to her silence by then- long ago, actually, taking it as a quirk her daughter had developed. She hadn’t been a terribly vocal child, after all. Talia praised her for being useful even as a woman- the self degradation something the reincarnation had no doubt Ra’s had insidiously trained into Talia- and for being loyal to Ra’s.

Sometimes, she hates Talia for being- for-

Never mind. She couldn’t afford to hate anyone else.

She killed her targets early, determination and wistfulness urging her movements into sharp . Then, she made her way to Gotham and slipped into the city of darkness- where her father was.

She watched as he hid in the shadows almost as easily as she did. She watched as he flew and glided with the younger Robin. (He was younger than her by a year. She checked.) He was free. They were free.

She wished…

As she turned away, she saw a child tumbling from the edge of a roof. It was an instinct she’d thought Ra’s had managed to bury after the months he’d spent making sure she killed only children.

She hated him.

She caught him, swooping in and tucking him against her side as she plucked him from the air and plopped him back onto the crumbling roof of Gotham’s slums.

“Oh, thank you! So much- are you a vigilante?” The boy asked, looking at her masked face. It’s a good thing she wasn’t exactly dressed like a regular League operative.

She shook her head. Her eyes fell onto his camera, faint memories rising once more. She had an inkling-

“I’m- uh- Tim!” The boy introduced himself nervously, edging away from her silence. “Thank you for saving me…?”

She nodded. She pointed to the camera, tilting her head.

“Oh- you… want to see it?” He clutched his camera closer. Oh, he did have some sense of self preservation. She wondered why a seven year old was allowed to roam these streets… but she did worse at seven.

She held her hand up and back up. The boy hesitated, and then showed her the camera. “Uh- I took pictures of Robin and Batman!”

They sat on that roof for hours, and she let Tim Drake tell her stories about her father and his son. Ward. Son.

She could tell that Tim didn’t have anyone to listen to him.

She didn’t have long until she had to go back or risk severe punishment, but… she could make time for Tim, to listen to him.

She wondered if Cass managed to escape completely. She wondered if her sister all but in name and blood learned how to smile.

——

Tim had never had a friend before!

She listened to him! And gave him hugs the one time he was brave enough to ask! And she seemed to like Batman and Robin as much as he did! No one who didn’t like them would listen to his endless rambling otherwise, right? (Tim was super skinny, like ribs poking out skinny. He looked like a sickly Victorian child and he was kind of cold)

“And then, Robin went like this,” he pantomimed the awesome punch Dick Grayson did on a Joker goon. “And the guys got knocked out just like that!”

His new friend nodded, looking interested.

“Sorry, am I talking too much?” Tim asked anxiously. He didn’t want to make his friend hate him!

She shook her head, and gestured for him to continue.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

His new friend was so cool! She even taught him how to throw a punch and to fight!

——

When she had to leave, she prepared Tim for it.

“Do you have to go?”

She nodded and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair. Her other hand held a duffle bag with an assortment of weapons she carefully kept from him. (One of the blades still had guts on it, which, ew.)

“Try not to fall off anymore roofs, little photographer.” She said, smiling at his shocked look before leaping away.

“Wait, you can talk?!” He shouted at her back. She smiled a little wider.

——

“A son, this time.” Ra’s al Ghul’s voice echoed in his disgustingly flashy throne room. It rings of approval.

The reincarnation stood behind her mother, eyes cast downwards.

“Well done, Talia. I finally have a worthy heir.”

Damian al Ghul cooed.

The reincarnation was scared. But… she could not allow her younger brother to be trapped like she was. She’s fifteen now, a decade of slavery having worn her down and nearly broken her. But with her brother… no, she could not allow it.

She met her mother’s eyes and knew then that they agreed. Protect Damian, at all costs.

She ignored the sting of envy. So what her mother could not find it in herself to protect her daughter? So long as she protected Damian, it didn’t matter.

Maybe she didn’t matter. Maybe she wasn’t worth anything. Maybe- maybe- maybe.

She also ignored the seed of disgust she had for mother’s actions in conceiving Damian. She couldn’t do anything about it. Talia was also a victim.

A louder voice in her asked if she could really excuse that, when Talia had a choice and she chose to hurt and violate Bruce Wayne like that. She wondered if she could truly ever forgive Talia. She wondered if Bruce Wayne got therapy.

——

She stared at the tome in front of her, eyes blank. (Actually, she had no eyes. Like? Empty sockets, but then later she had eyes???)

The brand- the shackles- the chains could only be broken if Ra’s died. She wasn’t opposed to that. But if he died, so did she. She couldn’t even kill herself to get out, because the chains would be there even if she died. If she was revived- a high chance, thanks to the fucking pits- then the chains would still be there.

Perhaps… she could use the pits?

Her mind turned and turned.

——

“This is your ukht.” Her mother pointed at her. Damian stared up at her, and she melted. Her brother was too damn cute.

“Ukhti?”

She nodded as her mother smiled in joy. “Yes, habibi.”

She was better at hiding the pain, now. She was better at enduring it, too, that fucking burning feeling. She spoke more, but only to Damian.

It would not do for her brother to grow up not knowing how to receive verbal expressions of affection. Not like she did, in this life.

Still, it hurt to speak. But then, she had an idea, based on Cassandra.

She could not speak, but speaking wasn’t the only way of communication. She’ll teach Damian sign language- standard, as commanded- but also her own version. Yes, she could do it. It wouldn’t be hard.

She was a genius, after all, and creating languages wasn’t as hard as people seem to think.

——

Damian copied her, small fingers patting his hand four times.

She did it back to him. “I love you.” She tells him, with sounds and with motions.

He does it back, excitedly, because he had a secret with ukhti!

——

Sometimes, she dared not to touch Damian. She wants to ruffle his hair and give him hugs but the ichor on her hands reminds her to not get to greedy. She did not deserve it.

Not when her hands were stained with the lives of so many people.

——

Another mission.

She was twenty now, and not much closer to escaping her bonds. Though, once she hit her majority, Ra’s lost interest in her in that way. A blessing, even if she had to seduce his “business partners” into giving him better deals more often now.

She stops by Bludhaven. The Robin she watched so many years ago- six, by her count- had grown new wings and moved. She wanted to see if he could fly still.

He could. He flew as free- no, freer than his days as Robin.

She dipped away to complete her mission (nuclear weapon trading, really?) and swings back to see a spider trying to break the former Robin’s wings.

“No.” Nightwing whispered, staring upwards at the cloudy sky blankly. “Please, stop.”

She didn’t need to hear any more. She saw red, and dove feet first straight onto the spider’s head, knocking her out.

She picked up a near-catatonic Nightwing, and helped him to his apartment. She left Tarantula in the rain and felt zero guilt about it.

He changed mechanically, some kind of instinct keeping him from removing his domino, but it was a bit pointless considering she escorted him to his personal apartment.

She watched as Nightwing slipped into an exhausted sleep before leaving. She had a spider to squish, and traces to hide.

——

Dick wakes up, drained and exhausted. He… someone saved him.

He sees a scrawled note, handwriting impeccable enough to be a font, written with his pen. He picked it up from his table, and his eyes tiredly read the message.

“Don’t worry about Tarantula. Or your identity.”- A friend.

He remembered- the mask- the mask of the stranger that saved him vividly. He’d remember. And he’d thank them if they ever came back.

——

She was in charge of training assassins, these days. A year and a half later after Bludhaven, she was back in Nanda Parbat, and she’s devoured every magical tome she could get her hands on. They all say the same things.

Her assassins were trained well, and Ra’s praises her with more responsibilities as he followed the pit in his obsessions. Her mother began to splinter the group, not knowing that as Ra’s began his descent into madness, people looked towards her instead of Talia for leadership. They did not know that her unwavering presence by Ra’s side wasn’t voluntary but it is their true that she became his right hand out of pure skill. And flawless obedience, of course.

Then, someone new joins.

Someone with pit rage and empty eyes that goes rigid when she approaches.

Then again, most of the operatives freeze up when she walks towards them.

Her memories roar. A child.

He bowed, and her eyes followed the streak of white hair at the forefront of his skull.

She gestured at him to follow, and ignored the pitiful eyes the rest of the assassins gave to the kid- they act like her training was hard when she went easy on them (it was)- and led the kid towards the training rooms.

She knew who he was, even if her grandfather and mother didn’t think she knew.

Her… Bruce Wayne would probably appreciate his son being returned relatively sane.

But first, she had to beat the Pit out of him. Then, she could assign body guarding duties to him, in an attempt to protect him.

——

“Grandfather, I will take Damian’s punishment.”

“A whipping girl, granddaughter?” But he nodded anyways. He made Damian watch.

She kneeled and allowed the punishment. She couldn’t always protect him from Ra’s, but this she could do anytime. It’s not like she was unfamiliar with the torture. (The whip had barbs. Rusty. And they sprinkled salt.)

——

“I liked poetry….” Jason Todd tells her after a training session. “I think.”

“Sure. I’ll call you Grave, then.” Pain. But she was used to it.

He tilted his head, eyes going blank once more. She sighed. There went his memories again. (His eyes were blank and glazed. Like looking at someone you love and knowing they’re looking through you.)

——

“I would not trust her,” she says to the air, next to a Red Hood emerging from Talia al Ghul’s chambers. She could see it, the beginnings of Gotham’s new crime lord. But still, “Talia al Ghul is known for her lies.”

She pushed away from the wall. It was up to Grave if he listened. It was out of her hands now.

——

She’s twenty-five, and she’s helping Damian pack for his first meeting with Bruce Wayne.

“You must not tell him about me.” Because he’d come rushing here, and she had worked too hard to save Damian for her fool of a father to come and ruin all of that effort.

“I promise.” Her little brother said solemnly. Ukhti said it out loud, which meant it was important and she expected him to keep that promise.

The only other time he’d heard her speak was to tell him she loved him.

The reincarnation smiled and told him through their special sign language, to treat the current Robin with respect and to try his best to get the current Robin to pass down his title.

‘Robin is earned. They have different rules, over there. Try your best to learn those rules.’

Her brother was sheltered. She loved him, but he was spoilt and sheltered. Of course she was worried. Talia barely mothered him.

“I know. You do not have to remind me so often, ukhti.”

She smiled, and patted his head.

“Be safe,” she whispered. “I will miss you.”

Damian darted in for a hug. “Of course. Goodbye, sister. See you soon.”

She hoped not. It was hard enough to convince Ra’s that Damian would learn more under Bruce Wayne.

(She was locked in a small closet- like Cass- for about a week, because she brought up the idea first.)

——

She found it.

The answer to pit rage laid in an old, all but crumbling tome from Atlantis- answers “from a ghost.”

——

Bruce Wayne died. Months after Damian came to live with him. That- irritating- she sighed and worked with her mother to turn Ra’s al Ghul’s attention away from Gotham, lest he called Damian back in Bruce Wayne’s absence.

The little photographer caught grandfather’s attention. She stood vigil as he played chess with Ra’s. His interest in Damian wavered. Anticipation blurred in her veins.

She saved his friends. Her assassins. She let them go, telling them to wait for the little photographer’s plan. (Y’all miss girl had fucking bloody handprints on her pants like someone tried to grab it.)

The first few people who had an inking she might not be loyal to Ra’s… and it was them.

When her other assassins attacked Red Robin, she cut them down before they could touch him, helping him with a furious League of Spiders or whatever operative. She hated spiders.

“What…?”

“You’re a lot of trouble, little photographer.” She sighed. His jaw dropped.

“It’s you!”

“Go,” she cut him off. “Blow this place up. I left a surprise for you outside.”

——

“Owens?! Z?!” Tim trembled, exhaustion and shock and wonder hitting him at once.

“Heya, boss!” Z chirped. Owens helped Tim up while Z helped Tam. Pry walked around them, looking out for further threats. “The nightmare trainer let us go. She knew you, I think.”

Tim smiles, all shark teeth and zero hero. (In the background, the song zero to hero from Hercules 2, played in reverse.) “Tell me more.”

——

Damian grunted, bracing himself for the magical creature’s attack.

“Robin!” His father barked out, panicked. Damian hoped he’d survive-

Shhhlk!

He looked up and there stood his ukht. She bounded forwards, using the odd fauna of the magical plane to bolster her movements as she sliced the creatures apart with her swords, magic humming brightly as she cut through them… and the magicians attacking them.

“What- what are you doing here?” He asked. She greeted him, three fingers curled over her shoulder.

‘My question is,’ she signed. ‘Why were you here without a magical weapon.’

Damian sighed as father stepped in between them.

“Who are you.”

“Batman. Cease your excessive worry. I trust her with my life,” Damian snapped. He stepped around a shocked Batman, looked him in the eyes, and unsheathed his katana. He handed it over to his ukht, who took it with amusement.

‘See?’ His eyes seemed to say. Father tensed when his sister unsheathed her own blade and handed it to him.

‘Are you here for a specific reason?’ His sister signed to him.

“Uh, you gonna introduce us, little man?”

Damian sent the Flash a derisive look and ignored him.

“We’re looking for a magician. He set a squadron of demons loose into D.C. last night. He has a tower.” Damian added.

“Robin,” Father growled. “Who is this.” Damian shot him a look and turned back to his sister.

The reincarnation tilted her head. ‘Tower… it’ll have to be that way.’

“Could you take us there?” Damian asked. Truthfully, he could find the way himself. But he wanted more time around his ukht. She nodded and Damian straightened.

“I feel like we should be concerned that Robin’s friend just murdered a bunch of people.”

His sister glanced back and ignored them.

“Silence, incompetents. Speak another word against her, and Batman’s no killing rule will be applied creatively.” He hissed. (The fucking surroundings hissed with him y’all what the fuck)

He turned when his sister ruffled his hair (Superman muttered a super shocked “what the fuck.”) and Damian allowed it. He had missed his sister.

——

[stunies]

KINKTOBER DAY 29 — DUBCON. dabi x f!hero!reader ﾉ nsfw + dark content warning ﾉ return to masterlist & view tag list

what happens when your curiosity takes you to the league of villains’ hideout? luckily enough, there’s only one of them there to greet you— and the world seems kind enough to let you off with a sweet deal. fuck him just once to guarantee his silence, or so you thought.

contains ﾉ tw dark content: dubcon- very heavy dubcon to be safe, mentions of murder, brief mention of being his pet, fear play, reader has a support quirk that is not fit for fighting alone, forced orgasm, temperature play- kind of, hints of manipulation ﾉ corruption

The day you held your hero ID in your hands for the very first time also happened to be your first instance of being told to stay far away from the League of Villains.

You only vaguely remember the reasoning being that they were too dangerous for a support like yourself (especially one with zero experience under their belt) along with another thing that went in one ear and straight out the other.

A part of you has always wondered why the heroes you worked under had gone through so much trouble to ensure you stay back. Keep you hidden from the spotlight, perhaps- because how could you improve if you were always being protected? It was frustrating to see everyone besides yourself on the news.

Ironically, it’s the same reason why you’ve never been faced with the realization of how weak you really are until your head is being pressed into a table, arms easily held tight behind your back- and an infamous villain right behind you. A real one.

Not a simulation today- not one monitor in sight.

“Shigaraki would have loved to meet you,” his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel danger- a concept someone like you is entirely unfamiliar with. “He’s always had a thing for types like you.”

He pushes back inside- this time slowly, as if trying to brand the moment deep into your mind, and you only manage to weakly whimper when his hands tighten around your wrists, the heat emitting from his body acting as a cruel reminder that he has the power to kill- and you don’t.

“N-no,” the desperation in your voice is painfully obvious, “not him, okay? That wasn’t part of the deal..!” You can feel your heart pounding against your chest at the thought of meeting this man’s leader, breathing short and labored as different images flash across your mind as to what being ‘his type’ would imply.

You feel him throb inside you, and a whimper slips out.

“Ah, of course,” his hands land on your hips before he holds you still, letting himself push deeper inside you until you’re stuffed to brim- full of him. “I just wonder about what would happen to that fragile body of yours.”

“Just think about it…”

You think your body definitely shouldn’t be reacting like this. Underneath the trembling and shivering- your cunt flutters around him. Eagerly and hungrily, as if it’s been waiting for someone like him for years.

“Or… actually, how about this, hero?” He grunts- rougher now, pace picking up enough to make you gasp and lock up underneath him. “Forget the deal. Pay me a visit every week, and the League will never hear about you. How about it?”

“B-but—” You halt as soon as you feel his palms heat up against your skin.

“We both know that muscle-head would have a field day with you.” You feel a cold bead of sweat roll down your temples, clammy hands struggling to keep your grip on the table. Your whole body feels numb- disobedient, but he feels good.

Too good for you to register exactly why your core suddenly feels so tight at the suggestion. “And if I remember, Compress likes types like you too. That guy’s got a mean streak,” Dabi leans to press his chest against yours- cold staples making you gasp, and he whispers against your neck, “he’d break you, you know.”

Your eyes widen- knees locking up, and your heartbeat rises to pound in your ears. “P-please— please slow down—”

He ignores you, only giving you a laugh in response. “What a pitiful state you’d be in. Think about it. I’ve been pretty nice, haven’t I?”

“W-wait!” You’re desperate now, reaching back to push at his hips and rising onto your toes to escape him. “I feel— feel weird—”

Something inside him seems to snap at this. You’re yelping as soon as your head is back on the table the next second- big hand roughly pushing you down and you sob. “What a hero you are,” he’s laughing loudly now, “cumming and crying on some League dick. Where are those pathetic bodyguards of yours now?”

You open your mouth to protest, but he moves to clamp his palm over it- roughly pulling you back in one swift motion until you’re flush against his chest. “Those ones drooling over you? How about I just kill them so you don’t have anywhere left to go? I’ll take you in as my pet,” you feel him smile against your neck- sick and twisted, and your cunt only clenches in response. “Be a good little hero and cum if you agree.”

Your eyes shoot open the same time he slams against a deep part inside you, body betraying every single shred of morality you have left when you cum, hard. It takes you by force, leaving no chance for it to go unnoticed by him when you’re clenching, shaking, and dripping underneath him like this. He has the heart to let go of you, let your weak body collapse onto the table beneath you as your chest heaves up and down for air, tears brimming your eyes and he only throbs inside you once more, hungry for more.

“Then it’s a deal.” His hands run up your sides, content with the way you shiver and lean into his touch. “A good choice, hero.”

dividers by @adornedwithlight

[inbarfink]

Thinking about the kinda blurry lines between Simon Petrikov and the Ice King’s identities again. Because I feel like the Winter King really is a fascinating case study of just how complex the situation can be.

Because the Winter King is a Simon/Ice King who found a way to get rid of the Madness and Sadness of the Crown by forcing it into someone else while keeping all the Magic to himself. And by doing so he regained some sense of his old Simon Petrikov identity - but at the same time he became an irrevocably different person.

Because the Madness and Sadness of the Magic Crown don’t work, like, totally separate from Simon’s brain, I think. Like, the whispers of the secrets of the ice and snow are probably entirely from the Crown. But then there’s the most iconic expression of Ice King’s Madness - the Princess Kidnappings. 

Simon might’ve described the Candy Queen as having the Crown’s Madness projected into her. But romantic obsession and kidnappings have been established as a mad reflection of Simon’s psyche ever since the episode that first established Simon's existence.

So it’s not just the Magic Crown’s Madness projected into Peebles. Candy Queen’s behavior is probably not indicative of, like, how PB would act if she put on the Crown herself. It’s specifically Simon Petrikov’s brand of Madness and Sadness that has been shoved into her head. 

And losing Betty will always make Simon very Sad and maybe a little bit Mad, the thing the Crown did was exaggerate and twist these emotions until he’s kidnapping sapient blobs of slime in hope they’ll marry him. You can’t fully separate Ice King’s mad obsession with princesses from Simon’s love for Betty. So it’s no wonder that when the Winter King artificially rid himself of one, he also lost the other.

And in general, so much of Ice King's Madness and Sadness was fueled by Simon's loves and his regrets - and so when they are truly wiped away, we are left with a very happy and very sane Simon who is utterly callous, cruel and selfish. One who has lost so much of what made him Simon Petrikov in the first place, maybe even more than he ever did as Ice King.

The Magic Crown drove Simon crazy, that’s true. But the particular way he turned crazy was based on his specific psyche and personality. And so Ice King always had that little hint of Simon hidden in him and now, no matter how ‘normal’ and ‘sane’ he is - Simon will always have a bit of Ice King in it. And without it… well, he won’t be much of the Simon we know and love.

[starleska]

i think ‘Big’ Jack Horner is Disney, and here’s why

many of us have had the pleasure of seeing the incredible Puss in Boots: The Last Wish by now, and were blown away by its clever writing, enchanting animation and emotional character arcs. yet there is one character who booted the trend of having a reason for his behaviour, and outright refused to experience any growth whatsoever.

let’s talk about ‘Big’ Jack Horner, and why i think he’s supposed to represent Disney:

‘Big’ Jack Horner isn’t just an antagonist in The Last Wish - he’s a villain. a self-obsessed, exploitative, murderous, petty, cruel bastard of a man whose awful behaviour isn’t just motivated by personal slights or childhood trauma: he sincerely enjoys hurting other people. whether it’s cheating his goons (’The Serpent Sisters’) out of a fair payment for their services or being excited about shooting a puppy in the face, there’s no denying that Jack delights in causing others pain and suffering. but what does he have to do with Disney?

let’s answer that question with another question: do you think that Jack, when placed next to the other antagonists - Goldi, The Three Bears, even Death - sticks out like a sore, plum-coloured thumb?

of course he does! but why? well, let’s look at Jack on a surface level. Jack is a monolith of a human being. not only is he physically huge and intimidating, he is the inheritor of an enormous pastry fortune and operates in the manner of a mob boss, with countless resources and a whole variety of powerful magical items at his disposal. indeed, Jack employs a crack team of bakers/assassins called ‘The Baker’s Dozen’ to carry out many of his tasks. although Jack does harm others himself, it is because of these resources - including the people who work for him - that he is able to bypass many of the obstacles faced by our protagonists in an honest and character-developing way (e.g., the Pocket Full O’Posies in The Dark Forest). Jack doesn’t need to have a character arc the way the other characters do, because he is so wealthy and owns so much.

but Jack’s reason for owning so much and being obsessed with magic and magical items isn’t through intellectual curiosity, or a traumatic backstory where he needed to learn how to wield magic. do you know what Jack’s covert motivation for owning all of the magic in the world is?

it’s money.

when we get the flashback of Jack’s childhood, dancing for the entertainment of an audience using his nursery rhyme, we see him becoming jealous of Pinocchio - and we see Gepetto in the back, absolutely raking in the cash. if we consider this flashback as that crucial moment within which Jack decided to become what he is today - and the presence of our off-brand Jiminy Cricket inclines us to think so - then we can understand that Jack decided that from that moment forward, he would own all of the magic. 

let’s go back to The Baker’s Dozen for a moment. this team of highly-competent, multidisciplinary artisans do everything for Jack, whether it’s baking the pies which make him rich, or laying down their lives at his service. we aren’t given an in-universe reason for why they do this. yes, Jack is feared, but he is still the subject of mockery due to his humble beginnings as a nursery rhyme character. it certainly isn’t due to being treated or paid well. however, if we view the Baker’s Dozen as a metaphor for overworked, exploited artists whose views are routinely dismissed by the money-hungry, powerful corporation who owns their craft...things start to add up, don’t they? considering historic allegations of worker abuse at the hands of Disney, having Jack Horner literally step on their spines and encourage them to flex takes on a whole different meaning. 

it doesn’t end there. do you recognise the items that Jack pulls out of his Mary Poppins bag when his Baker’s Dozen are being destroyed by the Pocket Full O’Posies - the items that he calls ‘the big guns’? it’s the broomstick from Fantasia, the spinning wheel from Sleeping Beauty, the size snacks from Alice in Wonderland, and a knock-off Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio - all references to some of Disney’s earliest and most famous films.

still don’t believe me? well, let’s recap more of the items Jack has in his repertoire:

a hook-hand (referencing Captain Hook in Peter Pan)

a trident (referencing King Triton in The Little Mermaid)

poison apple bombs (referencing The Evil Queen in Snow White)

a glass slipper (again referencing Cinderella)

remember what happens when the knock-off Jiminy Cricket (interesting that there are so many Pinocchio references specifically, huh?) is horrified that Jack is losing so many men? Jack says he isn’t worried about losing the manpower, because he has a bottomless bag full of magical weapons. Jack literally gets his power off of the backs of his workers. sounds a lot like a big company justifying worker layoffs and exploitation because they have so many properties and are too big to fail, doesn’t it? 

hell, Jack doesn’t even know what half of these items do! when he’s using the unicorn horns as ammo, he is surprised that they cause people to explode in a shower of confetti. viewing Jack through this lens, it’s difficult not to think about enormous corporations gobbling up properties and churning out content with little to no regard for their artists (looking back at The Baker’s Dozen - some of whom do perish in the fight with the unicorn horns) or what the properties are about. we haven’t even touched on Jack coveting the Wishing Star, a recurring motif in countless Disney movies as representing magic, dreams, and boundless creativity. 

now, i hear you saying, ‘but Star! why would DreamWorks bother writing their bad guy as a metaphor for Disney?’ believe it or not, this isn’t the first time that DreamWorks have done this. in case you didn’t know, Lord Farquaad is a caricature of Michael Eisner, former chairman and CEO of The Walt Disney Company. the production of Shrek was actually quite troubled; animators who were perceived as having failed on other projects were ‘Shreked’, or sent to work on Shrek, instead of working on other (presumed to be more lucrative) films. of course, DreamWorks was co-founded by previous Disney CEO Jeffrey Katzenberg, hence the animosity towards Disney and its works evident in the Shrek franchise. this is what formed the story of Shrek: an ugly, crude outsider character taking on the clean-cut moralising of a dictator hell-bent on a so-called ‘perfect’ world, all created against the creative backdrop of a painful separation from Disney and a great deal of pent-up rage. 

the irreverent, crass and sometimes adult humour of Shrek was a middle finger to Disney’s high-censorship control on animation. this is why Lord Farquaad (which you may have noticed sounds a bit like ‘Fuckwad’) is so obsessed with Duloc being ‘perfect’, and why he couldn’t stand the freedom of the fairy tale creatures who are the heroes of the first Shrek movie.

in fact, this kind of meta-commentary permeates the Shrek franchise: 

The Fairy Godmother from Shrek 2, despite being a fairy tale creature herself, is highly prejudiced against characters who break out of their perceived social norms: i.e., Shrek marrying Princess Fiona and getting his Happily Ever After. she is an expansion of the control left over by Lord Farquaad, and rich because of her monopolisation of fairy tale creatures and their stories. 

Prince Charming in Shrek the Third fails miserably to capitalise on these themes, but we’ll get back to him! 

Rumpelstiltskin from Shrek Forever After tackles the gluttony of franchise reboots, and how soulless and rooted in corporate greed attempts to reboot often are. whilst not necessarily Disney-specific, Shrek Forever After follows the box office bomb that was Shrek the Third: a movie which noticeably fails to write a compelling narrative approaching any of the themes of the previous two films. the writers learned from their mistakes and wrote a movie which satirised their own selling-out of the franchise, becoming hollow and unnecessary and ‘perfect’ - the very thing they were making fun of in the earlier Shrek films.

there is one more area i’d like to touch on: Jack Horner’s source material. we know that Little Jack Horner is quite obscure: an 18th-century English nursery rhyme involving a boy who pulls a plum out of a pie with his thumb, and congratulates himself for his fortitude. but did you know that from its earliest conception, Little Jack Horner was associated with foolishness and dishonesty?

it’s true: the simple yet inexplicable nature of the poem was lambasted for being infantile, and quickly became the subject of revision, moralisation, and even political satire. it is no mistake that to ‘be under one’s thumb’ (as many of the characters in The Last Wish are to Jack, both literally and figuratively) means to be under one’s decisive control. the choice of Jack Horner for the villain of The Last Wish is a clever one, because we could easily have ended up with a sympathetic Jack, whose ostracisation as ‘not even a fairy tale’ may have led to a justifiable motive, even for his specific brand of cruelty. but instead, the writers of The Last Wish have gone one step further; they’ve transformed a source affiliated with idiocy and deception into a metaphor for a global multimedia conglomerate...all while portraying him as simultaneously terrifying, powerful, and ridiculous. 

it has been over a decade since Shrek Forever After was released, and Disney has changed dramatically in that time. a global giant, Disney now owns more enormous money-making properties than ever thought possible, and consistently capitalises on nostalgia for its early properties to make more money and accumulate power. since breaking out of its exclusive licensing agreement with Disney in 2016, DreamWorks has had no official connection to Disney, making the ground for mockery and satirisation of the company which spawned the studio all the more fertile. ‘Big’ Jack Horner is not just a glamorous return to form for the dreadful, unapologetically evil villain which Disney has eschewed in modern times - he’s a hulking, egocentric monster whose avarice rivals that only of the corporation he’s inspired by. 

and those are my thoughts on ‘Big’ Jack Horner! of course this is by no means the definitive interpretation - we should all just have fun with the movie and come up with whatever theories we like 🥰💖 i’d love to hear your thoughts on him and The Last Wish in general - he’s definitely one of my favourite bad guys to be released in the past few years!

thanks so much for reading, and have yourselves a wonderful day 🥰

[lossisyours]

i think part of what makes blair waldorf such an exceptionally written character (at least at the beginning) is that there's endless layers to her. she's the casually cruel bully who pressures teenagers to drink and thrives off of control, manipulation, and winning. she's the girl who just wants her mom to love her. she's the girl whose father loved a male model more than he did her, because he broke their family and moved to a different country from her. she's the girl who needs to be useful and productive and has made it her identity. she's the girl who wants her first time to be special, who rewatches the same audrey hepburn movies, who wants her life to be a fairytale. the same girl who lost her virginity in the back of a limo - who enjoys raunchy sex, but only had it because a boy who isn't nice to anyone else was nice to her. the girl who just wants to be seen. the one who will do anything to be seen, who doesn't know how to handle not being seen, who doesn't know (and doesn't like, can't stand, won't tolerate) who blair is if she isn't The Blair Waldorf™. her mom raised her as a mannequin; she never forgets the necessity of her brand.

[neptuneiris]

Cruel Summer (02/10)

Paradise Beach

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader

summary: after a bad day at work, you head to the beach of your dreams, where an unexpected encounter occurs with a person who is too well known in the city and very rich.

words: 7.7k

previous part • next chapter • series masterlist

omg i can't believe how much you guys liked the first part! i really thought the story wouldn't get so much support (especially since i haven't finished CYPTBIL👀) but you guys again surprised me🤗 i'm very inspired with this story so i'm very happy for all the support, so enjoy this new chapter and look forward to the others!🙌🏻

thank you for reading!

warnings: none in this chapter.

You hate to see the beach dirty.

You've always had a problem with people who leave all their trash on the beach without any remorse and in full view of everyone. Many people will be embarrassed to confront them and create a fuss, but you... you defend the beach.

The first community program you see that brings people together to clean up the beach to better help the ecosystem, you're the first to sign up.

And that's the bad thing about living in Black Waves.

The beaches are not the best kept. There is dirt everywhere, the smell is horrible and really very few people make an effort to keep the beaches on this side clean.

The complete opposite on the beaches of Crown's.

This is mainly why you want to make a difference, to have clean and beautiful beaches despite the 'status' that the rich label you in the worst way.

You've seen their beaches and they are very well kept, that's true. It was clear to you when you went to that party last night and saw the white sand.

Obviously the rich people pay people for maintenance, whether they are poor people or whatever, but your people can't afford that, so they either clean it themselves or they just don't do it.

Pretty much the same goes for restaurants and venues of any kind.

Certainly the restaurant you work for is on a beachfront terrace in a luxurious and exclusive part of Crown's, the same goes for most of the restaurants in this area.

But in Black Waves the restaurants are less sophisticated, the food is fast, some are wood-framed, and there are no more than four people working there.

The places to buy clothes or basic necessities are the same, even a grocery store is inside the same house of the owners, while the rich have a huge shopping mall with brand name clothing stores, accessories, libraries, coffee shops and more refined restaurants.

They also have on their side of town large supermarkets where every fruit, vegetable or meat is triple the price of what they sell it on your side of town.

The prices are also different, clearly.

In Black Waves the dishes sold in the restaurants are affordable, while here a seafood dish costs fifty dollars.

And today especially your boss is in a bad mood, like every day, but today more so.

"Hey."

Alysanne whispers to you from the other side of the bar as you finish cleaning one of the tables and watch her almost instantly, where she takes care that your boss doesn't see you both talking.

"Daniel has texted me, he says Cregan is taking us to another one of his parties tonight," she lets you know with the clear excitement all over her contained face, "They say it's going to be great and maybe Cregan can take us up on his parents' yacht."

You let out a sigh and like her, you check to make sure Mr. Frey doesn't catch you talking in mid-shift.

"Tonight?"

"Yes," she says without removing her excitement.

"We're working double shifts today, Anne," you tell her without encouragement.

"Oh come on. We can't miss the opportunity to spend the party on a fucking yacht," she whispers excitedly to you.

"My feet are already hurting and it's not even four in the afternoon," you point out to her.

She gives you a bad look.

"Y/N," she tells you reproachfully.

"Depends on how the day goes."

"Are you serious? We must—

"You two!"

Mr. Frey's voice immediately catches your attention and Alysanne's, where you notice him already watching you both with a scowl on his face and clearly furious.

"Did I pay you to chat or to work!?"

The two of you exchange a glance and immediately turn away from each other, each returning to their respective tasks. But of course, it not only draws the attention of the two of you, but also that of some customers, and the two of you endure the humiliation of being scolded in public.

"You'd better move and I'd better not see you two chatting again or I'll pay you exactly what you deserve or send you back to your side of town."

You almost want to laugh in his face, but like any educated woman and again out of necessity, you keep quiet, as does Alysanne, but the looks you both exchange say it all.

You would like to tell him that because of the mistreatment and this kind of humiliation in public, the two of you and the other workers should be paid more, especially because you have to deal with a boss like him, but neither you nor anyone else says anything and continue working.

And precisely because you were talking to Alysanne for only a brief moment, Mr. Frey takes advantage and overloads you both with too much work for the remainder of the shift.

And that's why you definitely decide not to go to any party.

Your feet hurt, you are urged to take a bath, eat and lie in your bed, however, you are surprised to see how Alysanne has way too much energy for the hell you both had to go through and as she talk to the guys by text, the more excited she gets about going to Cregan's party.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Alysanne asks you as she finishes getting ready, looking at you through the full-length mirror.

"Honestly I'd rather go to the beach to relax instead of being surrounded with music, the smell of beer, weed and teenagers getting drunk."

She gives you an amused look.

"And why don't you do that?"

"I don't have a ride and it's too late to walk."

"Cregan is coming to pick me up in his car along with the others, I'm sure he can give you a ride if you ask him."

You give her a curious and unsure look.

"Do you think he'll accept?"

"We're going to the same side of town, he'll be passing through," she nods with a nonchalant gesture.

At least you don't have to get too dressed up and you won't get tired, so you trust Alysanne and start getting ready too. Not too much like her but to look presentable.

As time goes by Cregan finally arrives with the boys making a huge fuss, excited about the party tonight. Alysanne tells them to shut up and they are lucky that your uncle and aunt haven't complained about them yet.

You give Cregan directions after asking him to please give you a ride and pretty soon everyone is inside of Crown's.

"Wait, you're not coming with us?" Sam asks you confused.

You shake your head.

"Why not?"

"I'm too tired for a party."

Chase gives you a knowing look.

"I can't believe in all this time you haven't been caught."

"It's not like I'm doing anything wrong either," you shrug.

"But the rich hate us and I bet you they'll make a huge fuss if they catch you."

"Yeah, who knows, maybe a trespass sue," Daniel agrees.

"Even knowing you don't have the money to pay for it," Chase tells you.

"Trespassing?" you repeat between amused and incredulous, "Going to sit on the edge of the beach is trespassing? Do you even know what trespassing is?"

"In any case, the rich won't like it if you get caught," Sam says making a nonchalant gesture.

You decide not to take it any further and finally arrive at your destination point, where you get out and walk over to the side of the pilot's window to see Cregan.

"Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," he smiles at you, "But the guys are right. If the owners find out about you, you can get in big trouble."

"I've been doing this for almost a year," you let him know, "I'm very sneaky."

He shakes his head with an amused smile.

"Just be careful. We'll come get you when you tell us."

"Okay," you nod, "Thanks, Cregan."

"Take care," Alysanne says to you from the passenger seat.

"Sure."

"And if the rich see you, get in the ocean and swim to the party, we'll help you there," Daniel tells you too.

You give him a look and and a not entirely convinced smile.

"Yeah, sure, very helpful."

You finally start to walk away from them as they continue to yell at you to take care of yourself, to call them in case of anything and so on, until Cregan starts up and his car begins to disappear into the distance.

And then you take action.

You look around, quickly assessing the area, making sure there are no people nearby to see you, but surprisingly this whole luxurious area of Crown's is quiet.

The only movement you notice is several cars passing by, but other than that, there are no monkeys on the shore.

There is a wall in front of you that marks the line between this private neighborhood and the houses in the same neighborhood that are even more private, since they have a huge front yard and a huge part of the beach exclusively for them.

The wall is not high, fortunately, you think it should be, but this is compensated by security guards who patrol this area and the beach from time to time.

So stealthily and in a calculated manner, once you make sure that there are no people nearby, you hide among the bushes and trees that are planted in the corner of the sidewalk to put your foot on a specific crack that you know of the wall and push yourself upward taking the edge of the wall with both hands to be able to observe the other side.

You quickly scan the entire area, making sure there are no guards patrolling nearby nor any of the people who live in the houses before jumping.

The meters of distance are considerable between the huge houses or rather mansions. There is pavement between the divisions and those divisions are exactly the way to the beach.

You put on the cap of the sweatshirt you are wearing to cover your hair and your face, since you know that all the houses must have security cameras outside, so this way you protect yourself in case of anything.

And once you make sure that there is no one outside or nearby, you gain impulse again with more strength and as fast as your feet allow you but still being careful, you place your hands on the rough edge of the wall and start to climb.

You adjust your grip more firmly on the edge and in one agile motion, you propel yourself upwards, where you feel the effort as you pull your own weight and more as you try to be fast.

Luckily you've done this many times before and when you reach the top, wasting no time and making sure no one is watching you, you quickly slide down the other side and you fall on your feet with a dry sound.

You don't take the time to rest and looking around, with adrenaline running through your veins and your heart beating too fast, you quickly advance towards the beach.

And once you are far enough away from where you managed to cross and indeed you confirm that no one saw you and everything is fine, again, you can relax.

You remove the cap from your head and let your hair free again, slowly feeling how the breeze and the wind with the salty air envelop you completely as you approach the seashore.

Easily anyone who lives here if they see you could tell that you live here too, besides the night also helps you because without so much light they can't recognize you right away.

And it is as if you are also a rich person, daughter of rich parents, being inside a private section of the beach in Crown's most exclusive area.

And as you go along, this is precisely why you take the risk of coming to this place when it is forbidden to you; the place and the view.

The sand here is perfect, clean as if no one had ever walked on it, the air is salty with no smell of anything unpleasant in specific, there are no people that could be dangerous around you and the surroundings are absolutely beautiful and clean.

Also this section has a cliff a bit secluded from all the houses, where its huge rocky wall looks absolutely beautiful and ethereal when illuminated by the night light.

You have come here many, many times and you always head to the same place, that specific pier.

The pier stretches out in front of you like a polished wooden path, leading into the deep waters of the night ocean.

Discreetly placed lights along the pier illuminate it with a soft golden glow, creating a contrast to the darkness surrounding the horizon.

The reflection of the small lamps trembles on the surface of the water, giving the place a magical and mysterious air.

The structure is impeccable, made of dark, sturdy wood, maintained with a care that only the rich can afford. There is not a single splinter out of place, not even an ill-fitting clove.

Every detail is taken care of, right down to the polished wooden benches at the end of the pier, ideal for sitting and admiring the sea in silence.

As you approach, the wooden planks creak softly under your feet, but the sound mixes with the gentle murmur of the waves, making it almost imperceptible.

And when you reach the end, you can see a large yacht moored at the side of the dock, with it's deluxe cover and it's name painted in gold and silver lettering.

You have no idea which rich family it might belong to, but you know this is just one of many they must have. It wasn't here the last time you came here and fortunately it doesn't obstruct the view.

You take a seat on the wooden bench and letting out a big breath, you watch as the full moon reflects off the ocean, it's silvery sparkles dancing on the water in hypnotic movements.

This is why you love coming here, even in this way, because the fresh, salty night air fills your lungs with every inhalation.

And just for an instant, you feel freer than ever in this space that is not supposed to belong to you.

Besides you not only enjoy seeing the moon, but also the stars, shining brightly and adorning the entire night sky. And you can rest easy, because there is no danger on this side of town.

You've been enduring a lot at work lately, taking a lot of strain on your shoulders from double shifts and stressing over the slightest thing, but coming here and being here gives you that much needed quiet time.

And only this place can offer you that; peace and tranquility.

You don't know exactly how much time passes but you find yourself in the same position, not getting bored and enjoying the view, wishing time would freeze so you could continue to enjoy this without worries.

You think that Alysanne and the guys must be having fun too, but for tonight this is all the fun you need.

Suddenly your phone vibrates next to you and the screen lights up as a new notification comes in. You casually pick it up and see a new message, and it's from Alysanne.

It's a selfie of her with the guys, all happy, laughing, smiling, beer bottles in hand and with the sea and yachts in the background completing the scene.

You let out a small laugh as you see Sam's euphoric face, Daniel and Chase's funny faces, and Cregan and Alysanne's smiling faces.

"Excuse me?"

Your whole body reacts and jumps instantly from shock and you look quickly and sharply behind you with all the panic on your face, definitely not expecting what you see.

Aemond Targaryen.

Shit.

It's the first thing that comes to your mind as you quickly jump to your feet, your heart beating too fast and your hands starting to shake.

That's when you know that the moment has finally come where you're caught and you're in big trouble.

Aemond watches you with a serious and attentive face, analyzing you completely. And you feel completely small when his eyes look at you with confusion and distrust, but challenging.

He clearly has no idea what are you doing here and maintains a defensive posture.

And you definitely feel like a thief who's just been caught in the act.

"What are you doing here?"

Oh God.

You think in terror.

How come you didn't hear him coming? The boards creak with the weight when someone walks and you couldn't hear anything?

You think that you should have been more attentive, that you shouldn't have let your guard down, because it's not possible that you really were so distracted and in your own world that you didn't hear him coming. 

But with him already here, watching you in a bad way, looking cold and suspicious, that you don't have time to scold yourself or think about it.

"I-I..." you stammer, in a shaky voice, not having the slightest idea what to say, very nervous and scared.

All you can feel is a lump in your throat, an irregular throbbing in your chest and the overwhelming weight of his gaze on you.

He doesn't look away and his serious face doesn't change, clearly waiting for an answer.

As you watch him examine you, you watch as he runs his gaze up and down you, trying to decipher who you are. And it doesn't take him long to come to an obvious conclusion, because he instantly knows that you are not like him.  

By your clothes and your old sandals, everything about you gives away that you don't belong here. Besides, he doesn't recognize you from among the other Crown's families to be able to say that you belong to one of them.

He knows you're not from around here.

"I asked you a question," he demands you in a bad way and with a harsher tone, walking towards you, "What are you doing here?"

You feel a shiver run down your back as you swallow hard, but the words just won't come out.

You're paralyzed, terrified, stuck, because you have no idea what to say and you're still processing that this is really happening. 

You know you don't have any good excuses and he's impatient, waiting for an answer that really won't be convincing to be the truth.

"I will call security for invasion of private property," he warns you firmly, clearly beginning to lose patience.

The danger in his words makes the fear hit you even harder and you finally react in panic.       

"No, no, please," you finally manage to say, worried and raising one of your hands to him in supplication, "I-I… I'm not doing anything wrong, I swear," you raise both hands in surrender, trembling.

He inspects you more closely with a piercing gaze, trying to find something, anything, to tell him what you are really doing here or what you are trying to do, watching between you and his family's yacht anchored to the dock.

His posture remains tense, ready to act if he finds anything out of place. 

He thinks that maybe you are doing something with the yacht, but he sees it in perfect condition, with nothing strange and nothing out of the ordinary, as the rope that ties it to the dock is without problems.

But he still continues to watch you seriously, defensively and suspiciously.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath, lowering your gaze, embarrassed and terrified, "This has never happened before," you say, reproaching yourself for the mess you've gotten yourself into.

But he hears you perfectly, and his frown deepens.

"Before?" he queries you.      

You close your eyes tightly, cursing yourself internally for having said that, to again look at him pleadingly and in desperation wanting to prove to him that you really aren't doing anything wrong.

"I swear I—

"Hello!?"

The unexpected voice makes you jump again from surprise and you watch with your eyes wide open behind Aemond as one of the security guards enters the dock, his flashlight illuminating the way.

Your heart beats with such force that it seems to thunder in your ears, as panic engulfs you completely. 

And without thinking too much, you move quickly, hiding behind a huge wooden box, taking advantage of the pole supporting the roof at the end of the pier and some scattered chairs. 

You crouch down, trying to make yourself as small as possible, but desperation gives you away with every move.

This definitely ends up completely confusing Aemond, not expecting that reaction and movement from you at all.      

And you watch him from your hiding place with all the pleading and forgiveness in your eyes, silently begging him not to say anything, not to give you away.

But he turns his gaze to the guard who ends up coming closer.

"Are you all right son?"

Your heart stops momentarily and you watch him in terrified silence, simply waiting for the worst. 

But even to have his whole look serious and not showing much reaction, you watch as hesitation appears for a moment and he falters in his words, as if he doesn't know exactly what to say, until he does.

"Yes," he finally says, "I'm all right."

The guard, seemingly satisfied with the answer, nods, but doesn't leave.     

"The Baratheon's reported a break-in in their backyard a few days ago," he says and you listen carefully, still waiting for the moment with fear and concern, "Nothing serious, apparently just clothes and some decorations. I'm just patrolling to make sure everything is in order."

Your breathing quickens as you listen to every word and Aemond continues to watch the guard, when suddenly he shoots you a quick glance, his eyes reflecting a mixture of seriousness and indecision. 

"Yes, so I hear," he says.

"Are you alone, son? I thought I saw someone else here."

Fuck.

Your stomach sinks and you close your eyes tightly, then watch in terror for the moment when Aemond will finally speak and give you away.

But you see the hesitation in his gaze again, you also watch intently as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, failing to say anything.    

When suddenly you see him let out a long breath and slyly give you a look with his serious face, then lick his lips and press them together in resignation.

"Yes, I'm alone."

As soon as Aemond utters those words, a wave of relief sweeps through your body. But almost instantly you stare at him in complete shock, unable to believe it. 

He really just covered you in front of the guard. He didn't really give you away even when he had every reason to do so.

Your hands are still shaking, but you slowly feel the adrenaline and anguish start to subside. 

"Well, we'll be around if you need anything. Good night, son." 

Aemond nods in his direction.

"Yes, thank you. Good night."  

You stand still for a few more moments, listening to his footsteps fade into the distance until finally there is no more noise. Just the sound of the water against the dock and the night wind on the waves.

You take a deep breath and slowly, you sit up, emerging from your hiding place with your hands still shaking. 

Your eyes meet those of Aemond, who is still standing, watching you with that penetrating gaze that seems to be able to read all your deepest thoughts. 

You don't know exactly what to say to him, you're still surprised and don't understand why he saved you, but the words come out on their own, grateful and fearful.

"Thank you," you murmur apologetically but with all the sincerity in your gaze, "Thank you for not saying anything."

He doesn't say anything to you, which confuses you even more, he just keeps standing there watching you, with his usual hard-to-read expression.     

“I-I..." you stammer, biting your lips and lowering your gaze for a moment, still feeling nervous, "I really wasn't doing anything wrong. I wasn't stealing or harming or anything like that, truly," you tell him honestly.

Again, he says nothing. He doesn't move either. He just stands there, with both hands tucked inside his front pockets of his shorts and still watching you with utmost attention that makes you feel incredibly nervous, even more so due to the circumstances.

You are also surprised that he is not kicking you out and threatening not to come back here. 

You honestly don't understand his behavior and the fact that he saved you from the guard, but for whatever reason, you thank him or you would have been in big trouble.

So cautiously, you take a step towards the entrance and exit of the pier.        

"And I'm sorry. You won't see me around here again. I really don't want to cause trouble," you add, watching him warily and wanting to make clear the promise in your words, "I'll leave now," you say quietly.

And having nothing more to say, you turn around, ready to run away if necessary, but you barely take two steps when surprisingly his voice stops you.

"What were you doing here?" he asks for the fifth time all night, his tone just as accusing but now with a curious tone. 

You stand still, not knowing exactly how to respond. 

But you know you have two choices: lie or tell the truth. And for some reason, you feel you can't lie to him; Aemond Targaryen.

Aside from belonging to the wealthiest, most prestigious and powerful family in Sunset's and the entire country, with his father being Viserys Targaryen himself and being one of the heirs to his entire fortune, he seems to be someone who seems to have the innate ability to detect falsehood.

That's why you don't understand why he saved you, a poor girl who doesn't belong to his world and probably never will, but still, you decide to be honest.       

Anyway, you're already stuck here and as crazy as it sounds, you owe Aemond Targaryen one.

"I was just... looking for some peace and quiet," you confess, turning your body to once again look at him, "I had a bad day and coming here..." you look around with a wistful look, "It helps me."

Aemond tilts his head, frowning slightly and biting the inside of his cheek, inspecting you. 

"And you can't do that on the beach on your side of town?" he asks you with a tone of disbelief.

You sigh, feeling a twinge of frustration as you think about the answer. It's a reasonable question, but the answer is not so simple. 

"Not really," you reply, lowering your gaze for a moment and biting your lips in nervousness, "Surely you know it's not the same at Black Waves."

He shakes his head slightly.

"I've never been there."

You almost look at him with an obvious look, almost, but you end up nodding, since of course he's never been to your side of town when he lives here.   

"The smell of the beach there is not so nice. They are not as clean as these, there is dirt and being there alone in the middle of the night is dangerous," you explain.

And everything you say is true, which is why you decide to come here.

And he looks at you, clearly digesting your words, saying nothing for a few moments, as is becoming usual between the two of you.

You think that maybe for him, someone who has lived surrounded by luxury all his life, it is somewhat difficult to imagine such a different reality. But it is also no secret how the people of Black Waves live.

So you don't understand his silence or even his behavior, but what you do see in him, surprisingly... is that he doesn't judge you.

You would have expected the face of disgust instantly like any spoiled child of rich parents and also that he would tell you to leave now with that posture and superficial look.

But nothing.       

Aemond Targaryen doesn't really reflect anything with his eyes. Unless he's judging you and giving you those looks of disgust in his mind.

But, strangely, he doesn't make you feel any less.

"And coming here... it's like my paradise, for the peace and quiet," you conclude in a low murmur.

Again... he doesn't say anything.

And that begins to frustrate you.

He just watches you, as if he's evaluating every word, every gesture and every detail in you. 

And you silently think to yourself that he probably doesn't say anything because he really wants you to leave, to leave him alone and never come back here.

So you try to leave again, because you've caused enough trouble and you can't risk staying.   

However, just as you prepare to say goodbye and apologize, again, he interrupts you.

"Since when do you come here?" he asks with a tone that reveals a mild interest you weren't expecting.

Inevitably your nerves run through you again and you swallow hard, having no idea whether this interrogation is good or bad, but you still decide to be honest to avoid as much trouble as you can.

"Last year," you confess apologetically.

He raises his eyebrows slightly.

"And no one had caught you until now?"

"It's just that I don't come here much, I promise," you say instantly, sincere, "Like I told you I only come when I really need to... when I want peace and quiet. And I don't do anything but sit around and watch the ocean, that's all."

He nods slowly, again processing your words. 

And you don't know it but to Aemond... there seems to be something about you, something about the way you talk or maybe that you're a Black Waves girl, that keeps him interested.

His blue eyes, cold but curious, fix on yours, as if he wants to see beyond the words, as if he's looking for some kind of hidden truth.    

The silence that follows feels interminable and finally, he with his relaxed but dominant posture, takes his hands out of his pockets and turns around, resting his arms on one of the railings of the pier. 

He stares off into the horizon with that serious look that tells you nothing and you just stand there, wondering if you should still leave or what you should do, since you don't understand anything.

"You can stay," he says suddenly, his voice low but firm.

You frown and stare at him completely confused, having no idea if you heard right or not.

"What?"

"You can stay," he repeats, not watching you.

You blink, watching him in shock, now being the one processing his words, not really understanding anything but feeling completely surprised by his offer.      

You didn't expect this. Not at all.

And at that moment comes the distrust in you, as it can't be too good to be real.

"Are you sure? I mean..." you watch him uncertainly, "Maybe you want to be alone," you shrug.

You watch as he sits up and starts pulling something out of his pockets, which ends up being a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

And without looking at you, he shakes his head.

"I'm fine," he tells you carelessly, taking a cigarette and starting to light it.

You watch him curiously, not understanding why he's being this way with you... so strangely kind. And that without knowing where it comes from, you begin to like him.

"And you're really not going to give me away? This isn't... I don't know," you shrug, "Like some kind of trap?"    

You watch as he takes a drag and blows out the smoke, putting the lighter and the pack back in his pocket.

"No," he says serious and almost annoyed, so you decide not to question him anymore, as strange as this is, "If you want to stay that's fine, if not you can leave too. Just do what you want, if I wanted to give you away, I would have done it already."

You remain silent, processing his words. You frown and watch him as he takes another drag and then the smoke rising to dissipate in the cool night air.

There is something about his posture, the casual way he holds his cigarette, that disconcerts you and catches your attention.

He doesn't seem like the kind of person who would let someone like you just hang around, much less in a place that is clearly his, or at least his family's.

So you feel unsure how to interpret all of this.

So you continue to stand, still waiting for some sign that you should leave, but he gives you none. Instead, he just looks off into the horizon, where the water meets the dark sky, lit only by the moon and stars.

And the truth is, you don't know what to do.

The prospect of staying there, with him, someone you barely really know and who could give you away at any moment, still makes you nervous.

However, you are also intrigued by this strange friendliness he is showing.

So you decide to stay, so you again take a seat on the edge of the wood with carefree movements, your feet dipping into the shimmering water beyond.

You give him a brief glance, unsure if he'll sit down too or if he'll just leave. But to your surprise, he stands beside you, silently smoking and not watching you.

It's not warm or comforting company, but somehow, the stillness you both share is more soothing than uncomfortable.

And so the minutes pass and the sound of the water, soft and rhythmic, begins to soothe you again. The cool night air makes the anxiety in your chest slowly dissipate, as does the tension in your shoulders.

And with each passing of time, you realize that nothing bad will really happen by being here with him. And you also realize that Aemond Targaryen is maybe not arrogant and shallow like the others.

He hasn't even been mean to you and hasn't judged you, so that's why you decide to start a conversation.

"Why are you here?" you decide to ask, without looking him and simply moving the waters gently with your feet, focusing on that.

The question floats in the air between you, and for a moment, you think he won't answer you, since maybe he told you that you can stay but it doesn't mean you should talk to him.

But then you hear him move, his weight making a slight creak in the wood.

"Same as you," he finally replies, though his tone is less curt this time, "Looking for peace and quiet."

You're instantly taken aback by his honesty and also by his response, definitely not expecting that, so you frown and look at him confused.

"Really?"

He watches you and his gaze instantly paralyzes you, watching as he watches you just as confused but this time defensively at your reaction.

"Why is that so incredible to believe?"

You bite your lips and avert your gaze, thinking very hard about your next words, as you shrug and watch him again.

"Well... I'm just thinking why a person who has everything and certainly lacks nothing would come here... looking for peace and quiet," you explain with genuine curiosity.

He lets out a snort, with a bitter look on his face as he brings the cigarette back to his lips.

"Neither you nor anyone else knows everything about me and my family," he says with an unexpected harshness in his tone.

You remain silent, surprised by the frankness of his response and avert your gaze to the horizon.

You feel a slight discomfort that you didn't expect and it's not because of what he said, but how he said it, so serious and distant.

But maybe he's right.

All families at Crown's are characterized by more than just money, power and status, and that's appearance.

The rich probably think they know everything among themselves, but your people see a little more reality and you know that behind that perfect facade there are secrets, tensions and burdens.

And the Targaryen's are no exception. Even Cregan has hinted at it many times, with his wry, half-joking comments about the lives of wealthy families.

The moment between the two and the conversation seems on the verge of becoming awkward again.

And just when you think the talk is over, Aemond takes another drag and, surprising you, looks sideways at you with a cool but questioning expression.

"And what happened to you?" he asks you suddenly, changing the subject.

"Hm?" you observe him attentively and confused.

"Why did you have a bad day?" he repeats just as calmly, but this time, with a casual, carefree tone.

"Oh," you murmur, turning your eyes back to the horizon.

You didn't expect him to be interested in something so personal. But since he asked, you decide to be honest.

"Well, apparently my boss hates me and made me work double shifts today," you explain, letting out a sigh. "It's stressful enough to put up with his bad treatment and workload, but I also had to deal with a lot of rude customers."

His gaze remains fixed on you, as if processing what you just said. Then he goes back to staring at the horizon with a disinterested look and takes another drag on his cigarette.

"Sounds like shit," he finally says, his tone dry but without a hint of empathy.

"Yeah, it is," you reply, letting out a bitter little laugh, "But it is what it is."

He nods slightly and suddenly, the distance you felt between the two of you seems to diminish a bit.

Aemond isn't as unapproachable as you thought, and though you still don't quite understand why he's acting this way, you begin to see that maybe, just maybe, there's more to him than meets the eye.

You stare out at the water in silence, the sound of the waves lapping gently against the pier pilings filling the air.

And you are surprised by how normal this situation is.

You mean, who would have thought? You, a poor girl from Black Waves and him, the heir to one of the most powerful families in the region, sharing a night on the dock as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

You don't understand anything but... you like him.

"I've never seen you before," he murmurs after a while, his eyes focused on the horizon, "Nor do I know your name."

You stare at him incredulously and let out a small chuckle under your breath.

"I think we both know why," you say knowingly, "It's not like our paths cross very often. And my name is Y/N, Y/N Blackwood," you introduce yourself in a soft tone.

He falls silent, seemingly memorizing your name and within a few seconds, however, he doesn't seem convinced of the other.

"I don't know. I know everyone in town, even if not directly."

You frown slightly.

"That sounds... exhausting."

"It's part of the family, knowing everyone. Knowing who's around you, even if you don't deal with them," he explains, "But I had never seen you."

"Well... I've lived at Sunset's for a year now with my aunt, uncle and my cousin," you explain, relaxing a little more as you see the conversation flowing smoothly, "And before the summer started, I started working at Mr. Frey's restaurant to save up for college in a few more months."

He turns his whole body toward you, still standing and leaning against the pole holding up the roof at the end of the pier, glancing at you from time to time but keeping more of his focus on the horizon.

"Your aunt and uncle?" he asks, "Why don't you live with your parents?"

That question takes you by surprise, and for a moment you don't know what to say. It's obviously a personal question and you weren't expecting it at all.

Then you look at him, where his eyes are serious and inquisitive towards you, although you don't perceive any bad intentions, just a curiosity.

"I guess I don't know if I should tell you that," you say with a small smile and amused tone, trying to downplay it and not make the moment awkward, "You know... trusting one of your kind."

He lets out a slight chuckle, making you smile a little wider.

"My kind?"

You shrug.

"Yeah, you know... a rich one."

"And what makes you think you can't trust me? I didn't give you away a while ago, did I?"

"And why did you?" you ask, unable to contain your curiosity seizing on the comment, "Why didn't you give me away?"

He lets out a long breath and takes another drag before answering, his voice low but steady.

"I don't know, maybe because you were honest."

"But you're not like that, no one in your class is empathetic and forgiving."

"Do you really think you know everything about me and my family?" he questions you again.

You look at him obviously and incredulously.

"Please, everyone in this place knows everything about you and your family. Even the poor people. You're like the royalty of the city, after all."

You see the slight annoyance on his face, making it clear that he's in total disagreement with you, and you make up your mind to prove your point.

"I mean..." you sigh, "You are known as your father's son who has a perfect life just like your siblings, heirs to a wealthy and powerful family. The Targaryen's are known for that, work, money, power and status... or am I wrong?"

He doesn't respond right away, just watches you with an intensity that makes you feel a little vulnerable.

And just when you think he'll finally let his true self out and he's exactly like the other rich kids, he surprisingly lets out a sigh and looks down at the water, with an almost resigned look on his face.

"Yeah, but it's not all as simple and wonderful as it seems. It's not the whole truth either."

Those words leave you thinking. And they also leave you watching... him.

At the previous party, you couldn't see much of him from afar, let alone being on the second floor of a huge yacht. But he is... captivating.

You trace the shape of his nose and the structures of his cheeks with your gaze, watching as if it were a slow-motion movie as he lifts his cigarette to his lips and raises his gaze to the sky to expel the smoke, marking the bone in his neck.

His silver hair shimmers slightly in the moonlight and makes him look like some sort of ancient Greek God, where you silently admire the handsome features of his face.

You can't see his eyes in detail because of the light, but you know they are blue, characteristic of the Targaryen along with the platinum hair.

And then you wonder, what else is behind that facade his family has so meticulously constructed for him?

Who is Aemond Targaryen truly?

The night continues as the two of you stand there, sharing the space, the air, the silence. There is no need for more words for now, it's just enjoying the little shelter in this corner with him.

And after a while, you decide that maybe it's time to leave.

"Well... I guess I should be going," you mutter, starting to get up, then looking around the perimeter one last time, etching the image in your memory, "I'm going to miss this place."

He turns with slow, nonchalant movements toward you, dropping what little is left of the cigarette to crush it with the sole of his tennis shoe.

"What do you mean?" he asks, with that calmness that always seems to surround him.

You look at him in confusion, then shrug, letting out a small, resigned laugh.

"Obviously I can't come back here now that you've caught me," you tell him with a sad little smile, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear from the wind, turning around, "Oh and..." you look back at him, "Thanks for not give me away, truly."

You give him a look and a small grateful smile, as he keeps his expression hard to read, as usual, but totally focused on you.

Neither of you say anything else and assuming this is the final goodbye, you start walking towards the dock exit. But then you hear his voice behind you.

"Wait."

And that's what you do.

Confused, you turn to watch him again, watching as he takes a step forward.

"You can come back if you want," he says to you suddenly, in a tone of voice that is soft, but also mixes indifference and something else that you don't quite manage to identify, "Just... make sure no one else catches you."

That definitely takes you by surprise, since you weren't expecting it. And you watch him silently for a moment, trying to read his expression, but he remains as enigmatic as ever.

However, there is an unexpected sincerity in his words that makes you smile, this time with more warmth.

"Really?" you ask, unable to hide the disbelief and excitement in your voice.

He nods, folding his arms, saying nothing.

"Thank you," you reply, and this time you say it more firmly and with happiness in your eyes.

You lower your gaze and resist the urge to smile big, feeling a strange sensation in your stomach, to again watch him.

"Bye, Aemond."

You take a step back and turn around, when again he stops you as he speaks.

"You're going home alone?" he asks, this time with a little more interest in his voice.

You laugh softly, surprised that he cares, not really understanding anything but liking it.

"You know? We poor people have a good thing after all... survival style."

He doesn't say anything to you, just watches you with his piercing colored eyes as he licks his lips and then simply gives you a small nod.

You don't say anything else either and finally turn to leave, beginning to leave the tranquility of the dock and him behind, under the dim lights of the night.

And as you walk away, you feel the sea breeze on your face and wonder how a night that began with tension and fear ended with something as unexpected as a truce with Aemond Targaryen.

series taglist:

@zenka69 @strangersunghoon @deliaseastar @thefireblaze @kythefangirl25 @p45510n4f4shi0n @saturnssrings @bellaisasleep @primroseluna @tinykryptonitewerewolf @barnes70stark @tssf-imagines

[kierewrites]

What Would Karma Do... when a cruel teacher attacks your class?

navi - masterlist

Karma Akabane x Reader

Mood Song: judas

Summary: Remember the beloved Assassination Classroom anime? This is pretty much that, except you enter the picture of Karma's chaotic school year. Let's see just how compatible the two of you are.

Warnings: depictions of violence, cursing, karma being a psycho (when is he not tho), angst with a tooth rotting sweet ending :3

"Woah! Is that..."

"I..It's cake!"

"Hand made eclairs too!

That was just a few of the many comments from your classmates as you all ogled over the picnic blanket full of sweet treats from all around the world. 

Most of the time your P.E. classes consisted of intense training regimens or one-on-one combat lessons with Karasuma, but today played out so much differently than any class before.

Though even with this bizarre change, you couldn't say you were upset. Today had already started rough when you learned Karma was skipping class all day, even though you begged him not to...

"Karma.. staying up late.. isn't an.. excuse for you to.. ditch.. classes!" You whined in between kisses that were surely meant to shut you up.

Karma simply rolled his eyes before pinching your nose and smirking lazily.

"You're the one keeping me up so late angel~"

Pinching your lips together into that adorable pout he loved, you smacked his hand away and narrowed your eyes down at him, "Yeah but I'm still going to class tomorrow."

Karma let out a low growl at this, flipping you over so that he was on top of you now. He tried nearly every tactic he could to convince you to ditch school with him, but even he should’ve known nothing could stand between your academic resolve.

So since your little rascal decided to truly ditch as he promised, you couldn't help but smile for the first time all day upon seeing the lovely treats before you. There were even a few custom treats from back home that you recognized.

"T..These look sorta pricey sir, are you sure?" Isogai questioned nervously, seeming to be the only student that hadn't fallen under the trance of the sweet assortments.

The new P.E. teacher simply boomed with laughter, offering a warm smile to the class.

"Yeah! Chow down kiddos!" The teacher spoke with a large grin, "I didn't break the bank so we could stare at these babies all day!"

"You really know your way around branded sweets dontcha?" Yada spoke with a grin.

Your new teacher simply smiled before closing his eyes,

"Trust me when it comes to the good stuff.. it's love~"

All of the students were in awe at such a generous and kind teacher, not that Karasuma was mean or anything, but this was not your typical day in the Assassination Classroom.

"So you're gonna take over P.E. to help Mr. Karasuma get caught up?" Nagisa questioned, though his eyes were still glued to the chocolate eclair in his hands.

"Yup! Those are my marching orders!" The teacher declared as he looked back at the blue haired boy, "Poor guy needs some time to himself."

The students all seemed to smile at that. Admittedly it felt like Karasuma was running a one man show over here. Sure Korosensei and Professor Jelavic were around, but most of the time it felt like Karasuma was even babysitting them too.

"Wow these treats are truly amazing, thank you so much-" You began, only to be interrupted by a pink blob quite literally drooling over your new P.E teacher's shoulder.

"Ah! This fellow must be Korosensei!" Your teacher exclaimed excitedly, not even minding the literal drool dripping down his shoulder, "Please help yourself!"

Those words seemed to be the final string holding your teacher back as he wildly dug into the treats on the blanket.

"You know sir, being colleagues, you and Mr. Karasuma are night and day." Kimura spoke with a tilted head, Hara joining in with a smile,

"He's nice to us and all but you're like the neighborhood dad!"

The teacher's eyes seemed to light up at that as he let out another booming laugh before dragging you all into his arms with a tight hug.

"Dad.. I like the sound of that!"

All of your classmates seemed to laugh in unison, everyone enjoying the warm embrace and not seeming to worry about the strangely kind personality the teacher had.

-

"Alright everybody here?" Your teacher spoke with a smile, standing before your classmates ready for class.

"Now things are going to be tougher than usual but stick it out like the champs I know you are and we're talking more sweets!" Mr. Takaoka spoke with a grin.

"For us? Or are you really just saving them for yourself?" Nakamura sneered.

"Nope nope..." Mr. Takaoka said with a sheepish smile as he stuck his tongue out and patted his large tummy, "Don't wanna ruin this girlish figure!"

With that the class howled into laughter. This guy was almost too good to be true. Plenty generous, good sense of humor, a true care for the craft he's teaching. He really was like a big old papa bear.

Looking around you noticed your classmates seemed happy enough, nobody was ever really smiling during P.E. class, rather panting and trying to catch their breath. Maybe this would be a good change for you guys?

"Okay then, along with your new training regimen comes a new schedule!"

You along with the rest of your students looked up to the colorful paper your teacher was holding up before raising a brow as he began to hand them out.

The schedule before you was.. chaotic to say the least. 

Almost every period was P.E. class, many of your academic electives now switched to training. Along with that instead of your normal school day length, the training went on until nine o'clock at night!

Looking up with wide eyes you noticed your classmates all looking around with the same bewildered faces. Maybe he was just joking around with you again?

"We have ten periods now?!"

"We train till nine pm?"

Your classmates all threw thirty different questions at the man who stood before you, his smile never faltering as everyone expressed their concerns about the new schedule.

"That's the idea, little grasshoppers!" Your teacher exclaimed with a smile, his joyful personality contrasting with the reality of the situation, "Don't be glum, think of the payoff! This curriculum will turn you into lean, mean, killing machines-"

"Wait hold up hold up, this is ridiculous!" Maehara interrupted, Mr. Takaoka's smile faltering, "First off this is school, we gotta think about grades too."

Mr. Takaoka simply smiled sheepishly while scratching the back of his head. Maybe this guy was just so hardcore he forgot you guys actually had to take academic classes.

"I mean come on we can't go by this! We're supposed to stu-"

The boy's words were cut off when the teacher placed a gentle palm on the top of his head. Everyone seemed to raise a brow until he lifted his knee up and slammed Maehara's chin down onto his knee with a painful crack.

The entire class gasped, your hand flying to your mouth as you backed up on your knees. Was this some sort of sick joke? Did he and Maehara practice this skit? The way his practically lifeless form dropped to the ground really didn't make it seem that way.

"Rule number one, we don't do can't." Mr. Takaoka spoke in a dark voice, his smile still spread across his lips proudly as he watched the boy twitch on the ground in pain.

"Rule number two, we are a family and I'm the dad," He continued to speak, his continuous use of the word "dad" suddenly backfiring on all of you, "Show me a family where dad ain't in charge and I'll show you a family in crisis."

The man began to lecture you all, ominous smile still spread across his face as he walked around your group with his hands expectantly behind his back.

"A father loves each of his children unconditionally, the thought of even losing one of ‘em breaks his heart. We're gonna save the world kids, and we're gonna do it as a family." Mr. Takaoka finished, gathering Mimura and Kanzaki in his arms.

All of you seemed to flinch when he did this, especially your two classmates in his embrace. The sight of both of their cringing faces made you feel hot inside, not in the good way.

"I.. Actually sir, to tell you the truth.." Kanzaki spoke nervously, tugging herself out of his embrace and standing up with her arms nervously clamped together, "I'm not much for P.E. If I have to do it, I much prefer Mr. Karasuma's class!"

You couldn't help but smile at Kanzaki. Even in such a tense situation she always made sure to remain polite and cheerful as she smiled up to the aggressive teacher.

But as soon as you saw Mr. Takaoka lick his lip you knew this wouldn't end well.

Without hesitation he smacked his hand across her face so hard she flew backwards and rolled against the dirt with a cry.

"Kanzaki!" Your classmates cried as a few rushed over to her trembling figure.

"Looks like we're having a bit of a communication gap!" Mr. Takaoka said with that same dreadfully cheerful smile. The sight made your fists clench, Nagisa already seeming to notice the gears in your head turning as he placed a gentle palm on your wrist.

"The only answer here is yes-"

"NO!"

Your sudden shout caused the teacher to pause, his head tilting as a sadistic smile formed on his lips.

"Oh?"

"You can't keep hurting our classmates just because we don't do what you say. You aren't our real teacher and your training regimen is borderline insane! How are we supposed to pass our exams with your foot up our ass till the late night hours?"

Your teacher simply chuckled as he looked at you with wide crazed eyes through his hooded expression.

"Bothers you that much little grasshopper? Come show me what you're gonna do about it then!"

Letting out an annoyed growl you got low, ready to pounce until Nagisa grabbed your wrist more firmly this time.

"Y/n don't bother, he's going to seriously hurt you! This guy clearly isn't a regular gym coach."

Ignoring what he said, all you could do was glare into this man's beady little eyes that only fueled your fire.

"Let go, Nagisa." You hissed before snatching your wrist out of his grasp and darting forward.

Nagisa along with the rest of your classmates watched nervously. As sweet as you were, some of Karma's reckless traits were really starting to rub off on you. Ever since you all had gotten kidnapped, you swore you would get stronger so you could protect everyone, but of course that didn't stop the class from worrying.

Darting forward you blocked his first swing, quickly maneuvering your footing so that you spun behind him, forming your palm to be firm and flat before chopping your hand on the back of his neck right where the pressure point is.

After watching Nagisa and Karma train together, and even getting to train a little bit with them whenever Karma would finally give in to your whining, you learned a few tricks from both of them.

Nagisa was definitely a defensive fighter, more so focused on strategic attacks and blocking. Karma was a hands on offensive attacker, he wasted no time to give the opponent a moment to think.

Finally it seemed like your training had paid off as Mr. Takaoka let out a shout of pain as he stumbled forward onto his hands and knees, your strike seeming to make his vision blur.

"Nice hit Y/n!" Nakumura shouted, your classmates all cheering for you as you wiped a blade of sweat from your forehead.

"It's just like Karma taught me, it's not about the power of your strike but the precision!" You said with a smile, giving the gym teacher one last glance.

A small part of you felt giddy about the experience as you began to rehearse in your head how you would brag to Karma about taking down a grown man. Finally your training was beginning to pay off.

As you began to walk back to your cheerful classmates you felt life almost go into slow motion when you saw Nagisa's smile begin to drop, his eyes widened as he screamed your name and pointed behind you.

Before you could even turn your head back a quarter of the way you felt a strong grip on the back of your ponytail causing you to yell out in pain when the hand tugged you backwards.

"Not so fast you smug bitch." Mr. Takaoka growled with a psychotic smile as he swung his leg up and over your body before cracking it down on your abdomen hard.

The feeling alone had the breath knocked out of you before you could even hit the ground. You let out a sharp scream until your back hit the ground so hard you bounced up from the sheer force, a garbled choke escaping your lips before you officially fell to the ground.

"Y/n!" Your class shouted, Nagisa already sliding on his knees towards you as you struggled for air, loud chokes and gasps filling the air while you shriveled up holding your abdomen in pain. The lack of air wouldn't even allow you to cry as you felt your vision grow blurry.

Nagisa quickly lifted your shirt just enough to see a dark purple bruise forming across your skin, the feeling of something warm and wet being coughed up onto his hand that was keeping you upright.

His eyes widened at the sight of blood, his eyes frantically looking down at you as more of your classmates began to try and help you up.

How had your cheerful P.E. class turned into a bloodbath?

-

Karma continued to huff out profanities as he shuffled up the dirt hill, hands shoved deep in his pockets as a scowl formed on his lips.

"Dumb angel, always making me feel so damn guilty..." Karma mumbled as he kicked a few stones on the way.

It was weird, before he met you he never really cared about anything when it came to academics. He wasn't even depressed or stupid or even lazy, he just didn't quite care.

Where was school going to get him anyway? Graduate next year and go to college to take the same brainwashing classes he's taken since he learned to walk? To get a piece of paper that says congrats, now you can make money!

It was all ridiculous to him.

But ever since your stupid adorable ass showed up into his life, he saw things differently. 

He wanted to have goals in life just to impress you, he wanted to go to college wherever you were going so you could grow together. He wanted to see the world with you, always be at your side so he would never lose you.

He could see it now, both of you finally done with all this school bullshit and sitting along the edge of a cliff that overlooked a vast blue sea as the sun would set along the dazzling colorful sky.

You would be sitting in between his crossed legs as he held you in a tight warm embrace.

"I love you Karma." You would whisper ever so gently from those sweet lips of yours as you tilted your head back so your sparkling hues could stare into his own.

Karma would smile down to you, watching as the ocean breeze danced through both of your locks as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I love you too Y/n." Karma whispered aloud, the sound of his own voice snapping him back to reality as he let out a growl and shook his head.

You were like a demon haunting his mind except quite the opposite, more like an angel from heaven always clouding his mind in the best way possible. You truly were going to be the death of him.

Once finally making it up the hill, Karma came up with the excuse that he forgot his textbook for when his classmates would surely ask why he decided to show up halfway through the day. He would never admit it was just so he could see your pretty face before the day's end.

As he shuffled up the steps lazily he raised a brow when he saw a few students outside, crowded around Mr. Karasuma and some other large man that seemed to be smiling a bit crazy.

Raising a brow he shrugged with a smirk, assuming they were doing some strange training routine.

Sliding the wood door open he walked down the hallway until he saw class 3-E and slid the door open, awaiting to see the rest of his classmates studying silently, only to find the room completely empty.

Freezing he narrowed his eyes around the room, something wasn't right.

There were only about half of his classmates outside training, you not being one of them, where could the rest of you have been? It's not like they split the boys and girls up, he saw a mix of them all outside.

Shutting the classroom door, he decided to make his way back outside until he heard a voice come from down the hall.

"Y/n you have got to stop being so reckless, it's going to get you killed one day!"

The very sentence froze Karma in his tracks, his ears perking up at the sound of your name.

Your weak cough filled the air sending chills down his spine as you spoke up.

"But I..I didn’t die, did I? I had to do something, he was going to hurt all of our classmates!"

The redhead slowly turned his head around with grit teeth, his eyes falling on the door where all the sound was coming from, only to see it was the nurses office.

Karma was praying for his sake and your sake that you just played some crazy prank on someone and that you didn't actually do something reckless. But knowing you, he was sure that wasn't the case.

"So you thought it would be better if he hurt you?" A voice spoke up, "You know Karma's going to kill you for this."

Crescent shaped moons began to form into the redhead’s palms as the very thing he worried about had been confirmed, someone hurt you. Quickly he began to storm down the hallway, ready to slide the door open before he heard your pathetic voice.

"Well I didn't plan on him crushing my spleen," You spoke out stubbornly with another cough, Karma's vision slowly starting to turn red with anger, "Besides, Karma skipped today so Karma will never find out about this. Got it?"

At this Karma froze as a sadistic smile quirked upon his lips, you sneaky little fox.

Putting on the most neutral face he could even amongst his slow boiling anger, he slid the door open causing everyone in the room to jump. His first sight was you, Maehara, and Kanzaki all laying down on the nurse tables. Sugino, Okuda, and Yada were also in the room which must have been the people talking.

"Oh Y/n dearest, am I interrupting something? Sorry I was late for class, just slept through my alarm!" Karma said in a gentle tone, sticking his tongue out to appear innocent.

The sight of your red headed boyfriend caused you to shriek as you forced yourself off of the bed with a grunt. Once you realized standing wasn't quite an option, you leaned on the side of the table, trying to appear as casual as possible. All that silenced your pained whimper was the harsh bite you held on your tongue while you forced a smile.

"K..Karma! I thought uh.. I thought you were skipping today!" You spoke cheekily, though it was clear to everyone how heavy you were breathing. Sugino looked at you nervously to make sure you didn't collapse on the floor as everyone else in the room felt the awkward tension.

Karma smirked down to you, though it wasn’t his signature cocky one, but rather a menacing one as he sauntered over to you.

"Oh you know, I wouldn't want to miss any lessons would I?" Karma spoke darkly, though he kept that same cheerful smile on his face, "Besides I couldn’t possibly make it through the day without a hug from my sweet angel.”

The sound of that caused your eyes to widen, quickly backing up the best you could as he neared you.

"Oh really? I don't know uh.. I'm not quite feeling a hug right now… I'm actually kind of hot!" You exclaimed, your classmates nervously watching as Karma neared you while you ran out of space to back into, "You don't wanna hug all my icky sweat d..do you?"

"Oh, I think I do." Karma growled, forcing his arms around you gently.

Sure enough as soon as he made even the gentlest of contact, you let out a cry as your knees buckled beneath you, Karma quickly caught you before lifting you up on the bed once more.

"Fuck Y/n, do you think I’m an idiot?” Karma growled, grabbing both of your fighting wrists that were trying to push his hands away with one hand, while lifting your shirt up with the other.

Though Karma knew you were injured, he never in a million years expected to see the wound that was displayed across your abdomen. A large maroon bruise stretched from either side of your stomach, the color getting darker at the center.

The redhead let go of your wrists so as not to hurt you any further, deciding to instead grip the edge of the metal bed, the sound of the cool material bending sending chills through your body.

"Who did this?" Karma growled, looking up at you through rageful hooded eyes.

Swallowing nervously you quickly placed both of your hands on either side of his shoulders, remembering how violent he got last time you got kidnapped, he couldn't have you killing your actual teacher, he would surely get expelled.

"Karma calm down, it's seriously not as bad as it looks I promise-"

The sound of his fist slamming down on the table beside you caused you to jump with a small yelp, his pupils narrowed to slits as he angrily glared at you.

"Damnit Y/n, stop trying to be the hero and tell me who did this! It looks like they crushed one of your fucking organs!"

"They made her cough up blood too." Yada spoke from over your shoulder, your head quickly whipping back to glare at her as her comment only fueled your boyfriend's raging mood.

Inhaling sharply, Karma tried to calm himself down so as not to yell at you before looking at you once more.

"Y/n, tell me who did this to you."

Biting at the corner of your lip you let out a defeated sigh and looked away sheepishly.

"We got a new P.E. teacher today, Mr. Takaoka, and he seemed really nice and cheerful... he even brought us treats!" You exclaimed trying to defend your reasoning, "B..But then when he showed us our new training schedules he took out all of our academic classes and was going to make us stay till nine pm everyday."

The sound of that made Karma raise his brow briefly, even to him that made no sense.

"So a few classmates expressed that to him, Maehara and Kanzaki..." You said softly, Karma just now noticing his two other injured classmates that only made him angrier, "But he lashed out and attacked them brutally… He was going to hurt every last one of them if I didn't step in, I swear I wasn't being reckless Karma I just…"

Karma's stern expression broke for a second when he heard you choke over words, you looked down before looking back up with glossy eyes once more.

"I couldn't just stand by again!"

The redhead flinched slightly at this, flashbacks to your conversation after you had gotten kidnapped flooding back to him. Of course you weren't being an idiot like him, you just wanted to protect your friends.

The redhead looked up to the ceiling in a poor attempt to hide the insane rage in his eyes, a ragged sigh escaping his lips before he looked down at you softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your thigh.

"So what you're saying is I need to put an old fuck in his place then, yeah?"

Your eyes widened at this as you watched him stroll out of the nurse's office, you quickly tried to follow after him but not before falling into Okuda's arms.

"Y/n you really shouldn't move..." Okuda said softly as you wrapped your arm around her shoulder.

Looking down at the gentle girl pleadingly, you glanced back at the door, "Okuda please, Karma can't fight that guy, he's going to get hurt!"

Okuda bit her lip before looking at her other classmates that shared worried looks.

"Let's all go out together so we can at least warn Mr. Karasuma and Korosensei."

-

Karma being "mad" was an understatement.

Admittedly he did snap at you which he certainly didn't mean to, but now he was angry for a different reason.

Like hell was some old fashioned pig of a man going to throw his classmates around. Especially after you still were recovering from the kidnapping scenario. He was getting so excited to see your combat skills were vastly improving, so to see you torn back down to square one royally pissed him off.

Slamming the door open he noticed a few eyes on him, but most of them were on the large teacher that was nestled in between Nagisa's legs. Karma’s eyes widened for a moment, impressed that Nagisa was able to take down such a beast.

Clearly the blue haired boy had gotten stronger, and he was sure Nagisa felt just as much rage as him after seeing you in such a state. Still though, he noticed the large teacher get up once Nagisa let go so he knew this wasn't quite over yet.

Soon after Karma began to head to the scene you and your other injured classmates slowly made your way outside, the sight of Karma getting closer to the man causing you to freeze.

Of course Karma could take care of himself, hell you wouldn't be surprised if he could take this man out with his bare fists alone, but it was clear Mr. Takaoka wasn't a fair fighter. Karma was skilled, but he couldn't be prepared if the crazed man pulled a gun on him.

You attempted to call out Karma's name but he pretended not to hear you as he walked to the scene.

Looking around you quickly shouted Mr. Karasuma's name, his concerned eyes moved over to you before looking over to an angry Karma as you pointed to him. Mr. Karasuma gave you a curt nod in understanding.

At this point all you could do was watch the scene play out and hope nobody else got hurt.

"You ungrateful punks." Mr. Takaoka growled, his fists clenched and his body flexed like he was a giant bear, "You think it's fun shaming your father figure, huh?

A pit sat in the bottom of your stomach. Even as beat up as Mr. Takaoka looked, he was still screaming his head off. The expression of pure rage he wore while looking at Nagisa made it look like he was going to rip his head off.

"Having the time of your life pretending you won? Hope it was worth it cause daddy's about to rip you apart! Mind body and soul-"

All of the students began to yell for Nagisa to move, Mr. Karasuma ready to run and stop this crazed man's punch, but Korosensei simply placed his tentacle on Mr. Karasuma's shoulder to hold him back.

Mr. Karasuma angrily looked back at Korosensei in confusion as to why he stopped him, but when a crack filled the air all eyes worriedly looked over to Nagisa.

Once the dust cleared up from the dirt beneath him, everyone gasped in surprise when they saw an unharmed Nagisa with his arm defensively up. If he didn't get hit then what was the cracking sound?

Sure enough the class' crazy redhead stood before Mr. Takaoka, his meaty fist caught by Karma's hand.

Mr. Takaoka let out a grunt of surprise, seeing that his quivering fist stood no chance against Karma’s simple block. To make matters worse, Karma lazily smirked up to the man and let out a sneer.

"Is that all you've got, old man?"

Mr. Takaoka began to shake in fury as he ripped his hand from Karma's grasp.

"Why you little-"

The gym teacher began to throw another fist with much more force, but Karma simply caught it once again and used the force to swing his arm around and pin it against his back so that he couldn't move.

"Nobody likes a sore loser~" Karma cooed tauntingly before his foot connected with Mr. Takaoka's spine, the kick pummeling the teacher into the ground as his face dragged against the dirt.

Everyone watched with wide eyes. No matter how many times they saw Karma in action, everyone seemed to forget his own raw strength beyond his insane ability.

You finally let out a sigh of relief you didn't realize you were holding in this entire time as you watched Karma walk beside the teacher.

Mr. Takaoka attempted to lift his head weakly from the ground, still mumbling out profanities but Karma simply grabbed the base of his skull and slammed his face into the dirt before moving his face real close to the teachers.

The P.E. teacher felt fear flow over his body, the same way he did when Nagisa made his cheap move on him in their previous fight. The red haired boy practically stared into his soul with those sinister golden hues that looked almost excited to have him in such a degrading position.

"Tell me Mr. Tough Guy," Karma spoke calmly before roughly yanking Mr. Takaoka's head to face you and your injured classmates, "Were you the one that harmed my classmates over there?"

The teacher let out a grunt through his teeth, words struggling to form to his lips out of a mix of pain and anger.

Karma simply laughed, sending chills to those around him as he yanked the man's head to face Karma once again, making sure to tug harshly on his hair making Mr. Takaoka scream out in pain.

"I said.." Karma growled with narrowed eyes, "Did you lay even a single finger on my angel over there?"

Mr. Takaoka narrowed his eyes back to Karma, a slight grin coming on his face when he realized where all the anger was bubbling up from within the redhead. Making eye contact with you for a second he let out a choked out laugh before nodding.

"I sure did, and I regret noth-"

The teacher couldn't get out another word before Karma slammed his head directly into the dirt.

"Then you can stay there like the filthy mut you are, teach!" Karma exclaimed with a smile, not even caring to hear what else the man had to say as he stood up and walked back to his silent classmates.

Even after all of that the teacher tried his very best, though wasn't very successful, to get back up to which didn't go unnoticed by Karma.

"Hmmm.." Karma said as if in thought before his eyes fell on Nagisa, "Hand me the knife Nagisa."

The blue haired boy knew better than to question Karma in this state so he handed the knife over, though as Mr. Karasuma yelled for him to stop he soon regretted it.

Karma simply ignored their cries and before they could reach him he threw the knife with such precision it landed directly in the center of Mr. Takaoka's palm causing him to cry out in pain.

"Just so you don't get any ideas of getting up champ." Karma spoke as he patted the man's cheek before standing up and brushing his hands off.

Everyone seemed to let out a sigh when realizing Karma was done. Even with the damage done, his classmates were expecting a much more violent scene to play out, so this was the best outcome that could have happened.

Not even a few moments later as Mr. Karasuma dealt with Mr. Takaoka, the principal himself came down to lead the teacher off the premises. The students were surprised to see the principal take their side for once, but he did once again remind them that he cared about academics above all else.

For now, it was a win for Class 3-E, and the class treated it as such.

Of course both Korosensei and Mr. Karasuma scolded Karma for his dangerous behavior, but given the bizarre situation he got off with a warning. Both knew how possessive he got with you and Korosensei especially knew it came out of a place of concern.

As Mr. Karasuma walked off to check on the other students, Karma moved to go meet with you and Nagisa, only for a tentacle to stop him.

"Y/n truly held her ground you know." Korosensei spoke, Karma freezing as he looked up to his teacher that was already looking at you.

"She kept up with him easily for a few minutes and was able to get him down on his hands and knees, your training with her is really paying off."

Karma glanced from Korosensei back to you as a proud smile flashed across his face. Even with your grotesque injury, you were joking around with your friends, a smile on your face even with the intense day you had.

"I'm really proud of her." Karma spoke simply, those words filling Korosensei's heart up with hope.

"With that said, though she has a lot left to learn from you, don't forget to also keep learning from her."

At this Karma looked up to Korosensei with a raised brow.

"What do you mean?"

"As much as you hate to admit it, Y/n has changed you for the better Karma. You may claim she's made you weaker, but she's truly made you stronger. You aren't as reckless and careless anymore. You truly care for your classmates and want not only the best for them, but the best for yourself."

Korosensei looked down to Karma, who for once all day was speechless.

"You two are going to build each other up into the best individuals you can be, so keep learning from each other young man."

Karma looked back at you with furrowed brows. How did this damned octopus always know exactly what Karma was thinking, but was too embarrassed to say out loud? Hearing it come from Korosensei really made the redhead feel better, but of course he would never admit that.

"Alright alright you big sap, thanks for the advice but it's nothing I didn't already know," Karma spoke as he rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, "Trust me Y/n is going to learn real well from me, she'll be my sweet little assassin by my side in no time."

Korosensei smiled at that until he noticed Karma pull out the knife from before as he flipped it around his fingers.

"And you'll be our first target teach~"

Korosensei began to go off in a frenzy, trying to grab the knife from Karma but to no avail as the boy walked off snickering.

-

For some reason unlike the first traumatic event you had with your classmates, this one didn't hit you as hard as usual. Sure you wished you didn’t have to endure that, the wound across your gut proving that point, but at the same time you felt so warm and safe being surrounded by your friends.

You've learned so much within your time here and it wasn't even the end of the first semester.

"Uh oh, red devil alert." Nagisa spoke nervously, your eyes falling on Karma as he sauntered over to you with an emotionless expression.

Sheepishly looking away you played with your fingers, refusing to look into those disapproving eyes as you awaited the sure lecture he would give you.

Once you heard him sit beside you, you raised a brow when no words came out of his mouth. Just before you could lift your head up, you felt gentle fingers grab your chin and tug your lips towards his own.

The kiss was unlike his usual ones, but not foreign to you. It wasn’t rough or rushed, but rather sweet and coordinated. The redhead kept your chin in his hold even after pulling away, his eyes glancing down to meet your nervous gaze.

"What you did today was crazy and not well thought out," Karma started, his brows furrowing together as he looked at you intensely before a small smile appeared on his lips, "But it was also very brave of you. I'm proud of you for sticking up for your classmates."

For a moment your brain shut off. The words "I'm proud of you" sounded foreign in general, let alone coming from your stubborn boyfriend himself.

Once you processed what was said you couldn't help the blush that rose to your cheeks as your lips rose into the prettiest smile Karma had ever seen in his life. Quickly you gather Karma into your arms, the boy taken aback before welcoming your warm embrace into his arms.

"Thank you Karma." You whispered into his chest, appreciating his new found trust and proudness in you.

This wasn't the same Karma you met when you got here, but you're so happy with how much you've both grown.

"She did totally kick ass Karma." Nagisa said with a grin, the redhead pulling away from you just so he could look at his friend, "She straight up spun behind that guy and before he could even process it, she cracked him right in the back of his neck, it was insane!"

"Oh did she now?"

Smiling wider, you looked over to Karma with a grin as you slowly got up on your knees, grunting a bit as you were trying to be careful not to strain your abdomen.

"I did! He was all like ‘woah where did she go’,” You spoke, mocking the large man’s voice as you knit your brows in an attempt to look scary, “And I was all like, ‘surprise!’ before I chopped down on his neck.”

Karma watched your movements with a toothy grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement and pride as you explained your tactics.

“He was totally knocked out for like… a few seconds at least.” You said with a pant, smiling down to the two boys that watched with matching smiles.

Karma couldn’t help but snort at your final pose, his arms grabbing the back of your thighs and gently lifting you into his lap, so as to not agitate your wound any further..

"Of course my sweet angel kicked his ass, she learned from the best after all~" Karma said with a cocky grin, Nagisa giving an unimpressed brow raise as you stuck out your tongue to him.

You all joked around until the class seemed to finally calm down, all of you eating the sweet treats Mr. Takaoka brought before he went psycho on you all.

It wasn't until you hummed against Karma's chest that he felt a sense of deja vu. 

There you were, nestled between his crossed legs, your body cuddled up against his warm embrace as you nibbled on the flakey pastry in your hand.

Looking practically upside down backwards to Karma you stared into his beautiful golden eyes before offering a sweet smile, your lips quite literally covered in white powder from your pastry.

"I love you Karma." You whispered softly, giggling when Karma placed a quick kiss on your lips, only for his tongue to swipe those plush lips of yours to get the remaining powder from them.

Sure you weren't overlooking the large ocean on a dramatically beautiful cliff, and there were a few additions to the picture that Karma could've gone without. But he wouldn't have had it any other way.

"I love you too Y/n."

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