#peg death cw | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arieswritez · 1 year ago

Note

yandere mark nsfw alphabet😳😳 loved the idea

cw; DARK CONTENT! MDNI!!! rape, breeding/baby trapping, dacryphilia, asphyxiation, abusive 'relationships', edging, predator/prey dynamics, nipple play, kidnapping, food tampering, mentions of suicidal ideation, threats of violence, implied death, manipulation, victim blaming, branding, mentions of incapacitation.

about; nsfw alphabet ft. cray cray mark x gn! reader xx a/n; a couple of u asked for this so here it is :D not edited & straight off the dome so excuse any grammatical errors. will edit if necessary xx

A= Aftercare

'aftercare' with yandere mark is patronizing and condescending. a lot of shushing, wiping your tears, and asking why you're so upset. you asked for this with all your fucking cock teasing. it couldn't have been that bad, i mean, he did make you cum! why can't you just let good things happen to you? ;(

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

mark loves your eyes <3 it's the first thing he's noticed from you. how they seemed to gleam and widen while you gave him your undivided attention. he can't count the amounts of times he had to excuse himself and jack off in the bathroom: imagining how your eyes would water with his cock stuck down your throat. or the way your eyebrows would furrow while he jack hammered into you.

C= Cum

yan mark definitely likes marking you with his cum. he likes to see it dripping off your face, along your belly, your thighs, but most importantly, he loves it when he watches it drip out of you. whether you can get pregnant or not - and good luck if you can - there's just something primal about cumming inside of you. marking you in and out.

D= Dirty secret

he's a masochist just as much as he's a sadist. his little obsession with you caused him to get a tattoo of your name <3 right at his adonis belt 🥺 so everytime he's in too deep,, your hands desperately try to hold his hips back,, and your blunt nails dig into the curved lines of your name. it never fails to make his eyes roll into the back of his head 🫶🏽🤭

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

canon typical mark is (was) a blushy lil virgin but yan!mark has a tad bit more experience. he's attractive, he's funny, he knows how to play into the slightly awkward charm that got you to lower your defenses. so it's safe to say it isn't hard to find random hookups every now and then.

it's not all about his experience. he just knows what you like.

you may not know it, but he's. . done his research. and by that i mean, he's logged into your computer or your phone and looked through your browser history. he knows what kind of porn you like. and some of those things are borderline freaky. here you are, acting all innocent, like you wouldn't hurt a fly. or high and mighty like no one would ever dare snuff out your flame.

who would've known you were such a desperate slut?

but that's okay! because he's willing to do anything to satisfy you. . or humiliate you by making you cum. he feels it takes you down a peg, when he pins you down and makes you cum even though you don't want to. even though your mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to hold your climax back while he plays with your clit/cock.

unbeknownst to you, he's watched you masturbate. knows the right amount of pressure & speed that gets your toes curling. he knows you so well & he can't wait to learn more about you 💕

F= Favorite position

mark loves watching you squirm beneath him. most importantly, he loves taking you down. he might even make you think you can get away. the chase, the constant cat and mouse you'd subject him to used to be torture. your teasing, the occasional sliver of skin as you stretched, the way you'd lay your head on his lap as the two of you watched television, the way you'd grin when he blushed. . and the wrestling. god, the play wrestling.

he used to let you win. but now. . now this is real. there's real consequences. so he makes you think you can kick him off while you flail. maybe even lets you get up and run. your elbows are all scuffed during the struggle and he's given you a busted lip, but he lets you think you've won.

god knows he'll catch up eventually.

the games he'd play made you cocky. you thought you were stronger than him instead of considering that it was just him playing nice. so he loves to watch the look of defeat, of deception, anger, and disappointment towards yourself when it's revealed he could've had his way with you all along.

he loves to be on top.

but sometimes,

sometimes,

he likes it when you're on top. some things never change. and lets just say he didn't always let you win play wrestling just because he was trying to be a gentleman. but because he liked the way your weight felt on top of him as you grinned triumphantly, pinning his wrists down.

now, of course, things have changed. he can't let you have all the control. pity. but he forces you to ride him: his hand wrapped around your throat. he could really hurt you if he so much as wanted to. . something he hisses into your ear whenever your pace so much as falters. he makes you work for it. and it takes longer to make him cum when you ride him. fear makes you clumsy, makes your legs shake more, and you're sore and achy and tired, which makes it all the more fun.

so i think his fave is when he forces you to be on top :)

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

yan!mark teases you a lot. comments on how many times he's made you cum, pinches your nipples just to hear you squeal. he's only ever quiet and serious when he's in a bad mood.

H= Hair

mark's trimmed but not necessarily shaved.

you, on the other hand, have to be shaved. not because he finds it unattractive (if anything, it makes him feral. makes him feel like you're something meant to be conquered, something to be domesticated. controlled.)

hence his decision to have you shaved at all times. it's about control.

he forces you into the bath tub and watches as you shave, making sure you're all pretty for him. no, you don't get a say in the matter. you're his little doll. he'll do whatever he wants to you.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

mark is rough. depending on the situation, he may start off slower, softer, easing into you while his words are pure venom. he's grinding into you, making you hiccup, because this type of 'love making' should be reserved for couples. not whatever the two of you have got going on. but of course, he speeds up. roughing you up the more into it he gets.

he's rough regardless of who the object of his affection is, but he's definitely rougher if you're on the masculine side. yan!mark doesn't like to be challenged. he doesn't like talk back. he doesn't like you running around thinking you're big and bad. so he has to knock you down a peg. force you to understand he's stronger than you.

he chokes you out, squeezing your throat until your vision spots. he likes to watch your face change colors. and when your mouth opens, desperately trying to suck in air, he spits onto your tongue 💗

likes it when you - confident, and tough, walking like nothing can ever hurt you - beg him to let you go. beg him not to kill you.

because, sometimes, you fear he just might.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

he does! but when he gets you, there's really no need for that <3

when he hadn't kidnapped you, he'd masturbate all the time. it was the only way to relieve himself. like i rambled about before, he'd steal your underwear and cum into them, use them as tissues to wipe his abdomen clean.

secretly takes pictures of you - upskirts if you wear 'em,, or just candids. cums to your most mundane selfies.

if the two of you were close before he kidnapped you, debbie would send you all types of homemade treats. sweet or savory, whatever it was; you loved debbie's cooking. what you didn't know was that mark would add a little bit of his own . . twist to them. when you'd steal bites of his food, you always wondered why his tasted differently to yours.

and the way he'd stare at you as you ate, jesus.

you thought he just liked the way you'd wolf down whatever his mom cooked. turns out he just liked watching you eat his cum.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

BREEDING!!! whether you can get pregnant or not, he loves the idea of claiming you for a lifetime. of changing your life and forcing you to carry his child. watching you grow round and hormonal. he knows he'd have to keep you on a tight leash; lest you do something you'll regret in order to escape your fate. but it'll be worth it. because after nine months, you'll have another life to look after. you'll be on edge all the time, protecting a fragile, little life, because you can't trust mark to do it.

after all, if you're really bad, he can always get rid of it. start all over again. and you wouldn't want that, would you~?

dacryphilia.

there's nothing like watching you cry. when you'd confide in him about your troubles, when you'd cry on his shoulder, seek solace in his company for whatever reason, and cry. . it'd be really hard to hide his erection. the first time you let yourself cry in front of him was a day he'd never forget. he couldn't stop thinking about it since. wonders if you tear up when someone fucks you. (you do. you will)

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

mark doesn't care where he takes you as long as he's got you. it can be in public or not, just as long as he takes you to the secondary location he'll keep you prisoner in. if it's in the au where nolan & him team up, there will be a compound with all the rebels. you'd be at the top floor in a comfy little penthouse. a gilded cage overlooking the remains of your burned city.

i think he'll first want to fuck you in a place where there'll be no interruptions. if it isn't in the au where him & nolan conquer earth, he knows how to play his role. doesn't want to risk being found raping you. he'll most likely fuck you in a place you hold dear to your heart. your bedroom, could be an example.

because wherever that safe space may be, you won't be able to stand being there without thinking about him.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

he likes it when you act so sure of yourself. when someone's a bit cocky and bossy. it's nice to break you.

it is a whole lot easier when someone's shyer, though. wallflowers always blend into the background.

no one misses them when they go missing.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

there's almost nothing mark won't do to you, sorry ;( even if he doesn't like it. . even if you both don't like it. . he'll always find a way to humiliate you if you've been bad. so it's advised you be on your best behavior if you really don't want him to do some fucked up shit to you. & believe him: it hurts him more than it hurts you!!

all he's ever wanted was to own you.

you were meant for him.

so why fight?

you both know you're not getting out of this alive

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

mark doesn't always give head unless it's to put you in your place. just to show you that he can make you cum and theres nothing you can do about it.

but he makes you choke on him all the time. he's impatient, forcing your head down and hiking his hips up to meet your face. if you've pissed him off, he'll pinch your nose and hold you down. loves to feel your nails dig into the bulk of his thigh. sometimes, you'll make him bleed. he doesn't care.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

mark doesn’t last very long BUT he’s got a very short refractory period and can go for countless rounds. by the time you cum once, he’s already cum like three times and he’s ready for more. by then, he’s already fucked dumb. so your next orgasms will be forced out of you, roughed up and overstimulated as his cum leaks out of you, his cum acting as lube and making the slide intoxicatingly easy.

Q= Quickie

basically non-existent. he loves giving you his undivided attention. and he never stops after one round ;(

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

he loves trying new things with you. he's spent so much time fantasizing about you that he doesn't even know where to start the first time he gets his hands on you. he'll most likely force fuck you more than once in a day the first time he gets the chance to.

S= Stamina

(see pace <3)

T= Toys

loves using toys on you. if you’ve used them before him, he’ll force you to use them in front of him. it doesn’t take long before he takes control: grabbing them and fucking you with them. edging you. if you cum, then it’s only fair he cums, too, right? and you don’t really like that much ;( so best hold it in <3

U= Unfair (how do they tease? edge?)

mark loves to tease and edge you.

you say you hate him. you can't stand him touching you.

you bite and you snarl, kick and punch, yet when he has you pinned, edging you for hours on end. . you end up breaking. begging him to make you cum. of course, he coaches you through it. tells you he'll leave you alone once you cum, he promises. yet he drags it out for so long. hearing you ask to cum instead of asking him to stop is music to his ears.

except, mark is a liar. you shouldn't trust him.

he just ends up overstimulating you after you cum😒

V= Volume

lots of whispering and hissing, talks very quietly and carefully. you'd think he'd be loud. . but he's not. and despite the fact that he may say vile, disgusting things to you, he whispers them to you so nicely. . if he were saying anything else it'd be sweet. he's so patronizing ;( whimpers in your ear when he's close.

W= Wild card

really into pain.

since he's got his powers, it's not very often that he feels pain. sure, there are some fights with villains - while he's out playing the perfect hero in the mean time - that give him a few flashes of pain. but that's once a blue moon.

nothing compares to you.

you fight him like you're afraid he might kill you. and he might. but it's never his intention ;( he knows what kills and what doesn't (trust him) &, believe it or not, he doesn't want to lose you. but you fight him with such intensity he has to manhandle you more than he'd like.

your hits are surprisingly hard. you claw at him and punch and kick, and he's thought about breaking your legs more times than he can count - he still might if you catch him on a bad day - but then that'd leave you completely immobilized and that's really no fun. because he likes it when you make him bleed. he likes it when your hands slap against his face and when your nails try to claw his eyes out. he wears the bruises and the cuts you give him like badges of honor and he loves to bite his busted lip when he's close to cumming.

he loves it when you hurt him. and he loves it when he ends up winning, anyway.

X= X-ray (size)

5-6in & THICK. really pretty w/ plump balls. he cums SO much.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

he's got a HIGH sex drive.

you've teased him for so long he doesn't think he'll ever get enough of you. and there's nothing you can do to stop him. if the two of you weren't close - if the two of you weren't friends, etc. - there's nothing you can do to lay low. you'll catch his attention sooner or later and he'll weasel his way into your life before you even realize it. his intentions would appear pure at first. he'd be so caring, wondering if you're doing okay, and protective; who were you talking to? i don't think they're good for you~

and you listened. because it's mark you're talking about. but if you truly knew him, you'd realize his accusations were actually projections.

Z= Zzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

falls asleep fairly quickly after he's wrung himself dry. but that's only IF he's already taken you hostage. if he so happens to assault you while the two of you aren't where he'd like to keep you, he takes you there, first. coupled with his strange idea of aftercare, he is fairly affectionate. or as affectionate as you'd expect him to be, anyway. always with a hint of menace: he'd hold you tight against him, an arm around your waist and the other wrapped around your throat. making sure you don't so much as think about straying away from him 💗💗

#mark grayson #invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #yandere mark grayson x reader #mark grayson brain rot #can't stop imagining mark being an absolute creep #“when will my husband come back from war”#but it's just some psycho #do you think yan! mark listens to deftones #korea & lovers are his songs #mascara is if he's still pretending to be normal #& baby traps u or something #so now u have to get marrieeeddd eee #when he follows in his dad's footsteps #making u a stay at home parent while he saves the world #but ur being held hostage #listen to it now i am in ur walls

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broshot · 2 years ago

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Can I request JJK characters x near death hurt reader? C:

a/n: you absolutely can, thank you for the request! this request doesn't have any characters so I picked a few myself, let me know if there's anyone you wanna see in this and I'll write♡ I also added a little confession to this because it was cute :) this is probably not what you expected at all but I hope that's fine

cw/tw: gn!reader, hurt w comfort (angst to fluff), hurt reader, mentions of death + blood, confession, gojo being a dad to megumi (I love them), probs a bit (or very) ooc, contains: gojo satoru, megumi fushiguro (separately)

nanami and sukuna version

♡♡♡

gojo satoru was a man who feared no fights; he was the strongest, invincible. he went into fights knowing he'd win, he never had any doubt of that.

and he smiled. he smiled and he joked around. he wanted to seem strong both mentally and physically. and he was strong, so strong he could protect anyone, he thought.

so why were you laying on the ground with your head on his lap with blood flowing out of your side? why was the ground being painted red with your blood? why was there so much blood, didn't he win the fight with the curse that was attacking you?

he took of the bandage that was over his eyes, placing it on your wound and pressing on it. it didn't help. the blood kept flowing out, staining his hands red.

"(name), open your eyes," he demanded. you shook your head so slightly he might have missed it if he didn't have his eyes glued onto your face.

"try for me, okay? open your eyes just a little."

you obeyed, looking at him with your eyes slightly open. your eyelids felt heavy. you opened your mouth and choked out a quiet "it hurts, I can't."

"no, please. don't leave me now." he pegged as your eyes started to close again.

"please look at me. the help is on the way, I swear." his voice broke a little and he hated it. he didn't want to cry, he wanted to be strong.

"I'm sorry." you whispered, wishing he'd hear your last apology and maybe, if there was a slight chance to it, maybe accept it.

"don't say that as if they were your last words," he said. "please, open your eyes and look at me."

but you didn't react. he noticed the tears in the corners of your eyes and the thin line of blood getting out of your mouth and sliding down on your cheek.

"no," he breathed in, feeling a wave of panic flow over him. he couldn't loose a person he loved, not again. he definitely wouldn't lose you, he swore to himself.

his head was spinning and he felt dizzy. "satoru, you idiot, you can't collapse too." he scoffed at himself.

"don't stand up or the wound will get worse." he said to himself. what if he didn't move, though? would the blood just bleed out before you got any help?

he felt your body get colder and colder by the seconds. his eyes started to sting and he felt warm, salty tears push out of his eyes to his cheeks.

"please wake up, please!" he sobbed out loud. he couldn't lose you, he didn't want to.

and again, he blamed himself for the nth time. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for not being able to save you." he sobbed, hugging you closer to him. he then raised his head up to the sky and screamed "I didn't ask to be the strongest!" as if the universe could hear him and change the past.

he cried like there was no tomorrow. he didn't care if anyone saw him like this, not now. he could make them forget about it soon enough, anyway. he could build his walls back up and stop looking vulnerable, but at that moment none of that mattered to him. he just wanted to keep you safe.

"gojo! (name)! where are you?" he then heard a voice.

♡♡♡

you opened your eyes but immediately closed them due to a bright light in front of you. you suddenly became aware of your horrible headache.

"(name)? are you awake?" you heard a familiar voice ask and you turned to look to your right.

"satoru," you coughed. he was unusually quiet so you quietly asked him if he was okay.

now that was what got him speaking. "are you.. you could've died - you almost did - and you're asking me if I'm okay?"

you smiled softly and nodded. "you seem quiet."

he looked at you. this was a rare sight - he was crying. gojo satoru, the strongest, was crying. but his next words caught you off guard.

"the love of my life almost died, how could I not be quiet?"

"what?"

"I love you, that's what I'm saying." he looked straight into your eyes, not wanting to seem like a coward. his cheeks were slightly pink.

you were quiet and he felt as if his heart was coming out of his mouth. he was nervous, more nervous than he ever had been.

"I love you too." you finally said, shaking some of his nervousness away.

"I love you so much. I promise I won't let you get hurt again, I'll keep you safe forever." he cried, wrapping his arms around you carefully so he wouldn't make your wound hurt.

"I know satoru. I know you will."

♡♡♡

megumi fushiguro didn't show his emotions often. he was cold and awfully straight forward with his words. because of this, he often hurt other people's feelings, may it be intentional or not. he didn't have much friends because of this.

he did what he was asked to. he fought when he was told to, he wanted to fight. if he won fights he could prove that he was strong and worthy.

he wasn't scared of many things, or so he thought. in fact, he told people he was fearless but it was a big lie. he feared many things, his biggest fear being abandonment. he feared that his loved ones would leave him.

and maybe it was the universe playing tricks on him and his stupid believes, because his biggest fear was displaying right in front of his eyes.

you were on the ground, unconscious and bloody.

he hadn't noticed this happening to you. the current fight against some curses took all of his attention.

he rushed over to you, kneeling down. he tried to wake you, tried to make you open your eyes but you didn't.

he didn't really know how to react. he felt his heart tighten and his stomach twist at the thought of you being gone.

he was in absolute shock, not knowing what to do. so he called gojo.

he answered immediately, just as megumi expected. gojo always answered him fact.

"heyyyy megumi, I'm kind of a middle of a fight right now but what's up?"

"it's about (name.) they're hurt. badly." megumi managed to say, suddenly realizing how dry his mouth was.

"I'll be right over." was what he heard gojo say before the call ended. megumi took your hand in his, squeezing it softly. it was his attempt of trying to comfort himself and stop the bad thoughts from coming into his head.

but as he looked at the ground, he became aware of the huge amount of blood that was coming out of your stomach.

and to his surprise, he cried. he cried in the middle of a fighting ground and in front of many many people. he never cried in front of people, but this was not an ordinary situation.

but then gojo appeared next to him. megumi quickly wiped his tears and tried to look as usual as he could but his tears didn't stop flowing out of his eyes. his tears blurred his vision.

"they're going to die and leave me, aren't they?" megumi sobbed as gojo told someone to take you to a safe place.

"they'll survive for sure, megumi, they're strong." gojo tried to comfort him. megumi shook his head.

"but what if they won't survive?" megumi cried. he felt helpless, childish even.

gojo wrapped his arms around megumi. he didn't know what to do in this situation, he didn't really believe his own words about you surviving.

so let megumi scream into his chest, he told megumi to just let it all out.

♡♡♡

you woke up in a hospital bed. your limbs felt heavy and to be honest, you just wanted to sleep. and you felt warm, really warm. were you getting sick?

but you opened your eyes and saw megumi's black hair. he was sleeping next to you, laying his head on your chest. you lift your arm to softly shake him, waking him up.

"(name)," he whispered, still not awake.

"it's me, 'gumi." you smiled and suddenly he was fully awake.

"you're awake." he stated the obvious.

"I am."

"thank god." he sighed. "I thought you died. and left me."

"I would never leave you. especially like that and without a goodbye." you smiled.

megumi hugged you. he didn't hug you often (he wasn't the biggest affection enjoyer) but this wasn't the most unusual thing. what was more unusual was the fact that he was crying.

"oh megumi, don't cry." you pouted.

"I just, I love you so much and I don't want to live without you." he sobbed. he really decided to throw all of the unusual behavior at you at this moment, you thought.

"you love me?"

"of course I love you, how could I not?" he asked, pulling away from the hug to look at you with his teary eyes.

"you're beautiful." you whispered. "and I love you too, megumi."

"thank god." he sighed, pulling you in for another hug.

♡♡♡

this is so bad omg I'm so sorry english isn't my first language btw so sorry for bad writing♡

I'm writing the other requests too, wait patiently my loves :D (and please request more)

MASTERLIST

#jjk angst #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #soft gojo #megumi fluff #megumi angst #megumi fushiguro fluff #gojo satoru angst #megumi fushiguro angst #satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #megumi x reader #gojo sensei #gojo x reader #gojo smut #megumi smut

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bratphilia · 1 year ago

Text

── ★ ˙ princess? whore ̟ !!

note ✧.*‎ written after copious amounts of convos with rhi about step-dad leon. i live and breathe for stepcest. my world makes no sense and then stepcest is there to guide it back on track. anyways i hope this kickstarts more revil asks especially leon bc i love that man to death.

pairing ✧.*‎‎ leon s. kennedy x reader

cw ✧.*‎‎ reader is of age and in college, step-dad!leon, stepcest, age difference, kinda voyeurism, groping, pussy slapping, squirting, clit rubbing, overstim, mocking, daddy kink, literal wedgie, spanking, multiple orgasms, doggy style, rough sex, name-calling, general degrading

taglist ✧.*‎‎ @kissingrhi @cemeteryry

synopsis ✧.*‎ your step-dad finds you in your room with a boy's hand up your skirt and decides to teach you a lesson.

the second leon pulls up in the driveway and sees an unfamiliar car parked in his usual spot, he knows something is wrong. very wrong. so wrong that a shitty feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, causing him to frown. someone in his house when you're supposed to be home alone only spells out trouble.

so naturally, he goes and investigates. doesn't call your name when he walks in like he usually does. something tells him not to. the door closes quietly. he kicks off his shoes — per your mother's request to keep the floors clean — and pads upstairs. to his surprise, your door is cracked slightly open. it's usually closed. this is weird, and once again, he just gets an icky feeling that something is wrong.

conveniently, the space between the door and its frame leaves enough room for leon to peer inside without having to open it any wider. and that's where he finds the source of that nasty feeling disturbing him. some boy, who looks to be about your age, has both of his hands under your shirt. from the way the imprint of his hands underneath the fabric looks, he's groping you harshly. no method, just pure lust and hunger. but, like the needy slut leon pegs you for, you're gripping the sheets of your lacy white duvet, moaning quietly.

"you like that?" the guy asks you, pulling his hands out to pinch a nipple that earns a yelp from you.

"mhm," you murmur, drawing out an 'ooh' with your mouth in the shape of an 'o.'

god fucking dammit. the way you moan always goes straight to leon's cock. apart of him says to just walk away and leave you alone. that is, until this boy's lips meet your own and his hand glides up one of your spread thighs to reach under your skirt. that's when leon's had enough. no one gets to touch you down there except for him.

all respect of privacy goes out the window when leon swings the door open so hard it slams into the wall. "get your hands off of her," he says, voice low and threatening.

automatically, your legs snap shut and the guy's arm retracts, looking very fearful of leon. but he has the audacity to ask, "who the fuck are you?"

"who the fuck are you?" leon spits, "in my home, with your hands on my daughter. get out of my house."

the guy sighs, defeated. he turns to you, who's looking quite pale yourself, and says "i'll see you in class."

leon follows the guy out to the hallway, stands over the bannister and watches him close the door behind him. he can feel your eyes on him, and when he turns to face you, they're glossy with tears. "'m sorry, daddy. i can explain—"

but leon's too pissed to hear your whiny excuses. "no. i don't wanna hear it."

he walks over to you. nice and slow to keep you on the edge of suspense as he tells you, "you're a fucking whore, you know that? couldn't wait til daddy came home to get fucked? you had to bring some boytoy in here to do the job for me. and then what? did you expect him to do it better than me?"

"n-no." a tear slips down your cheek. "no, we've just been talking for awhile and—"

he holds a hand up to silence you. "what did i just say? i don't give a fuck about your excuses."

you sniffle, more tears fall from your eyes. "daddy, 'm sorry. won't do it again, i promise."

he tsks at that. "you're really good at that, you know. repeating one phrase, my dumb little broken record." and then he mocks your voice by going up a few pitches, "daddy, daddy, daddy."

you sob, "stop it..."

leon ignored you and sits back on the bed, rests against your plushie of a duck that's fat enough to be used as a pillow. kiiroitori? who gives a fuck, he doesn't care. you turn around and watch him. spreading his legs to make room for you in the middle, he makes a face that suggests resting there is the most obvious thing in the world and pats the area.

you climb over to the place between his legs with another sniffle and assume correctly that he wants you to lay back against his chest. leon pushes the folds of your skirt up to rest on your tummy, not bothering to take it off and making no moves to take off your panties. he snakes his hand down to your panties. he can't see which one it is — your skirt's in the way, blocking his view — but he gets a feel around it and he can tell which one it is just by the itchy fabric. it's your pretty white, lace thong with flowers embroidered as the pattern. he knows you wear it to impress him even though they're "uncomfy" — in your words. it makes his blood boil to think you wore them for that guy. this asshole who doesn't deserve what leon's doing to you right now.

jealousy gets the better of him. he bunches up your panties and pulls real hard, the fabric getting smushed between your lips in a wedgie. "daddy," you whine desperately, drawing out the word.

"mhm, keep fuckin' talking," he says like he's bored. you keep whining and he keeps tugging, and eventually it feels good. the burn of the fabric scratching you down there is honestly better than you could imagine. but with one last, long tug, he lets it snap against you, causing you to involuntarily close your legs and fall to your side on his lower abdomen. your reaction is what shocks him.

"does my little girl like it when daddy hurts her cunt? you wanna be abused down there, huh?" he asks with a smile that you unfortunately can't see, but there's delight evident in his voice.

you're breathing heavily through your nose, trying to compose yourself by wriggling back in the center of his legs. impulsively, leon brings his hand down to smack your pussy. you yelp, closing your legs around his hand. but with a strong grip, he situates your legs so they rest on the outside of his, leaving you nice and open for him. he smacks you again, hitting your clit with precision, but mainly just with a large hand that knows the area all to well.

he smacks you over and over and over. you cry and jolt and whimper with every hit landed onto your poor cunt but he doesn't let up for even a moment. your incessant whining only encourages him more. you can feel your wetness pooling, molding your panties to become one with your pussy.

and then, with a particularly rough hit, you're cumming — no, squirting — through your panties. soaking the fabric, the sheets below you, his hand, and babbling incoherent words such as "oh my god" and "daddy" and "please." he goes harder and increases in speed to induce more of your cum insatiably.

"there you go, there you fuckin' go. just let it all out, yeah? you needy slut," he eggs you on, making you moan and flush at his words alone.

when you've come down from your high is when leon pulls your panties to the side and begins to circle around your sensitive clit. "daddy," you whimper quietly. "no more. please."

"shut the fuck up," he says calmly. "you wanted to get fucked so badly so i'm giving you what you want, the right way."

you didn't say anything after that, instead just flush impossibly deeper. he rubs your clit side to side. picks up his pace over time. he wonders if you can squirt again, but cumming for him twice is enough. you're biting your lip while you moan, squeezing your eye shut, shaking your legs. to no avail, there's just no getting away from his hand. you're trapped here, in this absolute mind fuck of a situation. literally.

you don't end up squirting for him again, but you do cum. he collects the wetness that gathers at your weeping hole and sticks his middle finger in your mouth, sloppy and wet from dipping it inside of you. you taste yourself, that taste leon knows he can't get enough of. he wants to taste you right now, directly from the source, but you don't deserve that right now. for now, you're just a needy slut who tried to fuck some other guy, invited him into your bedroom willingly, almost let his hand up your skirt, and the thought just makes leon seethe, earning just one more slap to your clit. you cry out in surprise, a delicious sound that he basks in; he'll never get tired of it.

"get up and bend over at the foot of the bed so i can fuck you," he whispers in your ear. on shaky legs, you get up and do what he says. pulling up your skirt isn't necessary as it rides up to give him perfect, easy access.

he rubs the fat head of his cock up and down your slit. "think you deserve it?" he asks tauntingly.

you only sniffle and push backwards, desperately attempting to slip his cock inside you yourself. "uh-uh. i asked you a question."

"no," you say, sniffling again. "i don't deserve it."

"good girl. exactly what i wanted to hear," he says and slips it in. once he's bottomed out inside of you, he leans down to tuck a strand behind your ear and whisper, "bet you wanted to be taken like a princess on your princess bed, huh? wanted to be his little pillow princess, sitting back while he does all the work. but you deserve to get fucked like a whore by your daddy. i'm the only one who should be fucking you."

"ohh," you moan, completely at a loss for words. how the fuck do you even respond to that.

with that, he starts thrusting. he doesn't slam into you in fast strokes, but every time he fucks into you he bottoms out. buries into you to the hilt, just how you like it. just like how he rubbed your clit, he eventually picks up the pace.

the sound of his torso hitting your ass only adds to the noise. the bed rocks, not as violent as the way he's hitting it right now, but enough to creak. there's also the noises of your slick sliding against his dick, swallowing him and elongating every time thrusts back in. you're moaning and whimpering wildly, matching the sounds of his grunts and his dirty talk, muttering almost nonsense. you can pick up the words "slut" and "whore" though.

"tell me you're mine and you'll get to cum," he tells you.

your face burns in humiliation. "i'm yours, daddy."

"are you going to bring another boy in my house?"

"n-no, won't ever happen again. i — ah — promise."

he nestles himself inside of you, kissing your cervix. rubs your clit nice and fast, side to side just like before. you babble "i'm yours" and "only yours" and "daddy" over and over as if it's a prayer as you cum around his cock. you clench so deliciously. he pulls out and shoots his load on your back. slaps your ass with his dick and then his hand for good measure.

once you gain composure, you sit up on the bed, pupils dialated, look at him with doe eyes. "'m really sorry, daddy. never meant to hurt you."

"what-the-fuck-ever," he sighs and walks out the room. he needs a beer and smoke.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #re4 leon #re4 remake #re2 remake #resident evil 2 #leon kennedy resident evil #reader insert #pls send leon stuff i need him so bad #resident evil

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the-kr8tor · 6 months ago

Text

Talking Iron

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.4k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood, TW death, CW guns, CW injury, CW food mentions, CW vomit mention, CW violence. Cowboy AU, old west AU.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 2 >>> CHAPTER 3

You haven't been this close to him in 5 years. Breath to breath, heart to heart, you watch yourself in his jade eyes like how one sees themselves for the first time.

“I've finally found you.” Eyes shining, smile brighter than the sun bearing down, you grasp his face tenderly—as if your own eyes deceive you, as if you're dreaming. “Hobie?” You call for him when he doesn't move an inch above you.

Hobie's green eyes just stare at you, or through you. Mouth agape, breath stuck in his throat. To get his attention, you place your thumb softly over the corner of his eye, rubbing gently like you always did when he needed to wake up from a daydream.

For a split second, he leans in your touch. But as fast as he leaned in, he flinched away just as quick. Hobie scrambles away on the dusty ground like you've burned him. You might as well have when he felt how cold the golden band around your middle finger is. Soil dirtying the thick leather he wears, he stands up shakily. With the sun behind him, you have a hard time seeing his face, seeing the face you've longed for. A shadow cast around him, a halo of light around his head, the shadow blanketing him, as if you're not allowed to bear witness to all his glory.

Instead of ‘I love yous’ or ‘I miss yous’ falling on his lips, harshness flows out of them. “What are you doin' ‘ere?”

Hands bound, you try to sit up but fail. “Looking for you of course!” You say cheerfully, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is to you, for him, it's the most confusing statement.

“Why?” Hobie's hands clenched into fists. He's not going to hurt you, he'll never hurt you—but he really wants to punch something. Just when he thought the past won't haunt him, just when he pushed the past behind him, you came to him like some miracle.

You almost scoff. “W-why? To see you, just like you wanted me to.” Finally succeeding to sit up, you huff. “Five years of no communication,” you say forlornly, “of course I'd come and see you the moment you sent word.” You smile again, and he looks away. Anywhere, anything else than the curl of your lips.

“Sent word?” He shakes his head. “I've never sent you anythin'” His words would pierce your heart but your excitement and relief triumphs over the feeling.

“A-are you sure?” You blink slowly, reaching up with your bound hands. “Can you help me up, please? I'll show you the letter.”

“Letter?”

“Can you stop asking and just help me up, Hobie? Please, the ground is hot.” With a quick nod, eyes still glancing away from you, he grabs you by the rope around your hands, avoiding touching your own; lifting you up rather quickly. The moment you're back on your feet, he yanks his hand away from you, to which you're too happy to even notice. “It's in my skirt pocket, the right.” You instruct him since you can't reach it with your hands tied. Hobie reaches to your left, hand roaming around your empty pocket, careful not to graze your thigh. “My right, Hobs.” He freezes in place, he hasn't heard that nickname in years. Without another word, he takes his hand back, then he searches for the neatly folded paper. “I've never pegged you to be a law man. Are you gonna turn me over, sheriff?”

Hobie scowls at the title, “not even close.” He sees how much it's been folded, like you've read it a thousand times. Opening the letter, scanning the contents, the pause gives you time to admire him fully. The whole ‘american cowboy’ shtick suits him, you think. You ogle him unabashedly.

Each word has his jaw tightening. It's in his writing, he remembers the exact words that's full of longing and sadness. It's full of the words you expect him to say. Yet, he wasn't the one who sent it. He's sure he didn't, especially that it was written when he was drowning in his amber filled glass. “Where'd you get this?” His eyes flick over to you, your smile faltering for only a second.

“A mail carrier?” You chuckle, “it was delivered to me.”

“I didn't send this to you.”

“Oh.” Your smile crumbles but you fix it back up almost immediately, optimism winning. “Maybe you just forgot? Remember when you forgot to put on a sock that one time and—”

“This isn't some sock, Y/N.”

“You didn't ask for me? Was it forged?” You ask quietly, heart shattering with every question.

Hobie shakes his head, sucking in his teeth, he pockets the letter. Taking the rope that hangs on your bounded hands, he tugs you back to the shop. “C’mon.” Boots thudding on the ground, he's going to do what he's good at—his job.

“W-wait! I haven't seen you in five years and you're seriously taking me to face charges? Not even a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you doing?’” You yank back, heels digging in to stop him.

“Hello, you're not goin’ to jail, I need the ten bucks. You seem fine so ‘m bringin’ you home.” Dragging you inside, the shopkeeper grins and even claps at the sight.

“That is so much worse! Hobie—” You plead, you don't remember ever pleading with him before.

“Good job, Mr…?” The moustachioed man asks, ten dollar bill in hand.

“No one.” Hobie snatches the bill, then immediately dragging you towards the front of the shop. The bells chime as he opens the door, but you're too polite to not say sorry to the man.

“I'm sorry for pointing the gun at you, but you shouldn't have shot at someone who cannot shoot back. It's rude—!” You get yanked outside, the man looks confused at your words.

“Don't apologize to him.” Hobie says, hands placed on your hips, a feeling that isn't foreign to you, but something you missed dearly.

You grin at him, expecting him to say the words you long for. Instead, you get lifted up. Yelping, connected hands flying to his wrists, he places you on his horse. Hitching your hands around the horn of his saddle.

“I think we're good, Hobie, you got his money. Can you untie me now?” You start to get nervous. The brilliant black horse looks over his shoulder, black marbles staring at you, paying you no mind. “Hi, I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure.”

“The horse doesn't talk, lov—” He stops himself before he could complete his sentence. Hobie lifts himself up, sitting behind you, legs next to yours, arms cageing you in while he holds the reins. “Thought you'd know that. Or is it because the horses back in England learned to talk after I left.” You still have no idea why he left, you're waiting for the right time to ask, for now your main concern is why your hands are tied.

“I know horses can't talk.” You roll your eyes, “I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm sure you're close to your horse, correct? You were always fond of animals.”

“His name is Buckeye.” Hobie says, with a slight kick and a click of his tongue, he holds the reins precisely, steering Buckeye towards the train station further out of town.

“Cute!” You exclaim despite the hunger, you're still happy that you found him. Or he was the one who found you. Hobie always has a knack for that it seems, whether you're hiding away or can't be bothered to be perceived by anyone but him, he always finds you. Always. “It's a cute name. Buckeye, fitting name for a horse that's as gorgeous as you, huh?” You lean down just in time for Buckeye to look back at you. He neighs like he understood you. “Yeah, you agree.” You giggle, the dark horse looks like he enjoys the attention.

Hobie is baffled by the whole interaction. “Stop cooing at my horse.”

“Why not? He seems to like it.” You touch his mane as best as you can with your hands still tied. “Right, Bucky?” The horse has an extra pep in his step with you figuring out his nickname. You continue to giggle, Hobie has no idea how Bucky warmed up to you so fast. “Where to, Hobs? Home?” You ask excitedly.

“Yes, your home.”

“Wait— What?!” You almost fell off with how fast you looked back at him.

—

All your questions were left unanswered, but you still think he's playing some sort of joke on you, a joke that is getting older with every tick of the giant clock that hangs above the railway station. A tumbleweed passes by on the train tracks, a warm breeze passes by the near empty train station. Hobie stands next to you, leaning on a pillar, eyes roaming around the barren place. He's far enough that you can't reach him and tell him all the words you wanted to say to him since he left. Yet, he's close enough that you can admire all the physical changes.

From the scruff of his growing beard, to the peeking scar around his neck—he looks like he grew up. The smoke from his cigarette curls upwards to the brim of his hat, parting ways down the middle like theater curtains that show his chiseled face. His jade eyes are as green as the grass at home, as green as the fields you used to run around with him. It reminds you of home, and at the same time, it reminds you of the years that went by without those green eyes by your side.

“You look really good.” You finally say something that isn't a question. Fingers playing with the gold band around your middle finger. “Seriously, what's your secret?” Your behind hurts from the hard wood of the bench. Travelers are sparse and far in between, you notice them staying away from you.

As predicted, he doesn't answer.

You copy his voice and demeanor just how you remembered it last. “Well, love, the secret is to bathe in cow's milk at least once a week. And to stay away from the sun.” You keep your smile despite the silence from your companion. “That's probably what you'd say.” He barely even looks at you. “Well, five years isn't that long,” you lie, it was an eternity without him. “I always thought you'd age well—”

“Five years is a long fuckin' time, Y/N.”

“Finally, a word from your mouth.” You reach towards him, impatiently showing him your tied hands. “Can you untie me now? I can't run from you, with my ankle still hurting and the fact that I'm starving and dehydrated, I won't be doing any running for a while.”

“You're starving?” There's a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

“Yes,” you almost exclaim. Hobie takes one step towards you, instead of untying your binds, he takes your bandana that hangs around your neck. You flinch in response, an act that has him questioning what happened to you in those five years he left.

Hobie kneels in front of you, more careful of any sudden movement, a vision of a younger him passes over your mind's eye. He lifts your skirt up, enough to show the wound on your ankle. Gloved hands wrap gingerly around your foot as he places it on top of his thigh.

“The bleedin' stopped,” not once has he looked in your eyes. While you stare at him affectionately, a soft smile on your tired lips. Hobie wraps your bandana around the wound, tying it with a knot that you're familiar with. You grin at the memory of him using it all the time. “There,” just as you thought, he taps your foot three times, a habit of his that you're fond of. Hobie realizes what he has done subconsciously, straightening up, he takes a wrapped biscuit from his pocket. Grabbing your hand, he places it unceremoniously on your palm like your skin burns him like a sinner to holy water. “Your people will be here any minute.”

“We've been waiting here for two hours. And who—? What people?”

“The people who want you back home.”

You almost drop the biscuit. “But I don't want to come home! I want to stay with you—!”

“Why are you really ‘ere, Y/N? Hmm? Great aunt not givin’ you enough allowance?” He flicks the cigarette butt away.

Your heart cracks, voice as small as a dormouse. “Why are you being like this?” Hobie inhales sharply. “I told you, I came to see you because of your letter where you wrote that you missed me and wanted to see me. I–I have so many of mine right here—” A train whistle rings out before Hobie could reply.

The smell of burning coal itches your nose, blackened smoke billowing out of the metal beast that creaks and shrieks on the steel tracks.

A small crowd exits the train once it fully stops. You notice Hobie standing closer to you, hand placed on the back of the bench. His eyes search for someone amidst the travelers while you take big bites of the dry biscuit, desperate to satiate the rumbling of your stomach. Damn all the etiquette lessons drilled into your brain, you're starving.

“Can I have some water?” You cough out, palm covering your mouth for some decency. “Hobie?” His head is on a swivel, eyes scanning the stranger's faces. You tug at his coat, he curses under his breath so you retract your hand quickly. “I'm sorry.” Your small voice startles him.

“What?” He looks down at you, your eyes are glued on your lap, palms up like you're waiting for punishment. His jaw tightens, knuckles shaking. What happened to you after he ran? “‘ere,” passing a canteen of water over to you, he places it on your open palms gingerly.

The cool metal of the canteen hits your skin, instead of stinging pain. “Thank you,” you take a drink, Hobie doesn't miss how your hands shake, almost spilling water all over yourself.

“Stop sayin' that.” He says it through a softer tone, “don't be so polite.” He's not trying to chastise you, but you don't know the difference.

“Sorry—I'll stop.” You close the lid to the canteen, giving it back to him without lifting your head up.

As the crowd thins, Hobie controls his breathing. It was better when you were looking at him, at least then he could see how happy you were.

“No one's here.” He finally says, the hands on his sides stretching, joints aching from the previous tightness of his knuckles.

“Because no one's looking.” You hope that was the case. Or at least it was just her looking for you, not him too.

“The reward on your head says otherwise.” Hobie wishes he didn't say everything that passes by his mind when you look at him like a heartbroken fawn. “C’mon.” He takes your arm, helping you stand up. He's ill equipped to handle emotions right now, especially if he can barely control his own.

“Where are we going?” You ask, shoes thumping across the floorboards.

“The post office, it's right around the corner.” Sure enough, the post office is connected to the railroad station. Convenient, you thought. Stopping next to Bucky on his post, he neighs at the sight of you. You smile at him, even though he can't possibly understand your expression. Hobie taps his saddle, subtly asking your permission to lift you up. You nod once, as if you could say no. With one strong lift, you're back on Bucky's saddle. “Right, stay ‘ere, scream if you're in trouble.”

“You're leaving me here?”

“No, I need to check my telegram. I can see you through the window, yeah?” He points at the foggy windows of the post office. “I'll be back in five.”

“What if someone comes?”

He's already halfway to the office. “Scream.”

An old woman with a cane and a trendy dress passes by, seeing your bound hands, she tosses Hobie a look of disapproval.

“It's fine, she's my wife and she likes to roleplay.” Once upon a time, he thought that he'd call you that for real. That was a different time. “Ain't that right, sweetheart?” He opens the door for the woman who looks at you for reassurance.

You give the stranger your best smile. “Yes, my love.” His finger twitches, breath hitching. “Don’t worry about me, ma’am, it's all good.”

The older woman scoffs, muttering a ‘the youth and their weird sex fantasies.’ She enters the office first while Hobie gives you an approving nod.

“The excuse wasn't even good.”

“It worked right?” With a smug smile on his lips, he enters the office while you settle on Bucky.

“Your rider's weird.” You whisper to his horse who huffs in response.

Hobie grabs a form on a table placed near the windows. He has the perfect view of you chatting with Bucky. A smile creeps up on him, to which he tamps down immediately. Writing all the necessary information, with a fake name and address of course, he gives it to the man at the counter who wordlessly reads it and searches in the back for any letters for him.

He watches you smile at his horse, desperately trying to remember how your laughter sounded. A real one where you would almost choke at your own spit because of a joke he told you. The smile curls around his lips once again.

An envelope slides out of the slot, his fake name, Larry Smith, is written in neat writing. He rips it open immediately, eyes skimming the contents. The words ‘change of plans’, ‘moved south’ that are followed by an address that he's familiar with in the southern area has him taking his hat off, hands rubbing along his hairline from how crappy the situation is. Judging by all the detail on the letter, it would take him weeks to get you there, months if something unsavory happens on the road. He has a feeling that something would happen based on the reward increase that's listed next to the address. From five thousand to six.

Your piercing scream rings all the alarm bells in his body, bolting straight away, he sees you try to fight off a couple of men that are quickly riding off with you. They're moving three ways from Sunday, their laughter fading out. Hobie's blood boils.

Buckeye neighs loudly, waking his rider up from his blind anger. Hobie unhitches the dark horse, long leg swinging over the saddle, boots immediately placed inside the stirrups, hands tightly curled around the reins. And off he goes, leaving the railroad station in the dust, galloping incredibly fast.

He hears you yell his name just before you were abruptly cut off by a cloth shoved in your mouth. “Y/N!” Desperately calling for you, anger rolls off him like an avalanche in the winter. Taking his pistol out, with one hand he aims. But with the speed and the jostling around, he can't aim straight—especially if there's a chance of him shooting you instead.

The phantom pain around his neck aches.

Adrenaline rushes through him, he sees reason, aiming at the other man that isn't holding you. With a click, and a squeeze of the trigger—he shoots. The bullet whizzes by with a piercing sound, hitting the man's shoulder, turning his insides out, spraying warm crimson everywhere. The pained yell he let out would haunt your dreams. Moreso of the sorrow filled scream his companion let out.

With a thud, the limp body falls, his own horse running him over. You shut your eyes, mind crawling back to the one place you were happy staying forever in, Hobie's tiny flat back home. Back when afternoon tea consists of him rambling about some new invention he thought of, back when his hands would roam over your skin softly. Back when you held him close to you as he whispered promises in your ears.

Now it's all rough leather against your hand, jade eyes avoiding your own, mouth permanently etched into a frown. You know him, deep down the Hobie who would press feather light kisses on your lips is still in him. That deep down he has built a façade to survive this lawless land, and it's hard for him to break that carefully made façade in one day. You'd find his softness again, but you have to survive this first.

The horse you've been thrown on has finally stopped running. Your chest hurts from all the jostling, you were placed stomach first on the saddle—where the jagged leather uncomfortably rubbed against you and the spine of the horse hit you over and over again. The strange man yanks you away, now you're completely standing up with a gun pressing on your temple. A cry inches up to your throat, the cloth in your mouth chokes you. The man smells of cow shit and iron.

You watch as Bucky halts to a stop, dust flying around like the fireflies back home. The hat on Hobie's head hides the anger in his eyes, trigger finger itching to shoot again.

You cry, his name muffled by the cloth. You didn't mean to cry, but everything hurts. The warm barrel of the gun digs into your skull, whilst your hands grip the stranger's arm, your nails hopelessly trying to claw him away from you. The stranger smells like death.

“You killed my brother!” The man screams in your ears, breath rancid, warm air tickling your cheek. Amidst the loud rushing of your blood in your ears, you hear hurried footsteps behind you. They sound like there could be dozens of them, all pointing their guns at the man you loved. Still love, even now.

Hobie doesn't get off his horse. He sits still, frozen like a bronze statue. The only indication of him being alive was his labored breathing.

“What's happenin’?” A gruff voice asks from behind, thick southern drawl making him stand out from the rest of the gang. “Who's this, Jacky?”

“The broad, the broad from the telegram. Henry and I recognized her, thought we'd be rich. We saw her first!” Jacky acts like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Where's Henry then?” The older sounding man asks.

“With a bullet in him,” Hobie's voice is calm, cold and calculating, none of the warmth you were used to. “He's laying in a pool of his own blood a few ways from ‘ere. I bet the coyotes have him now.”

“You fucker!” Jacky presses the gun closer, you cry out in pain. Hobie's hand twitches. “I'll fucking shoot her! I swear I'd shoot!”

“Do you think that's worth it? Getting her blood all over your nice camp?” Hobie's unfeeling tone makes you weep harder. “Killin’ your mark? My mark?” He speaks commandingly, teeth gritted.

You look up to the heavens, blue sky engulfing your vision. A part of you wants to go home, a part that regrets running away in the first place. But there's a bigger part of you that's glad that you saw him again, even though you face your imminent death. It was worth it, you suppose. At least now your heart can rest after seeing him alive. You close your eyes when the pistol next to your head clicks.

“You talk big, a life for a life then.” A tear slides down your cheek. Hobie aims for your captor's head.

“Wait a damn minute!” You hear footsteps come from behind, the older man steps between them. “I know I remember ya from somewhere.” He tips his hat at Hobie, just in time for you to see him stare at you back intensely. “Yeah, I know ya. You're the one who took out Culver's men in one night, ain't ya? Thirty fuckin’ men all dead in one night.” Gasps are heard from the dozen or so people from behind. You hear whispers of the name ‘spider of the west’ behind you. “Christ, you're him.” With his hands right next to his head in surrender, he looks over his shoulder over to you, you see fear in the old man's eyes. “Let the little miss go, Jacky.”

“An eye for an eye, Arthur—!” Jacky pleads.

“Let her go or I'll be the one putting a bullet to your head, boy!” His scream has you flinching.

Jacky reluctantly lets you go, you almost crumple to your feet but you still stand, not wanting to give them the satisfaction. Your hands tremble as you take out the musty cloth inside your mouth.

Arthur walks over to you, hand ghosting over your back. “‘m sorry about that, sweetheart.”

You walk with your head held high. “Don't say sorry.” Your tear filled eyes flick over to the bearded man. “You’re not the one who hurt me.”

“Still, I'd like to say sorry on behalf of my belligerent men.” He looks up at Hobie who's still sitting on his horse passively. But the older man seems to know the deadly storm brewing behind those emerald eyes. “I apologize for the…miscommunication. If my men knew who you were, they wouldn't have tried anythin'. Jacky and his brother are too big for their breeches. ”

“The next time I see any of you on the road, I won't hesitate.” Hobie says, eyes bright, burning like greek fire.

“As is your right. You take care now.”

You silently lift yourself up on Bucky, with the help from Hobie, hand sliding away the moment you successfully tug yourself up behind him. Hobie doesn't see how vacant your stare is. You refuse to hold on to him, you're afraid of what he did, not of him. He thinks it's the other way around, it's his worst nightmare.

As you both gallop away, the last thing you heard above the hoofbeats is the unmistakable sound of a gun going off.

—

You're getting further and further away from the town you were in. The sun sets next to you as you look at the blood caked under your nails. You no longer shake or cry, just numb.

Buckeye passes by a lone graveyard, metal fences jagged and angled awkwardly. The dilapidated chapel cracks and falls under its own weight. Crows have made a home on the old tombstones, their cawing and beady black eyes raise the skin on your arms. The names of the dead are barely readable on the tombstones—rotten pots of flowers lay on the bed of graveyard soil, black petals going back to where they came from. You look away, afraid that if you don't, you'd see yourself among them.

The large rock formations loom overhead, jagged lines curved and sculpted by time. The holes dotted along its large walls act like a thousand eyes watching over you. Beady limestone eyes twitching, bleading, and crying. The sun fades away behind the horizon, cold replacing warmth, shadows replacing light.

Everything aches, your legs are still shaking from the encounter, the rustling tumbleweeds makes you jump. Eyes frantic, breath quickening, hands going numb—mind reeling back to the bloodied dead man.

“Stop.” You say too quietly. “Stop the fucking horse!”

Hobie reigns in Bucky, halting to a stop. You slid off ungracefully, knee hitting the ground as you scramble away. Bile rises in your throat, acid expelled out of your mouth because of your near empty stomach.

Familiar footsteps walk behind you, you wait for him to close the distance, to hold you close like he has always done five years ago. Yet, he stays far, stopping just a few feet away from your trembling body.

With shaky legs, you stand up, back still facing him. You wipe your mouth clean with your sleeve, Hobie's hand twitches for the handkerchief inside his pocket. He doesn't give it to you. He doesn't know why he didn't. Sniffing, you cough, eyes still stinging.

“Did they hit your head?” He finally says something, his words echoing in the vast empty space.

“No, I'm fine.” You pass by him, hands braced on Bucky's side.

“Y/N—”

You whirl around, “I said I'm fucking fine!” Heaving, chest aching, you rub your tired eyes. “I'm fine, don't worry about me, okay? Can we go?”

“We'll camp ‘ere.” With Hobie's statement, you look back at where you came from. Your captor's camp is miles away from you now, but you swear you can still feel the barrel of his gun digging into your skull, and the rotten smell of his mouth. “They won't follow us.”

“He knew you,” your eyes don't shine with the same optimism he was greeted with. “He looked scared when he remembered you. Hobie, W–what did you do to get him to fear you like that?”

“A lot of things you shouldn't worry about.” He walks past you, grabbing his pack from the saddle. “The less you know, the better.”

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes. He's not the old Hobie you remembered. He would've told you, he used to tell you everything. The gold ring in your finger feels heavy. And all the unsent letters you've hidden inside your skirt feels empty, the flowery words you've written inside are unrequited.

As day fades away to night, the moon shines bright as the stars twinkle above you. The warmth of the open fire settles into your fatigued bones, the pads of your fingers slowly regains feeling. The air is crisp, breeze blowing your lashes, cooling down the hot can of beans in front of you. The scene in front of you reminded you of the time you used to sneak out into the woods to meet with Hobie. He'd light a small fire and huddle close to you while you point out constellations. The beans are new, you wish they were bread instead, like the ones you used to nick from the kitchen.

This time, he sits across from you, far away from you as the fire cackles in between you both. The flames dance in his green eyes, a beautiful sight that you love—yet, you can't help but stay away from it.

“Cold?” He asks, hands properly warmed up from the hot can.

“No,” you answer flatly, legs tucked into you, chin placed atop your knees while you watch the embers flicker away into the dark. The cold helps, it helps numb you down.

“Alright.”

In another time he would've offered his coat, not just the shabby itchy blanket thrown over your shoulders. It all seems like a lifetime ago now.

You have no idea what caused him to leave without a goodbye, whether it was you or your unfeeling family, or for a pursuit of something better—but you know in those five years he has changed, you know he's still the Hobie you love, but you can barely recognize his heart anymore. You came to the new world for a new life with him, away from your predetermined life, because through and through you still love him. The promises he once whispered into your skin repeats in your head like a broken record. It's what's keeping you warm, sane, and in the present.

He eats silently, while you wallow into yourself. You've braved the ocean to see him, rode a dozen trains to get close to him, lost so much and gained so little just to see him alive. Was it all worth it? Worth all the calluses on your feet from all the walking? Worth all the tears you shed just to realize that maybe he doesn't love you anymore? That he fell out of love in those five grueling years?

Does he know that you still love him?

The man sitting across from you is a stranger. Not the one you promised your heart to.

“Hobie?” You call for him, heavy eyes staying on the ashes in front of you.

“Hmm?” He hums, barely audible for you. You silently wish that you don't get used to all his halfhearted replies. You need to hold on to a part of him from five years ago or you'll go crazy and run off into the barren lands of the west.

Against better judgment, against the screaming voice in your head, you finally look at him right in his eyes. “Why'd you leave?”

He quietly sighs, “I had to.” Those green eyes you love so much swirl with unsung emotion that you're not privy to. “Why'd you run away from home?”

“I had to.”

Hobie nods once.

You take your dinner in your cold hands, biting down the bitterness and the feeling. With an inhale, you smile through the pain of your realization. It's better not to dwell on it, or you might lose yourself. Instead, you take the opportunity to live in the moment with him—Relish your time with Hobie or whatever time you have left with him on the journey home.

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kuni-is-daddy · 1 year ago

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Want wanderer to ride me until his biting down on his lip to cum <33 Lessor lord reader preferred :) I love how you write him subby with L.L reader.

SUB CATBOYWANDERER/KUNI! X MALE READER

-art credits -> Link

You can imply it as a strap or pegging. //Riding and a bit of teasing.

|Scaraficlist!|Sub catboy scara

With some sub scara drabbles in the start.

CW: Minors do NOT interact past the cut! This is a NSFW POST!

Sub catboyscara! who's furry ears can't stop furrowing back and forth while you fuck him. With every deep thrust it's as if the knot inside him is ready to snap. "H-harder! Fuck~! Please ~!" He's soooo needy when your fucking him, so when you comply and tightly grab on his hips; stuffing him so full of your seed he's immediately moaning as loud he can and sticking his tongue like he's panting for air.

Sub catboy!scara who loves getting slapped on his ass. He's trying so hard to act as if he 'doesnt like it because it's a punishment' but his tail curls and wraps along your body or hand whenever you pull away from the nth slap. Scaras eyes are a bit puffy and his face is rosey red with blush. Not to mention his fangs...

When you please sub wanderer in public he's biting onto his lip or hand so hard to hide his moans. The darshan championship nearly bored him to death so he wandered through the outskirts of the city for a bit looking for you. And to his 'surprise' you were Writing away at a bench on said championship. It was the first time after your imprisonment you've gotten to hold a event for your people. Yet there goes the familiar tune of jingling bells cutting through the sounds of the wind.

"Hah..and here I was hoping you'd interact with people and make friends..mnh..your so needy aren't you scara?" You took a heavy sigh at his warmth, while he sunk further onto your shaft. His hat was measly tossed aside onto the bench with your paperwork while his open chested kimono draped off his arms, revealing fresh bite marks, hickeys and even some unpleasant scars. 'Scara' moaned softly and began bouncing up and down on your cock. "I-mnh~! I can't.-" lazily, you bucked your hips up into his clenching hole. "Can't what? Be patient?" Slap! "AH~! hmnn~" scara immediately nodded his head, If only you didn't put him in those stupid interest groups as a 'hobby' he wouldn't be so pathetic and needy. "my poor little pet~ you missed me, yeah? Did you miss your god?"

You tilted your head in amusement as the puppet turned his away. 'his god...scara.' he felt odd with the words, yet his cock began leaking precum onto his roughed up lower clothing. "Y/n~ Oh~hnm...say my name~!" He pleaded and with a soft pop his drool painted lips parted from his hand. "Hm? Your name...I'm not sure... baby?" With a thin grin you trailed your free hand onto his painfully hard cock. Your thumb rubbed along his tip and squeezed bit on his shaft. Scara whined out at your teasing, the sound of his wet skin slapping against yours grew louder admist the white noise of the park. "You-Ah! Say it please~! Please y/n! Im so close!" You hummed at his response and scara gripped tighter onto your shoulder before digging his head into your neck. He purred softly And Your body shivered at the feeling of his prostate rubbing along the tip of your shaft. "Kuni~" you whispered and Kuni gasped out into your shoulder, slowly digging his nails into your clothed back. "Ag-ah! Again~! F-fuck! I'm gonna- ah!" "Cum for me kuni~ be a good boy and cum on my fingers"

Kuni cried out your name once more before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, you hissed out in the mix of pain and pleasure as both your orgasms washed over you. He blinked through his hazy vision and purred at you stuffing him full again.

---

Nilou was sitting by the booth waiting for 'acting grand sage' alhaitham to return, for the 1st round intermission of the interDarshan championship. She hummed a tune and twiddled with her pencil a bit until she heard the sound of panting. "M-MS NILOU! MS NILOU!" A short woman chanted, she was dressed in traditional darshan attire. With an awfully messy pair of shoes at that. It was as if the woman was tracking through the forest. "Oh my, kasha what happened to you?! Is everything okay - is someone hurt!?" Nilou nearly sprinted out of her seat to great the exhausted woman. "its- ah..it's ah important letter from- Lessor lord y/n" Kasha sighed and handed nilou the letter.

'Vahumana representative 'Hat guy' will be withdrawn from the first and second match of the interDarshan championship on my account, please If you have any concerns or further comments report them to sanctuary newsletter! Thank you.

#genshin smut #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x male reader #catboy #genshin impact #wanderer x male reader

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sleepymarimo · 1 year ago

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𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤.

summary: toji tells you about the newest job he's set to take on. you can't stop worrying but, hey, he always comes back, right? pairing: toji x fem!assassin!reader cw: s2 spoilers, angst, angst, angst. no comfort. character death. realizing you're in love too late an: did i cry while writing this...perhaps. this is technically part of my little set of blurbs i write w toji and an assassin reader bestie. i aint done yet, but this is how it ends ig? or is it... wc: 1.7k

"star plasma vessel?" something twists in your gut as the words leave your lips.

he's crashing at your place, again, briefly explaining how he'd get a nice thirty million yen for this particular kill.

"yeah." he yawns, sprawled out on the couch. his lazy green eyes follow you as you go about your routine in the comfort of your kitchenette, more than accustomed to his impromptu visits. "think she's all safe, just 'cause that gojo guy is guarding her."

if possible, your stomach churns even more.

you'd taken on many jobs, are more than familiar with the weight which came with that name, and your instincts scream at you.

still, you can't find it in yourself to show your growing concern, so you hide behind a facade of passiveness.

"maybe he'll knock you down a peg or two." you huff, brows unintentionally furrowing as you ignore the pit forming in your chest.

what was wrong with you?

toji breathes out a rough bark of a laugh, crossing his arms behind his head, not a care in the world. "a prideful brat like that? nah, i just gotta be smart."

you hum in response, not really trusting yourself to speak. instead you focus inward, preoccupied with your thoughts.

while he was a pain in the ass, distastefully charming and incredibly lax, he'd wedged his way into your life. this profession didn't allow room for many connections, yet in an odd way, you found something akin to a friend in him, though it took a while to get to that point.

perhaps it was more than that, but you didn't dare acknowledge it.

since your first mission together, you knew that toji was capable. as much as you hated to admit it, he was a force to be reckoned with. so why was this irrational worry gnawing at your gut?

you're so caught up with what you're cooking, that you don't notice him swiftly get up from the couch and make his way towards the kitchenette.

he leans against the counter adjacent to you, his voice making you flinch and click your tongue in annoyance.

"you're worried?" he smirks, crossing his arms over that barrel of a chest as he watches you turn your back on him. "you fuckin' serious, doll?"

ugh, damn him.

"not even!" you hiss, glancing over and fighting the urge to smack him as he gives you a knowing, smug look. your hands come up in a defensive position, tone as nonchalant as you can manage it. "i'm just saying, i have a bad feeling."

out of the corner of your eye, you can see him shaking his head. one of his hands runs though his hair, the black strands messily falling back into place on his temple.

he doesn't wonder about the last time someone was worried about him. if anything, he thinks you're a little foolish for even caring in the first place. why bother putting in effort for a guy like him?

"re-fucking-lax." he waves off your worries, sneaking a taste of whatever you're cooking and grinning at your futile attempt to be angry with him. "quit it with the 'bad feeling' shit, it's too sappy."

you grumble and lazily agree with his words, but your body speaks for you. your tense muscles, the way that you seemingly shut down and refuse to engage in your usual banter... he can tell that you really are worried.

as much as he avoids being plagued by the heavy chains of sentiment, something stirs in his chest at the sight of your unease.

you're not the only one who found comfort in this unexpected... friendship of sorts.

with a resigned sigh, he slings an arm over your shoulders and forces you away from your cooking. the warmth of you against his side is a familiar one, his eyes twinkling with amusement when he hears you verbally protest his actions.

"you're being annoying." you sigh. yet, your muscles relax in his hold. a walking contradiction, a game of chicken between two hard-headed assassins that refuse to give into one another.

he scoffs, entertained more than anything. toji is calm, not even considering the possibility of failure.

"sweetheart, lemme tell ya what's gonna happen, a'right?" his hand trails from your shoulder to your waist, moving you so that you're pressed chest to chest in a lazy embrace. "m'gonna kill the vessel, put that gojo bastard in his place and get the cash."

emerald eyes peer down at you, smirking at your doubt-filled expression.

"then m'gonna use that cash and finally take ya out to dinner." he adds, hoping it would quell those dumbass worries of yours.

he always promised that.

after every mission, he'd tease about taking you to that restaurant he'd always see you eyeing.

did he ever follow through? no. the money was quick to be spent on poker games and horse races.

but you can't help feel that this time, he means it.

so, you relent.

you can count on one hand the number of times you'd actually returned his so called affections. your arms wrap around his middle, stubbornness urging you to plant your cheek on his chest to avoid his satisfied, triumphant gaze.

"fine." you mumble.

his heartbeat thumps rhythmically against your eardrums. strong. unbothered. it's a sound that you commit to memory, one that you hope will stop the lingering worry rattling between your ribs.

toji's palm runs up and down your back, half-teasing as the hand on your waist tightens with... something. maybe after this damn mission, he'll finally deal with all these feelings he thought were buried deep within his heart.

"atta girl." he smirks, giving you a final squeeze before releasing you. "no need to worry that pretty head of yours."

toji can't wait to see the look on your face. he can't wait to say "i told ya so" and give your cheek a pinch, to tell you that you were worrying over nothing.

he and shiu make their way out of their client's building after successfully assassinating the vessel. big whoop, another job that he knew he could handle.

"damn." the words that leave toji's mouth are spoken before he has a chance to think about them. "just wanna get home already."

shiu exhales, a puff of smoke rising to the sky as his eyes narrow in amusement. "is that what you call her place now? since when?"

"slip of the tongue." the assassin nonchalantly insists, nose wrinkling at his small slip up. damn him...

"whatever you say, fushiguro." shiu nods, staring ahead. "i knew i made a good choice when i paired you guys up for that mission a while back."

eventually, the men part ways.

toji stuffs his hands into his pockets, gaze blank but mind strangely full.

dinner. he needs to take you out to get some damn dinner, like he always promised.

the bright sun blinds him, his eyes squinting before landing on an eerily familiar figure. toji hates being caught off guard, that voice snapping him into a state of disbelief.

"hey, it's been a while."

well, shit.

you were right. fuck, you were always right, weren't you?

toji can feel his body giving out, a sensation so hauntingly foreign for a man like him- the only man like him.

he knows he should've left it, that there was nothing in this fight for him except a chance at proving to the world that they made a mistake when casting him aside.

there's not much to be thankful for, to think about, as he dies.

his mind goes to his wife, the first person to show him love. it goes to megumi, the product of said love and perhaps one of the only good things he'd given the world.

and it goes to you, too, the woman who wormed her way into a heart he thought was long sealed off.

he remembers when he'd first told you about his time in the zen'in clan and how he left it all behind.

he swears he can remember your hand messily and purposefully combing through his hair in that way that he hates, his stomach churning when you gave him a smile with empathetic tears in your eyes.

"so you left?" you echoed back, looking through his walls as if they were made of glass. "good for you."

he should've taken you to dinner a long time ago.

the few good memories he has flood into his mind, an odd sense of euphoria numbing the pain of his dying body.

and then, it fades to black.

when you hear three solid knocks at your door a day later, you just know.

shiu stands on the other side of the door, briefcase in hand. he doesn't come in or speak a word, simply extending the case out to you.

it's the pay from toji's job.

the former detective figures that the sorcerer killer would want you to take it. after all, this place was the closest thing he had to a home.

you take the money and the door clicks shut.

it feels like your throat is closing up. you're quick to chuck the case to the ground, your hands running down your face as you collapse on the couch where toji always slept.

you're mad at him. you're mad at yourself. why didn't he take you seriously? why didn't you try harder to keep him from taking that stupid fucking job?

later in the evening, you take the money and head to the restaurant that you'd been eyeing for a while.

you order your favorite dish and hell, you order something you know he'd eat, too.

the chair across from you is empty, in front of it a plate full of food that you know is never going to get eaten.

he finally paid for the dinner that he had always promised you.

you don't care for how other customers look at you, swollen tears silently rolling down your cheeks. when you taste salt on your tongue, you sniffle and take another bite.

he'd probably give you so much shit if he saw you right now. he would roughly wipe away the tears with his thumb and give you a softened smirk. "oh c'mon, princess, quit bein' such a fuckin' crybaby."

your arm comes up to wipe away the mess, head shaking and heart shattering. "you're such a fucking idiot, fushiguro."

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader #toji x you

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innerfare · 3 months ago

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Lawbin Headcanons

Summary: Early stages of Lawbin. This whole thing is basically Law being a dork who’s constantly trying to play it cool while falling for the weird girl (Robin, I love you, never change).

Characters: Trafalgar Law x Nico Robin

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

When Robin met the Captain of the Heart Pirates, the Surgeon of Death and a Warlord of the Sea, Dr. Trafalgar Law, she didn’t trust him, not even for a second. Recall, she has extensive experience with Warlords and would have died at the hands of one if Luffy hadn’t saved her despite her own insistence he leave her to die. As soon as she meets Law, she swears to herself that if things go sour, Luffy won’t be saving her and, in fact, she’ll be saving Luffy. She won’t let the Warlord take a shot at her Captain, and she takes Luffy’s proposition that if the alliance goes bad, the crew will have his back, to heart.

For the longest time, that’s how Robin thinks of Law: the Warlord. She never talks about it, but she has PTSD from her time with Crocodile. She had never known peace or solace in her life; the safest position she’d had before joining the Straw Hats was as the right hand of a man who ultimately viewed her as expendable. And Sir Crocodile wasn’t just any man, he was a pirate brimming with power and eerily intelligent, with a mind for strategy. Just like Traffy, whose insistence on planning out every little detail and having a backup plan for every backup plan takes Robin right back to Alabasta.

Robin becomes a little obsessed with comparing him to Crocodile. She zeroes in on his willingness to make small sacrifices for the greater cause, his analytical nature and reserved emotions, his apparent lack of friends. Only, Traffy went to great lengths to help the Straw Hats rescue the children on Punk Hazard, and he didn’t take the opportunity to be too cruel to Smoker and Tashigi despite having them chained in front of him. But that doesn’t stop her from trying to make him into Crocodile 2.0.

And then there’s Law, who’s such a dork. Strategic alliance this, strategic alliance that, but from the second he met the Straw Hats, he wasn’t thinking about betraying them, he was wondering how he was supposed to remain impartial with such an affable group. He thought Nico, at least, would be an ally against the general Straw Hat insanity, but she turned out to be the crew’s worst enabler rather than the mother hen he had originally pegged her for. Which begs the question, what else was he wrong about?

Annoyed to have been so wrong, Law begins paying more attention to Nico. He notices that she doesn’t fall into the insular trap that a lot of academics do. She’s not just an expert on her one field but in fact is incredibly well read and is a wealth of knowledge on a menagerie of different topics, and each topic he learns she is well-versed in is weirder than the last.

Why is Nico an expert on Panda Shark socialization? How did Nico come to find out that there is a mythical, lost library full of love poems on an unnamed sky island? Why does Nico have so many books on a random king from the South Blue who died eight hundred years ago? How did Nico learn that there’s an island in the West Blue where white pumpkins grow on bone trees? And why, oh why, is she versed in Germa 66 lore? Finding out the last one makes his heart drop, the realization that he would risk it all for the Straw Hat archaeologist making Law’s stomach churn.

And how is she so calm all the time? He had pegged the academic as similar to him, but her crew’s shenanigans seem to just roll right off her. She sat in that cell with him and the others in Punk Hazard reminiscing about old times with Luffy and Smoker instead of cowering in the shadow of Vergo, and she more than held her own on Green Bit, lending herself to him as an asset time and again, always being there to lend a helping hand (or twelve) when the plan fails.

All that is to say, Law falls first. But it’s Robin who makes the first move.

It’s only when she sees Traffy interact with his crew that Robin sees him for who he is, and she can’t get that man out of her head- that man who isn't domineering but tries to make people follow his orders to protect them, that man who is so adored by his crew (the members of which he protects rather than uses for his own gain), that man who, despite being called Warlord, is kind of adorable.

Robin starts teasing him a bit; she just can’t help herself. Now that her Crocodile glasses are off, she can see that he doesn’t have the sort of temper that leads him to kill people but rather the sort that just leaves him spluttering and speechless. And, well, she thinks it’s cute. She starts feeling dumb, too, for not having seen it sooner. After all, Luffy saw he was a good and trustworthy person, and that should have been enough for her, but she had been blinded.

No longer blinded, she starts enjoying her time with Traffy, though he doesn’t notice the shift, doesn't realize she's soft on him. He thinks she’s needling him for some other reason. It never occurs to him that Nico (or anyone, for that matter) finds him cute. And he almost goes into cardiac arrest when she tells him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He demands one night, fed up with that little smile that always seems to be on Nico’s face while she’s staring at him. “Nothing,” she says, swallowing her giggle, “I just think you’re cute when you’re annoyed.” And with that, she leaves him to process what she’d just said.

Their relationship is built on info dumping. Robin can talk about her weird interests, such as the mating habits of Sea Kings and the fact that the antidote made from Conine in the bark of Kona Trees can actually be used as a poison if mixed with the correct substances. And Law can talk about his childish interests, such as various comic books and ninjas. These two geek out on a level not previously known to humankind.

They bring each other odd tokens, typically the weirdest possible thing they could find on their respective travels.

Law buying Robin books and leaving notes inside that get progressively more personal, Robin asking Sanji to show her how to make onigiri because it’s Law’s favorite.

And then there’s the trauma. Both were nearby when their parents were murdered. Both were alone in the world at a very young age, Robin hunted by the World Government and Law by the Donquixote family. Both know what it’s like to be completely alone with nothing to their name but a bizarre devil fruit ability and a target on their back. Both managed to find their way in the world despite feeling for years that they never would. They didn’t save each other because they didn’t have to. They’re traumatized, but they’re not broken, and together, they can be even stronger. They saved themselves, and now that they did, they’re free to bask in each others’ presence. And that’s exactly what they do.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law headcanons #law headcanons #heart pirates #robin #nico robin #Nico Robin headcanons #robin headcanons #lawbin #lawbin headcanons #law x robin #traffy #straw hat pirates

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everparanoid · 7 months ago

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Depths of Eternity Left Behind

Satoru Gojo x Sorcerer fem! Reader

On October 1st, 2018, you find Gojo crying in an empty classroom and you try to comfort him.

A story in which you are a Grade One sorcerer working alongside Gojo who falls in love with the man behind the overconfident bravado, but can't seem to get close enough to reach him beyond the limitless infinity that separates you.

cw: Canon compliant. Major Character death, Canon Typical Violence, Suggestive Content, Mentions of Pegging and Petplay, Mentions of death, Fluff, Angst. Major Spoilers for Manga, JJk 0 and season 2.

Word Count: 6.3k

Minors Do Not Interact

Spoilers below.

October 31st, 2018. Summary of the Notice from Jujustu Headquarters

Suguru Geto’s Survival was confirmed. We hereby declare the reinstatement of his death sentence.

2. You and Satoru Gojo have been deemed accomplices in the Shibuya Incident and are hereby expelled from Jujutsu society. Following your confirmed death in Shibuya, you are to be wiped from all records. In addition, any attempt to free Satoru Gojo from his seal will be deemed a crime.

3. Masamichi Yaga is sentenced to death for inciting you, Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto, causing the Shibuya Incident.

4. The suspension on Yuji Itadori’s death sentence is hereby revoked, and his execution shall be carried out promptly.

5. Special-grade sorcerer Yuta Okkotsu shall be appointed as Yuji Itadori’s executioner.

October 1st, 2018. Tokyo prefecture, Tokyo Jujutsu High School 30 days before The Shibuya Incident

“Sensei, good evening,” Itadori called out to you.

You had poked your head out of the door when you heard the young trio returning from their day out in the city. “Itadori, have you seen Gojo?”

Halting, Itadori’s face contorted in thought. “Gojo sensei?” His arms were filled with shopping bags, presumably Nobara’s. You wondered how his arms hadn’t given out from the amount he was carrying, but you supposed the vessel of the king of curses was a special breed. “Isn’t he on a mission?”

You cursed under your breath. “I thought he would be with you guys,” you said. “Yaga told me he returned earlier today.”

“Knowing him, he’s probably slacking off somewhere.” Nobara rolled her eyes, gesticulating languidly.

Itadori smacked his fist onto his open palm, jostling the bags still hanging off his forearms. “Have you checked--?”

“I’ll call him,” Megumi interrupted, quick to bring out his phone. His fingers dashed over the screen bringing up Gojo’s number.

You waved dismissively. If the kids hadn’t seen Gojo then something was wrong and calling him probably would ruin any chance of you had figuring out what it was. Gojo had a way of masking his problems in front of the kids. “No need, Fushiguro.”

Megumi lowered his phone. “Are you sure?”

“He is around here somewhere.” You smiled. “You guys have a nice rest of your evening.” You slid the door closed.

You found Gojo in one of the sparsely furnished classrooms. He sat slumped, his long legs man-spread, his head resting on the backrest of the chair, and his blindfold on. The setting sunlight pouring in through the open window bathed his white hair in a gentle orange glow.

You didn’t know if he knew that you were there. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge you. It was rare to catch the blindfolded man unaware—ever since the incident with the star plasma vessel and Toji Fushiguro all those years ago his defences had been ironclad. And yet there you were watching the strongest man you knew break.

His cries were hollow sounding. Too frail to be considered sobs of pain, but strong enough to express the tip of an iceberg of agony. From being in its presence, you felt an iota of the weight he carried on his shoulders.

It was fifty-fifty whether your presence would make him raise his guard again, putting on the front of the bubbly jester entertaining the court. However, you couldn’t just stand by and watch him cry.

When was the last time that he was told it was okay to be weak? When was he allowed to be anything other than the strongest?

Gojo was the strongest, that was a known fact. One accepted by everyone in the jujutsu world, even by the overconfident man himself. He was born into strength; it was his birthright.

Throughout the heavens and earth, he alone was the honoured one.

You knew this. It’s not like anyone would ever let you forget. It was why you both agreed you couldn’t be anything more than what you were. It was what kept your worlds apart despite how much you wanted to be a part of his.

Gojo is the strongest.

Other’s words echoed around your head like a mantra.

He was never weak. He could never lose. He was never afraid. He was Satoru Gojo. Six eyes; limitless; idiot; pain in the ass; love of your life… the strongest.

And he was alone, you reminded yourself.

//July 2007

“Is that Satoru?” you asked, watching the usually aloof teen training alone on the fields. It was a hot day in July at Jujutsu High. Hotter than it had been over the last week, and so instead of wasting away in a classroom you’d buddied with Shoko to sit outside near the training grounds.

Shoko hummed in affirmation from beside you. With focused hands, she filled her cigarette paper with tobacco, holding the filter between her lips. She didn’t need to look up to know where you were looking.

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“When is he not okay?” With dainty fingers, she rolled her cigarette. “Fuck this, I’m just going to buy pre-rolled next time,” she said. She licked the edge of the paper, sealing the cigarette. “Come with me later.”

“Sure,” you said absently, your attention failing to leave Gojo. Shoko could have asked you to rob a Konbini and you would have agreed. “He’s been doing a lot of missions alone since the failure of Tengen’s Star Plasma vessel mission... I haven’t even seen him hang out with Suguru.” Or me, but you don’t say that. This wasn’t about you. Even though you had been just as close with the two as they were with each other; not to the same strength level and ability to throw down, still, it was always the three of you—and Shoko occasionally.

Shoko shrugged, lighting her cigarette. “They’re big boys, they can work separately.” She took a drag. “Besides, I can’t imagine him needing backup anymore. Anyone else would be a hindrance.”

You outwardly agreed but couldn’t shake the thought that even the strongest person needed support. And Suguru was his right-hand man. They were inseparable like two sides of the same coin—yin and yang; only imbalance came if one existed without the other. It felt wrong seeing them apart. “Still—I should go and check on him.”

“Don’t,” Shoko said.

You stopped mid-way into getting up and looked back at her. “Why not?”

“Because asking Gojo to open up is like extracting blood from a rock,” Shoko monotoned. She crossed her left leg over the right and leaned back, taking another drag.

“Rocks don’t bleed,” you said.

“Exactly, rocks are weapons.” She tipped her head to the side. “That’s why you’re better off not going to him. Unless you want to be the one hurt, and news flash, I can’t reverse heartbreak.”

You looked away, guilt-ridden. It wasn’t a secret that you were in love with Gojo.

“Besides your form of empathy is about as kind as a slap,” Shoko added.

You hesitated. She had a point. You cast your gaze between Shoko and Gojo in the distance, divided. He whipped a pale hand across his sweaty forehead, his focus undisturbed. He looked tired, determined, and way out of your league.

“Fine, I’ll check on Suguru,” you said, grabbing your bag.

Shoko shook her head. “Out.”

“Again?”

“He’s on a mission alone.”

Alone.

The word rippled through you.

“Couldn’t one of us have gone along with him?” you asked. “We are here too.”

She coughed out a bitter laugh. “And I’ll what? Heal his mouth after he successfully does his job? He’ll be fine.” She stood and placed a hand on your shoulder, taking a final puff in the process. She blew out the smoke. “Like I said, they’re big boys. They’re just licking their wounds right now.”

You watched as she dropped the cigarette butt and stumped out its orange glow with her shoe.

“They’ll be fine,” she said. “Trust me.”

/October 1st, 2018

You often forgot that Satoru was a human too. If you let the words of others, and even the words of the man himself poison you, you too might have been able to ignore that key detail. The only thing that worked to remind you that it was Gojo shouldering the responsibility of the world.

Throughout the heavens and earth, Gojo alone was the honoured one.

Alone.

He would always be alone. He was always alone. Amongst a crowd of people, he was alone. When he was with his students, he was alone. When he was with you and his other colleagues, he was alone. When he was in your bed on the odd times you both were able to sleep in each other’s arms after months of back-to-back missions—he was still alone.

It troubled you.

Despite being whatever you both were—bed buddies? Colleagues with benefits? Star-crossed lovers? You still couldn’t truly reach him. Nor could you fathom the depths of his loneliness or how heavy the head was that wore the thorned crown. It must have been agonising to be seen and acknowledged but not levelled. To be put on a throne you didn’t ask for and wield its power at unsatisfying levels against things that could only at best be considered insects, excruciating even. You imagined it was like holding back a scream of agony after losing a cherished one. Suppressing everything for the sake of not setting the world on fire—to not become the enemy.

But Gojo had no enemies.

//December 24th, 2017

The sky was a deep azure gradating with the orange sunset forming pink and purple stained clouds the day Suguru Geto died. The stars were clear in the sky, and the air was crisp and fresh. It was a new day. Yet in those hours before so much had happened. So many had fought to stop the person you once called your friend. So many years of friendship, years of sitting in classrooms and shaking your head as he and Gojo goaded each other; years of catching the rebounds of their hoop sessions in the sports hall and laughing with them when they returned from their missions—were gone in a matter of hours.

It was just another day. Insignificant. Unsatisfying. There was no big bang, no screaming and shouting. It was just over.

You hadn’t been there when Suguru died. You hadn’t heard his last words or seen his face when Gojo killed him. You didn’t get to see his smile again or hear his soft-spoken voice—the same one he’d use when he’d pat your head and call you kind for trying to stop his and Gojo’s fights, but ended up adding fuel to the raging fire because it was fun to watch Gojo pout. You hadn’t heard any of it, but Gojo had.

And he was alone.

“He’s gone,” Gojo said closing the door to the room in the morgue where Suguru’s corpse lay. You caught a glimpse of Shoko adjusting her gloves and pulling the sheet over his face before you were completely cut off. “He won’t hurt anyone anymore,” Gojo said, his voice steady and empty.

“’Toru,” you said weakly, his nickname meek sounding on your lips.

He looked down at you, his lips pulled into a tight line like he was suppressing everything he wanted to say. If you could have seen his eyes behind the blindfold you were sure they were just as troubled. But you couldn’t because Gojo never showed weakness.

He is the strongest.

“I should have stopped him before—” he gulped, his fist clenching at his side. “I should have been there. I could have—.”

“Could have what?” you interjected. “Could have saved him? Could have talked him out of insanity?” You scoffed. “No, you couldn’t.” You knew it was the wrong time for tough love, especially when Gojo had willingly opened up to you, but you couldn’t meet him on his level. Your emotions were running too high—and you hated rehashing the past. And that’s all his words were doing for you. Restating not Gojo’s failure, but your own. “He killed his parents. He wiped out an entire village of people. He was prancing around like some born-again Buddha with an almighty saviour complex spouting nonsense about monkeys and mass genocide.”

Gojo remained still. He had no funny remarks or stupid grin. He was a ghost of himself. Before this in your eyes, Gojo Satoru had died once. It was after he returned from failing Tengen’s star plasma protection mission. And he never fully returned. It was like he was teetering on the edge; neither here nor there.

You knew he knew that you were right.

You were rarely wrong.

They’ll be fine, trust me.

You didn’t blame Shoko, or Gojo, or even Yaga. You blamed yourself. You should have been there for your friends. You could have been there for them… both of them. But you weren’t. You were too weak. You weren’t Gojo or Suguru. You were you. Just another Grade One sorcerer growing alongside two Special Grade giants—watching them race on ahead and crash and burn without even attempting to catch up and put out the flames.

You didn’t have time to filter the words vomiting out of your mouth. “What? Do you think you could have brought him along on all those missions with you back then after Riko? Like he could have worked alongside you when you were acting like everyone was a burden?” You stood, pointing a single finger into his chest—not bothering to question that he was allowing you to touch him. That in front of you he had let his limitless technique down. He had met you midway and let you into his world just like you wanted, all because you were one of the last people he had whom he believed somewhat understood him beyond the bravado. “Have you forgotten that you alone are the strongest Satoru, not you and Suguru? Just you. And the moment that imbalance came—the moment you both realised that you were no longer equals—was when you could never have stopped him. If anything, you would have pushed him there faster.”

You dropped yourself back into your chair, burying your head in your hands. Tears fell quicker than you could stop them. And so, you let them and felt them soak your dark clothes.

Gojo didn’t attempt to comfort you or say anything for the matter. Instead, he stood over you as you sobbed—letting your tears slide off his loafers.

When your tears let up, and you finally were able to hear yourself think again you noticed the puddles on and around his shoes. You hadn’t known he was still there—that he had stood and let you say all of that to him, and not said a single word. Your eyes trailed slowly up his long legs, to his relaxed hands, his chest, and up to his blank blindfolded face, emotionless.

Dread incensed you, made your mouth dry and your eyes even drier. Guilt had you recalling everything and letting go of all your misplaced anger.

You’d said too much. He’d let you touch him, and you threw everything back in his face. All because of your selfish guilt.

“Satoru.” You didn’t miss how he flinched slightly at the word. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of that. I am just upset. It’s not your fault.”

“No,” he said. “You’re right.”

His smile unnerved you; told you that you had fucked up.

“Throughout the heavens and earth, I alone am the honoured one.”

You went to touch his hand but were stopped inches away by his limitless technique. “Toru,” you pleaded, wishing that you could take it all back. That you could go back to who you both were before the world tore you all to shreds.

His fists clenched. “Only me,” he said.

And for the second time since you’d known him, Gojo Satoru died again.

/October 1st, 2018

“I know you’re there,” he said.

You straightened, pushing off the door frame you took a hesitant step into the empty classroom. You had been so lost in thoughts that you didn’t realise he had stopped crying and had lifted his head, watching you through the blindfold.

Gojo lifted the rim of his mask. His unearthly blue eyes were tinged red around the edges and deep bags framed them. He gave you a weak smile—the gesture not leaving his lips. “You spyin’ on me?”

His tone didn’t hit when he looked so drained.

You slid the door closed behind you. You didn’t know why you did it. Perhaps you thought that some privacy would allow him the space to lower his guard. As if the flimsy sliding door could shut out the rest of the world, and let you in. “I came to check on you, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Check on me?” It hurt you how foreign those words sounded on his lips. He tilted his head, his already smiling lips pulling into a larger grin. “Did you miss me that much?”

You suppressed a frown. “Of course not, stupid.”

Missing would have been an understatement. Worried was more like it. Worried and pitied.

He laughed; the sound was a relief to your ears. Even if it was fake, you decided that seeing Gojo laugh was better than seeing him cry. You loved his laugh—his smile. You wondered how you could protect it. But the strongest didn’t need protecting. The strongest protected everyone else. That was his purpose. That was what he did.

Satoru Gojo alone was the honoured one.

“You love me,” he teased unaware of how true those words rang.

You did love him like how a sunflower loves the sun.

“When was the last time you slept?” You deflected.

“You sayin’ I look like shit?” He stretched his arms above his head, lifting out of his laid-back position. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t insult shit,” you said seriously.

He laid his head back again, lowering his blindfold over his eyes. “I was sleeping.”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

You stood between his legs. “You can talk to me.”

He remained silent.

“Or not, we can just be in silence. It’s nice not hearing you speak for once,” you continued, lightening the mood. Unfortunately, your best way of comforting people was not comforting at all. If past events hadn’t been an indicator, you’d never been good with empathy, and you didn’t claim to be. Most of the time you avoided heavy conversations because of how awkward it would be to not relate to or understand any of what was being said to you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to but if you had a choice you would choose to not participate. Unless it was for Gojo and once upon a time, Suguru too.

Gojo was like you in that sense, well you thought Gojo was like you, but it turned out you were completely wrong on that front. The selfish man was the most empathetic person in the world. Who else could understand the burdens of these young sorcerers and vessels but the tool of the jujutsu world himself? He was thrust into a life of assassination attempts and responsibility from the day he was conceived after all.

//August 2018.

Principal Yaga gave you a curt nod as he passed you in the corridor. He was exiting the faculty room leaving you to enact your perfect plan on Gojo. It was a simple prank.

An easy one.

You had to wait for him to be mid-conversation with his guard down. This meant ignoring his texts enough that he would be too busy spamming your phone with inappropriate messages and stickers, to notice you sneak in outside of his field of vision to surprise attack him from behind. It was nothing compared to the horrors he’d pulled on you this week. Gojo had taken to pranking you, so it was only fair to return the favour.

You weren’t playful often. You tried to present yourself as the dependable stable one out of you and Gojo for the kid’s sake, and the rest of the faculty's sake too. However, sometimes the man tickled your nerves just enough to have you unable to do anything else but retaliate. This happened to be one of those times. You had no malicious intent aside from the crippling desire to avenge yourself because unlike Gojo you weren’t trying to embarrass him in front of the kids. Yours would just be a little jump scare.

You darted forward, your arms open wide to capture him from behind only to fall smack bang into thin air, frozen by the pressure of the limitless space between the two of you. Being this close, you noticed the fine hairs on his neck standing on end like a startled cat.

Was Gojo afraid?

“Failed,” he said cooly, stepping forward and releasing you from his invisible hold. “Ya should’ve tried a different approach.”

“How did you?” you asked, your words falling off.

He spun to look at you “Back shot? really? I know you can do better. If you wanted to peg me you could have just asked. I’d buy the strap-on and everything so ya don’t have to worry your pretty little head.”

You went to wack him but his limitless once again halted you. “It was going to be a hug, you freak.” You lowered your hand. “Besides, I’m sure you were shit scared just then—admit it.”

Gojo laughed and squeezed your cheeks, pulling and stretching your face like playdough. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m not,” you swat his hands away.

“You didn’t respond to any of my texts,” he said. His hand traced down your face before lifting your chin to look at his masked eyes. “Now that you’re here though, you can answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Are we on for tonight?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you held your focus refusing to give him another thing to annoy you with. “You’re really not going to explain why you’re sitting in the faculty office with limitless on? Utahime isn’t even here to throw stuff at you,” you deflected.

He wrapped his other arm around you, bringing you into a hold that was too intimate for school grounds. With a dip of his head, he brushed his lips over yours. When you went to kiss back, he pulled back, smirked, and then dipped down again. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy kissing Gojo. Any woman in their right mind would die to be in your position—fuck it, you over ten years ago would have died to be here too; alone with this gorgeous man. However, not even his lips or his curious hand slipping under your shirt and clasping your bra could distract you enough from the fact that even in an empty faculty room he was on guard; waiting for an attack—for something to disrupt his peace.

He broke the kiss, your residue lip gloss glistened on his lips. “I’m going to need compensation later for the emotional damage your failed assassination attempt caused me. PTSD is real you know.”

He manhandled your face with the hand still caressing your chin. The door opened and Nanami entered with a mug in his hands and a newspaper tucked under his arm. Gojo let you go at least letting you save some face. You reclasped your bra bashfully.

You brushed off your clothes. “Nanami.”

Nanami greeted you in return, setting his coffee on the coffee table and sitting on one of the adjacent sofas.

“Na-na-mi! Aren’t ya just the most respected man I was looking for? What do ya say we hang out for a bit and talk about the social and political state of the world?” Gojo grinned.

The stiff ex-salary man’s response was immediate. “No.” His attention moved to Gojo, who wore your gloss like a trophy.

Gojo turned to you and shrugged, sticking his tongue out comically.

You shook your head, wishing he would give the other man a break. Not everyone had a high threshold for Gojo’s buffoonery, and Nanami was one of those people.

“How about we go to this bakery they sell good kikufuku and we could—” Gojo tried again.

“No.” Nanami opened his newspaper.

“But—”

“Have you considered putting a leash on him?” Nanami asked you.

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Kinky, I like the way you think, Nanami. I’ll buy a leash and collar whilst we’re in town—it’ll be perfect for tonight.” He draped an arm over your shoulders and leaned down till his lips brushed the shell of your ears. “Would you like to be my pet?”

“I think Nanami was implying that you should control yourself,” you muttered, your body tense. You feared not only was Gojo probably serious, but he also now had discovered another avenue in which to stroke his raging God complex.

“But it would be more fun to control you,” he said.

Flabbergasted, you shoved him—well you tried to.

Gojo stepped back his arms up in surrender and limitless once again on. He laughed menacingly. “I’ll take that as yes.”

Nanami cleared his throat, aggressively.

“I’ll get you a cute blue collar to match my eyes,” Gojo said to you. “I know how much you love them. That way when I am fucking you, you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your eyes widened. “You—”

Both disturbed and visibly disgusted, Nanami closed his paper, picked up his coffee, and evacuated the room.

Gojo gave you a fleeting kiss on your temple. “Na-na-mi! Wait for me.” He strode off after his junior, abandoning you in the faculty room. “I wasn’t done asking you whether you think this shirt makes my butt look too big. Hey! We’re going into town remember. Don’t ignore me! Na-na-mi~!”

/ October 1st, 2018.

Gojo’s chest shook gently as he inaudibly laughed.

You went to take a step back deciding that you had been out of your mind asking Gojo to open up to you, only to be stopped by his legs closing against your thighs trapping you in place.

“You tryna leave me?” he asked.

“You weren’t speaking.”

“You said ya liked my silence,” Gojo said.

You scoffed. “I didn’t realise that now would be the time you would decide to take someone else’s advice besides your own.”

He raised his head to look at you, mask still in place over his eyes. “I always listen to other people’s advice; I just don’t always take it. And today happened to be a good day for silence.” He raised a finger, pointing upwards. “Can ya hear that?”

You stopped, waiting to hear something out of the ordinary. You looked around the classroom taking in the empty wooden space before turning back to see that stupid big smile once again on his moisturized lips.

“So not only are you taking other people’s advice but you’re also lying?” You shook your head. “That’s a new low even for you, Toru.”

He pouted and reached his arms around you pulling your hips forward. He hugged you like a koala, his head resting on your lower abdomen. “I’m just playing with you.”

“Play with someone else, you’ve expended my nice quota for the day.” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me go.”

Gojo held you tighter. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

You halted your actions. “For what?” you asked breathlessly. You didn’t need to ask, and he didn’t need to tell you for you both to know what he meant. Your hands remained by your side too afraid to touch him. Too afraid to do anything that might freak you both out and break whatever emotional domain you’d locked yourselves in.

“I’m going to die one day,” he said softly. “And I’ll remember this moment when death comes.”

You don’t speak; afraid that he’ll stop if you do.

You imagined the thought of his death soothed him in a way. It was the final frontier, and in both your line of work, it meant that you had been defeated. Bested. Beaten at your own game. It meant that you’d given your all and, in the end, it just wasn’t enough. That you as a warrior had fought with all you might and come out the loser. You’d tried. You’d been tested and you’d finally been chosen unworthy. You imagined that despite how much his words hurt you to consider, the thought of death at the hands of someone stronger than him would be an honour. A blessing. It would be the moment when Gojo Satoru, the enlightened one, finally could be human.

After all, death was the ultimate leveller—the unequivocal equalizer.

His grip loosened slightly as he relaxed his weight against you. “Then I’ll be allowed to rest without regrets,” he said. You don’t miss the end of the statement although it is whispered barely in hearing range. “And maybe I’ll be able to greet you both again on the same level, finally.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in all that?” you asked.

He chuckled. “A guy can dream, right?”

// December 24th, 2018

“Satoru,” Suguru says, a bright smile on his youthful face. He appears to be about sixteen. “Long time no see.” He is sitting a seat away from Satoru in his jujutsu uniform.

“Blegh!” A younger Gojo coughs shooting forward in his seat. The force of the action causes his circular glasses to slide down his nose.

“You couldn’t have held on a little longer?” a younger you asks, sitting beside him, also in your uniform. “I was rooting for you to make it, so, I could at least decay in my grave a bit more. Don’t tell me you missed me or something?”

Suguru calls out your name. “That’s not very kind of you, you didn’t even let him land.”

“He’s the one who hasn’t let me land. I only died in Shibuya less than two months ago. At least you got a year to compose yourself accordingly.”

Suguru nods in defeat, his smile remaining.

“Currently dying again here,” Gojo says between coughing fits.

You and Suguru pat Gojo’s back.

“You’re kidding me this sucks,” Gojo says. He slumps back in the chair, sighing. He doesn’t spare either you or Suguru a glance, seemingly annoyed.

Suguru hunches over and shakes his head. “Pretty rude thing to say right after seeing someone’s face.” He shoots you an exasperated look.

You respond with an unsurprised lift of your shoulder.

Gojo scrunches his face. “I’ve always told my students.” He raises his fingers in quotation marks. “‘When you die, you’ll die alone.’ So please tell me this is just some ridiculous dream.”

You snort.

“Does it matter?” Suguru says.

“There’s nothing you can do about it either way,” you add, pulling his ear. “We are all dead either way, stupid.”

He swats your hand away and scratches his head. “No shit.” He looks perplexed. “Fuck, and there’s still all that stuff with his dad.”

“Megumi’s?” you ask. You’d sort of presumed he knew. “Thought you’d said you wanted to die without regrets?”

Gojo looks up at the high airport ceiling thoughtfully. “I asked Shoko to handle it.”

“Of course, you did,” you whisper. “Always a step ahead.”

A wistful smile appears on his lips. “Always.”

You begin to mindlessly play with the back of Gojo’s hair.

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

“So, how was the king of curses?” Suguru says segueing the question to the culprit of Gojo’s demise.

“Insanely fucking strong, and I could tell he wasn’t giving it all he had.” When your hand stops massaging the back of his head, he reaches back and takes your hand into his. “Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve won even if he didn’t have Megumi’s ten shadows.”

Suguru brows raise. “I’m shocked anyone could make you admit that.”

“I’m not,” you admit.

Gojo gives you a bashful look. He squeezes your hand in his.

It’s odd for you to see him be so openly vulnerable, but you like it. No, you love it.

Gojo looks down. “I feel kinda sorry for him,” he admits softly.

Suguru glances at you quizzically but you give him no reaction, allowing Gojo the space to continue. You’re not sure if he means Megumi or Sukuna or maybe both, but you decide to listen anyway.

“I’m no stranger to feeling isolated,” Gojo starts. “There was always this gulf between me and other people. Even if they adored me. You can admire a beautiful flower…but you can’t ask it to understand you.”

Suguru straightens in his seat.

Gojo lets go of your hand, scrunching his hand into a fist. “I put everything I had into tryin’ to reach him. To make him understand…all my physical training techniques I mastered… my explosiveness, quick thinking, and attempts at humor. I gave it my all, but it wasn’t enough. The loneliness that comes with unrivalled strength…the one who will teach you about love is—” he pauses, “I had fun.”

You place your hand on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He gives you a thankful nod. He releases a weak laugh, the mood lightening. “Sukuna wasn’t able to give me his all though. And I think that’s a damn shame.”

“Consider me jealous, at least you had the satisfaction of going out with a bang,” Suguru says.

“Satisfaction, huh?” Gojo scoffs. “I guess my only disappointment was that you weren’t there to slap me on the back.”

Suguru laughs.

“But I guess I am glad I died facing a strong opponent. It’d have been embarrassing if I let some disease or old age get the best of me,” Gojo says.

“What are you a samurai?”

Gojo's eyes widen.

A sly grin appears on your face when you watch Gojo turn around to see a young Nanami and Haibara sitting behind you all. They begin to scuffle for a while mocking Gojo for his selfish mindset in life. You remain silent, watching him the way you always do.

Gojo is the strongest.

Those words still hold despite you both dying. His strength isn’t just about his physical prowess but his mental one. It is why you love him, you decide, even though it kept you worlds apart in life.

“What ya thinking?” Gojo whispers bumping your shoulder playfully.

“Nothing much,” you whisper back. You flip your hand palm up on Gojo’s thigh and he interlocks your fingers.

“Don’t look like nothing much,” Gojo teases leaning down to search your eyes.

You dip your head, watching your interlaced hands. “I’m just glad we’re all together again.”

You don’t look but you hear Gojo’s smile. It sounds like an endless blue ocean crashing against a yellow sandy shore. It feels like the sun warming you back to life.

Gojo lifts your hand and kisses the back of it. “Me too,” he says. “Which one are you choosing North or South?”

“Does it matter what I chose?” you ask not disclosing your choice.

“Maybe.” His gaze flicks to your lips. “Definitely.”

“When did you two get all sappy?” Suguru interrupts. “It’s disgusting.”

“Exactly,” Nanami adds. “I had to endure that. Trust me it gets worse.”

“Sounds to me like a whole lot of bitchless jealousy,” Gojo says, raising his voice over their declarations. “Personally, could never be me.”

Haibara laughs. “I think it’s cute. Good for you, Gojo-san. Finding love despite your personality.”

Gojo grins and pulls you into his chest. “Thanks, Haibara. See, ‘least someone is happy for me.”

Suguru snickers.

Nanami rolls his eyes.

“I think that was an insult,” you say, raising a finger.

Gojo dramatically hushes you placing a long finger to your lips. “’m taking what I can get. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“When have I ever been? You act out of pocket all the time. Someone has to help Suguru humble you.”

Gojo shakes his head. “Betrayed by my girl and my best friend…that’s crazy. Not even in death can I catch a break.”

The airport fills with the sound of laughter.

And in these short moments, laying against Gojo’s chest encased in his comforting scent as he bickers with Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara, you feel like nothing is blocking the front of either of your eyes. Like in some absurd way, this is what Gojo meant. You know that even if these days fade… even if you’ve come to know his world, different from yours in the depths of eternity left behind…even now the blue remains—clear; in the summer colours that refract off your cheeks like crystals becoming one with the endless sea.

Gojo’s thumb brushes your cheek smudging away the tears. He says your name softly. “You cryin’?” He asks peering down at you from above.

You reach up and pull off his dark sunglasses. You see those blue eyes, glimmering like sunlight on water, or like grains of stars in an infinitely expanding galaxy that used to spill through the gaps between your fingers. And they’re staring straight back at you. Asking ‘Will we meet again?’

You nod, unable to say the words that are stuck in your throat.

But Gojo doesn’t need to hear it, a grin forming, nevertheless.

“Hey, Principal!” Gojo shouts looking up and spotting Yaga up ahead trying not to be noticed. “Thought ya said no Jujutsu sorcerers die without regret?”

/ October 1st, 2018.

You let your hand slowly move to his white hair, caressing the soft locks. “You know, you’re pretty weak for the strongest man,” you said endearingly.

“Maybe I’m pranking you?” he muttered. “Making ya let your guard down and believe I am weak so that I can get some. I am prone to lyin’ ya know.”

You hummed in disbelief. “What an unfunny lie.”

“What a sick twisted joke,” he agreed.

Thanks for reading!

KO-FI MASTERLIST

#gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic

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episodeoftv · 1 year ago

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Round 1 of 8, Group 6 of 8

propaganda and summaries are under the cut (May include spoilers)

Better Call Saul: 6.07 Plan and Execution

Jimmy and Kim deal with a last-minute snag in their plan; Lalo is forced to make an unexpected move.

Detective Conan: 1.11 Moonlight Sonata Murder Case

cw for suicide and transphobia (murderer poses as a woman but as soon as this is revealed they solely get adressed by their birth name and people use male pronuns for them, then they commit suicide)

Richard is called to Moonlight Island by a mysterious client to investigate a series of murders related to the death of a famous piano player years earlier.

For those that don't know, Detective Conan is a manga turned anime, in which a brilliant but also quite self-absorbed 17-year old detective Shinichi Kudo gets turned into a kid by a failed poison, having him go by Conan Edogawa now. It definitely pegs him down a notch, and Moonlight Sonata is one of the first cases where his character development kicks off. It just subtly and beautifully changed the tone of this show. In almost all previous cases, Conan would unravel how the murderer did it, ending with them confessing and being taken in by police. In this case however, the murderer not only has made a special connection with him during their stay on the island, they also chose to die the same way their family did. And I’m no matter what Conan tried, he couldn't safe them. It's one of the first cornerstones of the difference between pre-poison and post-poison Shinichi. Also, after watching it once, you will always think of this specific episode when hearing Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonana".

#better call saul #bcs #detective conan #case closed #dcmk #poll #polls #round1 #r1g6

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redr0sewrites · 1 year ago

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Kafka (HSR) Headcanons

REQS R STILL OPEN<3 KAFKA IS SO PRETTY OMFG I LOVE WOMEN AUUUGH

🥀CW: Smut in the nsfw part, bondage, marking, overall kinky stuff, non-sexual nudity mentioned in the sfw part

🥀 minors dni with the nsfw portion

SFW:

god i love women

kafka is often very busy, so i see her love language as words of affirmation

she loves flirting with you and whispering sweet things in your ear just to watch you get flustered

she can often be very touchy and flirty, however if it makes you uncomfortable she is shockingly good with boundaries and will simply give you space why would u say no tho

she loves having your head in her lap while she plays with your hair

she enjoys taking baths with you, esp after long or difficult missions

she will go all out, she will light candles, put rose petals and bubbles in the water, epson salt cuz its soothing, anything you like. there WILL be romantic music playing softly in the background, i said what i said

she likes to give you back massages and will give you small kisses on the back of your neck

she is VERY protective of you, i wouldnt say to a super controlling level but enough where she gets jealous pretty easily

she is actually so bad at dropping hints like she will flirt with anyone and anything but the second she caught feelings for u she had no idea what to do

she legit just teased u and made fun of u, you would probably think she hated you for awhile until you figured out that she was obsessed with u

have u seen her fit? yall def share a closet

her clothes are your clothes and vice versa

seeing you in her clothes sets something off in her i swear

this often leads to steamy makeout sessions and yk what else

SHE LOVES DOING YOUR MAKEUP AND HAIR SHE WOULD HELP YOU GET READY EVERY DAY IF SHE COULD

she will also let you do hers, but not super often since shes kinda busy sometimes and doesnt want to take forever getting ready

the type of person who can walk for hours and hours forEVER in super tall heels/platforms or "walk it off" after literally being beaten to near death in battle but will complain for days if she gets even the tiniest paper cut

likes giving back hugs

this is random but i feel like she eoukd enjoy puzzles and word games

YALL R THE TYPE TO GO ON FANCY DATES YALL R THE BIGGEST POWER COUPLE EVER

she always, ALWAYS pays for u, holds the door for u, she will hold ur shoes if they're bothering u/she will carry u if she can, LITERALLY A MIX BETWEEN GENTLEMAN AND MILF BEHAVIOR

she will prob introduce u to the other stellaron hunters if u dont already work w them

her friends r ur friends now

yall have self care dates where u get ur nails, hair, and skin care done and go to fancy spas or get massages im too broke to do this idk what people actually do at a spa

overall amazing and wonderful we ignore the fact that shes insane bc its hot

NSFW:

here we gooo

switch energy SWITCH ENERGY

when shes more subby shes still in control, i feel like she would def be a power bottom at least

really enjoys commanding you and ordering you around, gets off on your obedience and your disobedience

HAIR PULLER

she WILL wear a strap and use toys on you, putting a vibrator to your clit/cock while your tied down and watching you squirm and whimper, using leg spreaders to hold ur legs apart while she eats u out/sucks u off, paddles, rods/dildos, thrusting vibrators, she has it ALL

if u dont have stereotypically "female" genitals/or even if u do, she will peg u. there is no escaping it. she will overstimulate you and she will fuck u until ur begging for her to stop, thighs shaking, chest heaving, sobbing and pleading for a break

IDK IF I SAID THIS ALREADY BUT SHE WILL TIE U DOWN AND SHE WILL USE INTRICATE AND PRETTY DESIGNS AND ROPES TO DO SO

she very much enjoys riding ur face, seeing your face covered in her slick below her... godd ur gonna be up the whole night

exhibitionist (i am prob spelling this wrong💀) SHE LIKES PRESSING U UP AGAINST WINDOWS WHILE THERES PEOPLE OUTSIDE AND FUCKING U FROM BEHIND WITH HER STRAP

"oh? your upset about them seeing us? so what? dont worry your pretty little head about trivial things like that dolly, i'll take care of everything for you~" *proceeds to fuck u until ur babbling and no more worried are forming in ur head*

into sensory play as well

ur tied down and blindfolded and she will blot hot air against ur cunt/cock, run an ice cube up and down ur thighs, leave hickeys or kisses on ur thighs, trace a feather around ur chest and trail it down ur abdomen, just above where u want her, so close but so, so far...

perhaps she has a mommy kink, but it would take a little while to discover it 👀

wears lingerie on a regular basis and will strip in front of u at the end of the day leaving u in flustered in shock she loves seeing u all flushed and embarrassed omg

tease teas tease sOO UNFAIR

WILL TEASE U FOR DAYS ON END JUST TO GET U TO SUBMIT

OVERALL THE PERFECTEST AND HOTTEST LOVER U CAN EVER IMAGINE

hi guys cant believe i just wrote this anyways can u tell i have a preference LMFAOO shes just so cool <3 i might have a type *side eyes kindael, kafka, rosaria, and all the other pink/red associated women who r also fucking insane that i simp for* sorry i havent been super active lately, i prob wont be for a little while im going on vacation. however, reqs are still open i am BEGGING for reqs lmao😭 hope u enjoyed! lmk of any errors/gendering issues, hope u enjoyed

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roolette · 1 year ago

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Hey, I liked your "pegging Smoke" fic and was wondering if you could do the same with Johnny or Kung Lao... but maybe with edging too? (idk I just wanna see men with an ego get their confidence taken away 🤭)

YOUR MIND OMG

Doing this with Johnny bc I need that man whining

CW: NSFW, edging, spanking, dom!reader, afab!reader, gn!reader, sub!Johnny

"Please," Johnny whines, rutting his hips back against your length. "Please, just let me cum. I'll be so good for you."

It's hard to believe this all started with a bet.

It started with Johnny teasing you, telling you how all he had to do was breathe, and you were all desperate for him. You told him that he was just as easy, and you could get him begging for you even faster. Johnny wanted to put that to the test, and, well...

His face is pressed against the pillows, drooling on the fabric as you just brush against the spot, teasing him, but never giving him exactly what he wants. He tries to move again to go deeper, but you quickly slap his ass, ending that before it starts. He lets out a choked sob.

"You win, alright?" His voice is watery. "I need you. I need you to give me everything."

"Mm, that sounds more like demanding. I want to see you beg."

Johnny moves his head to look back at you, expression incredulous.

"You think this isn't begging? C'mon, baby, I'm practically on my knees for you."

You shrug. "Guess you don't want to cum."

You start to slide out of him, and Johnny clenches around you, gasping.

"Wait, no-! I didn't mean it. I want to cum."

You click your tongue. "I'm not convinced."

"Please. Baby, I need you, I'll do anything for you, just let me cum. I don't care if I make I mess, I'll lick it up, just let me cum. Please."

You don't say anything. Instead, you pull out of him, and Johnny whines. How was that not enough for you? Before he can protest, you pull him up and move toward the end of the bed.

"Sit on my lap," you command. "Face the mirror."

"Baby, what?" His voice is broken, and so perfect.

"You heard me."

Johnny crawls over to you and sinks down on your lap, back facing you, getting the perfect view of the two of you in the floor-length mirror. He lets out a high pitched whine as he hits the base of your strap-on. And now, even now, he's waiting for you to move, to do the work.

"Go on," You say, leaning back. "Fuck yourself on it for me."

You hold his jaw, forcing his head still.

"And don't you dare look away from the mirror."

Johnny nods, rocking his hips, moving himself up and down on your length, moaning and whining every time it hits that sweet spot. He's wrecked, usually perfect hair ruffled and sticking to his sweaty skin. His skin is marked to hell and back, and you can't wait to see the reactions he gets.

Sure that he's going to keep watching himself, you move down to grip his cock, running your hand up and down, teasing the head. Johnny's whines grow stuttered, his pace on your length sloppy and uncoordinated. He's close, but he still knows his place.

"I'm yours," Johnny whines. "All yours, this is all for you. I need it, I need you. Let me cum, please."

"Since you asked so nicely," you simper. "Go on, Johnny. Make a mess of yourself."

That's all you need to say. Johnny cums with a shout, hot liquid hitting his chest and your thighs. He slows his pace, coming down from his high, leaning his head back against your shoulder. You run your hands up and down his sides, soothing him, telling him how good he was for you.

"I... I think you won the bet," Johnny gasps.

"Not yet," you tease. "You said you'd lick it clean. So go on."

Johnny presses his lips to yours with a grin.

"You'll be the death of me, you know."

#mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat imagine #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk imagine #johnny cage x you

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iayos · 1 year ago

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cw : cheating allegations, cursing, satoru is whiny, one death joke, banter ( not a real argument )

“you don’t even care about me anymore !” your boyfriend, satoru, whined, “all you do is talk to other men !”

“what the fuck are you talking about ?” never in your life have you talked to another man that wasn’t the current person you were dating; this was news to you. satoru huffed, turning away from you as the bed creaked. “use your words, toru, i don’t know what whines and sighs mean.”

“don’t ‘toru’ me ! you’re cheating.”

“me when i’m delusional.”

“you are,” he dragged out the ‘are’, “whenever we get into bed you’re always on your phone doing something. it’s like i’m not even there ! what if i died right now ?”

“i’m breaking up with you.” it was your turn to huff and sigh. you truly had no clue what satoru was talking about. what other dudes were you talking to ? you ignored his other complaints as you kept typing on your phone.

“you’re probably texting your side hoe right now ! what’s that song say ? ‘got a white boy on my roster…’ am i on your roster ?”

you rolled your eyes, not wanting to hear his bullshit anymore, “totally.”

“baby !” satoru whined once again, tossing and turning in bed. you were fed up with his allegations, “every time we get in bed at like, ten, you always talk to some other dude ! you’re on your phone for so long.”

that made you lose it. you sat up in bed and threw your phone over to satoru.

“here ! wanna see who my side hoe is ?” you watched satoru pick up your phone only to reveal your duolingo lesson, a spanish phrase he couldn’t decipher. a look of embarrassment and shock washed over his face.

it took him a bit, but your cocky boyfriend was knocked down a peg ( finally ), “what does this say ?”

“it says, ‘my boyfriend’s a bitch’.”

#makisoda :: jujutsu kaisen !!#makisoda :: satoru !!#wrote this in three mins #grind never stops #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you

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morbidmorbid · 7 months ago

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loser scud coming in his pants agenda !!

a/n: this whole thing was me laying in bed and being like, “omg scud getting incredibly turned on and possibly even creaming his pants by you like pretend fucking him through his clothes.” like that’s all. that one thought became this whole mess.. yikes. also i am obviously on board with scud being into pegging it just makes sense. ok enjoy this for i am very embarrassed and ashamed that i even wrote it, do not look at me.

cw: dry humping, sub!scud, small pinch of dirty talk, smoking

the pellets of the rain become only slightly more apparent when the door creaks open, paints the windows down the buildings hall and then it muffles again.

scud looks heavy and full in his clothes, drenched and it trickles to his pant legs, to his boots and puddles at the floor beneath his shoes. you hear the squelch before you see it. hands dirtied with paints and oils, messied down to your knees.

life was easy when not faced with the outside; of a sort of tranquility that came with the stroke of a brush against canvas paper. the blissful. though chosen, ignorance against what transpired in the world beyond your craft. of building a box amidst the throes of war, closing in and feeling as it rocks and quakes you, but what you can’t see won’t hurt you.

and there was a simplicity that comes with that perspective that could be deemed imprudent almost. when death and destruction would come knocking—or rather bursting through the shards of the windows or displaying itself into gnarly teeth and even more vicious bite—there would be no prior preparation, simply the demise itself. and there was an okay acception with that probability that scud told you he’d grown to loathe. around his cigarette he’d ask you genuinely, and if i lose ya’, then what? and your fighting words: ‘you won’t.’

and when scud retreated because he was too unversed when conveying himself—inproficient in a system where he was expected to carry too many reject emotions—there was guilt evident for you. an irk of it that created an itch where you couldn’t scratch. just want ya’ ready for whatever, his words were so simple, yet so upfront. and he’d kissed you then, buried himself in your neck to seal his statement.

things were like that for a while, until there was no more imagining and death was actually in your face—in the rapid thrum in your chest, in the blood splashed across your skin and the harrowing, echoing gunshot ringing in the air. when blade had saved you, given you a second chance at life in the sake of scud, a decision of to merely live or survive had fueled a riot inside of you. you’d chosen survival and scud had assisted you with weaponry.

your knife, long and seethed, had been tucked back into its pocket upon seeing him at the front door.

“tired of me already? tryna kill me?” he jokes and haphazardly begins to peel out of his wet clothes. it’s a mess of carelessness and he chuckles through an apology when you suck in a breath in regards to the mess.

“i wasn’t a second ago,” you say and approach him. scud swings two arms out for an embrace, instead met with your two hands striping him of his flannel that hadn’t taken as much rain impact as the rest of his clothing. “until you decided to undress yourself right here at the door.”

scud, ever so needy, juts his lower lip out in what should be a pout, only it’s tired. “undress myself,” scud emphasizes with a smile that lacks purity. it’s ridiculous that it’s the only bit he’d heard. “geez, i’m not even all the way in the door yet and you’re already—“

“josh.” a chuckle follows.

scud cackles and eventually comes out of everything soaked, left in a t-shirt, briefs and socks.

the rain persistently drags on. it pitter-patters like a melody when met with the now silence of the apartment. this is a typical; of creaking floor boards singing until tunes play from your speaker, until the tv runs marathons throughout the day, until the window is cracked in the spring and the wind sings through the slits. those minute things made up the void of scud not being there.

but when he was—“thought about ya’ all freakin’ day.”—he was all over you. scud exhales while he fishes his crumpled up pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans on the floor.

before he can surrender you to the sofa or the bed or anywhere comfortable enough to dump his body weight against you, you make comfortable just in case. going and slipping out of your dirtied jeans and pulling into a shirt that isn’t as restricting. and when you emerge from the bathroom, he is propped against the frame of the bedroom door with his lighter to the bud.

“did ya’ hear me?” he asks. when you approach him finally, you rise to kiss him dead on his face, only he’s quicker and catches your lips instead. it’s short, sweet, not enough for him if the draw to his eyebrows is telling. he hums in a probing manner in addition to his question, avid in looking for an answer.

“what?” you say in false confusion. you need to hear him say it again for your own amusement.

scud is so zealous, it’s an interesting thing. when you wind around the bed to get seated, he follows you like a puppy, trailing behind with his socked feet and rain damp hair. and he sits so impossibly close, a suffocating lack of space, thigh to thigh. though it’s expected and completely usual, so when he sinks in and leans over to bury a nose in the junction of your chest and neck, you embrace him.

“said i thought about you today,” the words are pressed tender and cold against your skin. scud seems to have abandoned his smoke for intimacy, cigarette pinched between his fingers held a distances away by his extended arm. “all good things. great things, actually.”

you pull a candy from the scattered pile on the nightstand. “right. so i’m guessing things are running smoothly at the shop, then?” you reach out for his cigarette and scud doesn’t fight to keep it. instead he watches as you adjust your hold with it, watches as you tease him into opening up for it and taking an inhale with the guidance of your hand.

his eyes dilate a bit then, looking eased. “as smooth as they can be.”

“blade treating you well?” you pull it away and then he’s retrohaling it.

“mhm,” he’s idly responding now, disengaged where the conversation leads but seemingly completely taken with what he knows comes next.

“gonna stare all night or what?” like a feline, you give him an opening and he is on you in mere seconds. he’s a man in your lap, much larger than yourself.

the night actually begins here; with him in your lap high and needy, dazed and mesmerized by the simplicity of you aiding his smoke. this is where it starts and you’re left unsure whose hands the blood is on.

inhale. there’s a piece of candy held between your teeth, taunting, and you tap fingers against scud’s jaw to which he opens up. slipping it to him teeth to teeth, kissing his lips closed, kissing them again as they consume it. exhale. scud outwardly swears. his chest rises and falls in quick succession, hips jerking where they sit. “woah, easy.” you mock laugh in acknowledgment to his actions, free hand stilling him at the thigh.

“‘kay, fuck you for that,” and he both means it and doesn’t.

scud is best like this. when his worn fingers aren't dirtied and he's not face deep in chancy enginery. when he's lax, but pent up all the same, when he's not thinking because he doesn't have to anymore, because now you sit and pick out the nasty and the swarming bits wedged into the mush in his brain. when he lets you.

so you take advantage in the way you bring a hand up into his hair, in the way you un-tossle the frays, put them back in place but contrarily begin to take him apart. scud comes back for more with his face pressed against yours. he’s open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, then the apple of your cheek, then your ear. over and over and it’s like a pattern that he’s following.

you bring a hand down to his abdomen, feeling the fabric of his boxers against your palm. “well?” you drawl with a smile. scud has an eager hand placed on top of your idle one—like he’s ready to get what’s left of his clothes off on your call. “you never told me what you thought about.”

scud chuckles against your skin. one, two, three more presses of his lips before he speaks. “ain’t it obvious?”

“wanna hear it, smart ass.”

scud, ever so persistent in his kissing bombardment, places one on the corner of your lips, takes some of the sweet and sour with him. it has your fingertips squeezing around his waist, broad in your palm. in result, his muscles there constrict noticeably, fighting to still his own body.

he has never necessarily been shy or guarded with his words. he was the things others couldn’t say, reeking of envied self-assurance. so it’s nothing when he speaks unashamedly, says, “thought about when you fuck me with your strap thing or whatever.” and, god, while he was typically blatant at the mouth, this was something else.

when he pulls back from you, looks you in the eyes and tells you he wants it with his mere gaze, you maneuver around his back for a brisk moment to stub out his cigarette. your two free hands envelope him entirely; warm palms cupping his jaw and rubbing against the growing stubble that resides there, and he’s bringing both hands up to press against your ribcage.

“and ya’ know somethin’ else?” he begins again with a poorly concealed grin. his hips against yours start a languid roll. “wanked it so hard and so much today thinkin’ about it that i fucked up my wrist. had to switch ‘em halfway.” his words are low and slow like the blink of his eyes.

“what the hell, josh.” you snort and run slow thumbs over the swell of his cheeks, move them higher to push back the strands of his hair.

and he responds with an unenunciated ‘yep’ and a slow peck to your lower lip. it’s sweet, but lacks innocence. a gesture of permission, a question, an impatience that you can feel when he actually seeks out his pleasure. when you curtly nod and return his kiss this time like he’d been feening for, and he takes it heavily.

he’s rock solid where he rolls against you.

you consider crude reciprocation, but wait it out in a sick need to see him try to get himself off. that never proved a difficult task, scud could be such a slut whenever he wanted to be. many times you’d pulled orgasms out of him while he remained clothed, heaving chest and wandering hands when he’d come undone from handjobs through his thin sweats.

of previous instances of having him laid pliant against the sheets while you rubbed his pert nipples raw over his t-shirt and he had made such a big mess of himself over that.

he swears on your lips then and licks at your teeth.

you make to fuel his earlier musings that seemed to had blissfully plagued him. “don’t you miss it?” your strap: long, thick and pink in color—scud’s personal preference. “it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” a week isn’t a long while, but for how often scud subdues you to sex it seems like an eternity even to you.

he’s becoming looser with every passing thrust, rutting against your upper thighs with an almost untamed vigor. his hands are squeezing and squeezing, digging into your waist and the knowledge that he needs that to stay grounded right here outweighs the sting.

his body responds before he can piece together the words, cock leaking through the fabric and painting his boxers a deeper blue. it’s amusing to see it build up so rapidly, like he’d been waiting all day for this and he has. watching as he gets himself off in such a lewd way and knowing that this would not suffice twists a knot into your stomach. a hungry one that only forms in the light of making sure scud is taken care of, even if it takes until the world stops its spinning.

you grip his face in one demanding hand. “hey, don’t you?” you ask again, bringing him back and watching his eyes glaze over. it always came down to bringing him back. he runs on batteries, it seems, and no amount of twisting, turning or demanding can shut his rutting hips down, only the switch wedged deep into his spine.

“yes, yes,” he admits without qualms. never any qualms with him. “s’all i ever fuckin’ think about.”

“can you show me how well you ride it?” a feigned moral question. “please?”

scud comes to a slow with a doltish stare. “but you don’t even have—“

“i know that.”

a shame to make him think when he no longer held the capacity to. you know it from how low his eyelids now sit, how kiss swollen his lips have swelled, how hard his covered cock feels against your belly. and he doesn’t stop even when faced with a task that he hasn’t quite picked up on yet, turns minutely to mouth at the hand placed on his cheek. you let him for a moment, indulge him even in teasing the thumb against ready lips—open and pliant lips that part with anticipation. in between your legs throb looking at him.

babysitting his weight, you move hands to underneath his thighs, lifting him only to bring him back down. it lacks that gentleness that you are outside of this, only a nasty counterpart that is produced from a seed of scud’s sensuality. he’s a punched out gasp at that, always very reactive.

“felt that?” and it’s entirely hypothetical, but it’s that tidbit that usually gets him going in the first place; the sexual imagery of something he wants so badly just at the tip of his fingers. “you always take the first one so well.”

scud lets a slippery wet moan pass, chest puffed up in hotness, and before he gets comfortable like this, “come on, up.” you order and he always complies. he complies in lifting up slightly on his knees and pressing back down, rutting and rubbing on you and against you after meeting your hips again—a messy method he’s creating.

he becomes frantic with it then after two or three test runs, going up and coming down hard, all weight and cock and beauty. the wholeness of his face begins to redden with overexertion. it reaches his ears that are trickling with sweat, his hairline moist all the same. then he grunts, “i feel it, fuck, i feel it,” into the hand that he brings over his mouth.

“you’re just the prettiest thing,” scud runs well on exterior flatteries. “so manly, but so pretty.” when his back arches as he comes down against your pelvis for the umpteenth time, the signs are all there. “getting ripped apart by my big cock.”

“oh, holy fuck.” he cries around the fist shoved between teeth, all saliva and red knuckles. “makin’ me feel—“

you don’t give him room. “you gonna cum?” because he’s a mix of swears and a shift of rubbing and riding you, looking drunk from being taken—moreso the thought of you taking him. it’s such a lewd thing to get off too, something so niche, something so phantom, but it wholly gets to him.

he begins to plead now, greedy. “touch me.”

“no, you’re almost there. come on, give me a good one.” because he absolutely can and he absolutely will simply by how taken apart he currently is.

scud could reach octaves even you couldn’t at the peak of his pleasure. the curses against his lips, the whines abbreviated by how rough he bounces down onto you, the groans when met with restricting but relieving friction against the tip of his bubbling cock. all of that tipped off with your permission to absolutely destroy himself in your space is seemingly enough because his back bows forwards—this is the sign, the siren before the tornado—and he cums right there long and hard.

desperate hands grip tightly into your shirt, muscles in his stomach convulsing with each spurt. it’s the wet patch growing at sharp speeds, load after load shamelessly untouched. with him there’s always so much to receive, so much he gives you, how he seems to never be satiated.

so for a while he rides the peak of it while you kiss his ‘o’ parted lips, patient with a coiling in the pit of your own stomach.

#scud frohmeyer #scud #scud blade 2 #blade 2 #scud x reader #x reader #scud imagine #blade #norman reedus #josh frohmeyer #daryl dixon #the walking dead #josh frohmeyer x reader #scud fanfiction #scud smut

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fullmoonandstar · 9 months ago

Note

Sending this BG3 idea to a bunch of different blogs to see what they do with it: Tav uses edging and/or orgasm denial on Raphael to get him to give up the hammer without giving him the crown. (Enjoy! I hope... 😅)

I think I have even read some stories like this xD

The main problem I see is that the only way Tav could succeed is by tying him up, and he would not agree to that. Not on a first time, at least...

Tell me how you like the story, anon :3

Everyone else can say something too, if they want

Devil's Den

Raphael x afab!Tav Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: R Word count: 5.1 k Cw: (temporary) major character death, second-person perspective, light Dom/sub, Restraints, Sub Raphael, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Angst, Heartbreak, Cunnilingus, Woman on Top, Pegging, dom reader, Blow Job

“So, the devil’s den. Tell me, are you such a frequent customer that they gave you your own room, or do you take clients here?”

Raphael laughed.

“This place attracts all kinds of people, and deals come easier when everyone is in the right mindset.”

“Hm, sounds to me like you're avoiding the question.” You made sure to give him an obvious once over, ending on his eyes. Raphael held your stare, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was almost as if at any second now, sparks would start flying between the two of you.

In the corner of your vision, Astarion wrinkled his nose and said: “That’s my cue, I’m leaving.”

He turned on his heels and disappeared through the door, not even looking back to see if anyone would follow.

“What are you doing?” hissed Wyll in your ear, but you just waved his question away.

“Go ahead to camp, I'll catch up later,” assured him. Your companions followed Astarion, but not without glaring at the devil and giving you looks of bewilderment. When the door closed behind them, you were alone with Raphael.

“You’re quite brazen, little mouse.” How ever much he liked to play coy, Raphael liked the attention, it showed in the way he held himself. He stood a bit straighter, chest puffed out; he reminded you of a peacock, all made up, trying to impress his potential mate.

“Well, you always say you’re fond of me; and I” — place a hand on his chest- “wonder just how much.”

You looked up through your eyelashes and hoped that the devil’s flirting had some substance. For a heartbeat, Raphael was at a loss for words, and you wondered if anyone else ever tried this. They must have, man is nothing if not charismatic, a trait that got him plenty of souls, so there had to have been some advances in the past.

“It’s not my usual way of dealing with clients,” he said in a low voice, subconsciously leaning in. His hand came to rest on top of yours.

“I’m special,” you said, leaning in closer.

Heat radiated off his body, under your palms, the unholy fire of the hells was burning, inside his veins and even in his human guise could not suppress it entirely.

“You really want to bed a devil?” His tone was a mix of astonishment and disbelief.

“What else am I to do in the devil’s den?” you breathed. “Not any devil, you.”

His hand cupped your cheek almost lovingly, and you leaned in, finally closing the distance. His lips warmed your whole body with their soft feel and their determined movement. You didn’t feel like pushing your luck and let him dictate the pace of the kiss. It was surprisingly slow, but then again, he was someone who played the long game. You ran your hand over his chest and around to his back, pressing your body into his.

The bed had clearly not been used recently, but the sheets were quite lavish. To your surprise, you didn’t land on your back, instead Raphael lay down and waited for you to follow. You crawled on top of him.

The whole camp piqued up when you enter the door to the rented rooms on the top floor of the Elfsong Tavern.

“You’re alive!” Jaheira shouted from across the room. Her voice was a mixture of relief and anger, like a mother who just found her child wandering back home from a night lost in the woods. Now everyone knew you were back, and they swarmed to the door. A winged figure turned the corner and crossed her arms.

“Oh, you didn’t?!” Hissed Mizora. “You fucked Raphael?! You clearly have no taste.”

“You’re just jealous, she didn’t do you,” Shadowheart said.

“Fuck off, Mizora,” you said and waved at her to go away. She wrinkled her nose, and in a flash, she was gone.

“What in the hells were you doing?” Gale asked. “You slept with a devil and not just any devil but Raphael? Have you gone mad?”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing,” you said. “I need to go to the Red Boutique tomorrow.”

“What’s the Red Boutique?” Wyll and Gale at the same time, and Gale added, “This really isn’t the time to go shopping.”

“It’s a toy shop.” Shadowheart grinned. As a fellow Baldurean she, of course, knew of this particular, but that Wyll didn’t seem to have heard of it struck you as odd.

“What?”

Gale’s utter confusion was almost comical, but Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Toys to use in bed, dear. Definitely not for kids.” Addressing you, Astarion added: “So you plan to go back?”

You nodded. Gale’s face twisted in silent shock and disbelief.

“And there is something else I need.”

Gale had not recovered from the fact that you not only had slept with Raphael and planned to go back. You touched his hand to get his attention.

“Gale, is there a way to bind a devil?”

You went back to the devil’s den a few days later, with your newly acquired toys from the red boutique — a selection of differently sized phalluses and a harness — and as expected, it was a great hit with the devil. If your first encounter had taught you anything, it was that Raphael liked to let others do the work, and you indulged him.

Shadowheart sat down next to you, and you knew she wanted something.

“What is it,” you asked.

“So, you have been visiting Sharress’ Caress quite a few times.”

This was where this was going. Astarion appeared seemingly out of thin air to listen in on this conversation.

“What is it like to sleep with a devil?”

“Erm…”

You thought about how to put it.

“He’s a pillow princess who lets you do the work” you said finally. “but…”

You hesitated. Talking about your intimate moments was a bit embarrassing, even you didn’t feel it while doing them.

“But what?” Astarion asked with an annoyed edge in his voice.

“I like taking charge and, well, the ridges on his …”

You bit your lip, already regretting having revealed as much as you had.

“You fucked him in his true form too?” Astarion exclaimed.

You didn’t say anything.

“How long will you keep this up?” Gale asked after you got back from one of the encounters with Raphael. “We have to do something about the brain. We have to take the crown and end this.”

“I have to wait for the right moment.”

“The right moment?”

“Yes,” you said. “If I asked him to put on the thing too early, he may get suspicious and burn me to a crisp.”

Gale nodded slowly, but his face spoke volumes of his worry.

“It’s a very dangerous game you're playing.”

The sun was setting over Baldur’s Gate and you were on your way to Wyrm's Crossing. You and Raphael had never set a schedule, you had just shown up at the brothel, and sometimes he had been there, other times the devil's den had been empty.

You entered Sharress’ Caress through the main door and Mamzell greeted you.

“He is waiting for you.”

She handed you a bottle.

“What is this for?”

“Well, it’s for you.”

It was a wine you liked, but you didn’t know what to do with it.

“Thanks.”

“Have a stimulating evening.” Mamzell cooed and you made your way upstairs.

From the moment you entered the door, you felt that something was different. You looked around but didn’t see Raphael, what you did see however were candles, but they had been placed around the room not for just light, no, it looked more intentional. They had been placed for aesthetic. The fresh flowers in the vases that were arranged on the around the room filled the air with a sweet and fresh aroma.

“I had a feeling you would come today.”

Raphael’s voice came from the back area where the bed was, and you walked over to see him doing something at a dresser. He gave you a brief look over his shoulder, flashing a smile. Everything about him took you by surprise. His smile was not the usual smirk of self-importance and superiority, but it was warm and struck something in you. He wasn’t wearing one of his usual outfits either, but a flowing, silky robe the colour of fresh blood that was held in place by a belt of the same material. Even on a normal day, he was handsome, but today you were too stunned to move or say anything.

He turned around and came closer. Even though you had seen him in various stages of undress, the way the robe hugged his body and exposed just the right amount of his chest, made your heart beat faster.

“Give that to me.”

He reached for the bottle, and you pulled yourself together enough to hand it to him. On the dresser, stood several glasses, and he poured you some wine while he took the small glass with a dark reddish brown colour liquid.

“What is that?” you asked, curious what he was drinking. “Can I try it?”

“It’s whisky. From home.”

“Oh, no.”

Baator whiskey was said to burn as hot as Avernus and as sweet as the touch of a lover, but mortals didn't take well to it. Raphael smiled again, and your stomach twisted with how filled with affection it was.

“Here.”

He drank everything in one go, set the glass down behind him, cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. You could taste the drink on his tongue, the diluted whiskey added a feeling to the kiss that you hadn’t experienced before. If you hadn’t known better, you would have guessed it was some sort of aphrodisiac. A fire filled your body, an arch that reminded you of the anticipation of being with someone. You melted into Raphael’s arms, and you lost yourself in the kiss.

You could not tell how long it took until the feeling faded, but when it did you pulled back just enough to take a deep breath. Your head rested on his chest and he planted a kiss on the top of your head. He had never done that before.

“Looks like you rather enjoyed that, little mouse”

He said, against your hair. “But don’t try to drink it.”

You ran your hands over the fine robe, exploring his back again and still ravelling in how good he felt pressed against you. Wouldn’t it be nice to wake up next to him? Your hands stopped. Oh gods, let's never think about that again, you thought. The day had come, it was time to execute your plan.

“I won’t. Promise,” you said and pulled out of his embrace. “But it was … stimulating.”

He laughed and your heart jumped. What is up with me today? Get it together.

“I’ve brought you something, maybe you want to try it out.”

“Oh?,” he smiled, intrigued. “What is it?”

You pulled out a pair of manacles, he lifted an eyebrow and took them from you. He inspected them, turning the dark metal in his hands, and a worry gnawed at you that he would see right through you.

“You want me chained up and helpless at your mercy?”

The dangerous edge in his voice made you stiffen, and you opened your mouth to say anything, but he didn’t let you. “That’s very much like you to enjoy something like that. Well, I do rather like when you take charge.”

He handed them back to you with an easy smile.

“I’ll indulge you, pet. How do you want to have me?”

“You have to work today,” you purred, covering up your moment of fear and ran your finger along his jaw. “Show that you deserve what I’m going to give you and if I’m pleased- ”you grabbed his chin and caressed his lower lip with your thumb, “- I will reward you.”

He nodded, his pupils blown wide open like a cat about to roll in Nepeta cataria. This night would end badly, but until then, you would enjoy having Raphael wrapped around your finger.

“Should I lie down?”

“No.” you drew out the vowel and slapped away the hand that was reaching to undo his robe.

“Kiss me.” You said, and he obliged. His soft lips moved sensually against yours, and you let your hands roam his body. Your finger followed the hem of his robe down his chest, dragging your nails lightly over his muscles and teasing at the band that held the robe in place.

You pulled away from the kiss, and Raphael followed your movement, not ready to lose contact just yet. You gave him a peck on the lips and used your hand on his chest to hold him a bit further away.

“I like your kissing, but I wonder what else that tongue of yours is good for.”

He exhaled audibly. You stepped back and removed your all clothes except your underwear.

“Now, be creative, pet. If you make me come, you get to be on the bed.”

A smirk flickered over his face at the nickname that was replaced a moment later by an expression that you could only describe as unadulterated lust. He kissed you again, but this time with new-found intensity, desperate for something. His lips didn’t linger for long on yours, but moved along your jaw and down your neck, eliciting a shiver from you. His hands roamed your body and landed on your chest. He took your breasts into his hands and massaged them, teased the sensitive nipples to come to a point.

“I know what you want from me,” he whispered into your ear, and you froze. He stepped back with a mischievous glitter in his eyes. “But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”

His hands were on you again, slowly dragging your panties down and you step out of them. The underwear went flying and a moment later you saw what the thing was, shouldn’t tell anyone about. He sank to his knees in front of you, looking up through his lashes, and peppered your exposed stomach with kisses.

His hand guided your right leg to rest on his shoulder before kissing further down. When his clever tongue made contact with your clit, you grabbed his hair. Raphael moaned into your skin and closed his eyes, fully concentrating on the task at hand. His tongue moved to your entrance, circling the sensitive skin but not dipping in. He covered your clit with his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue against it.

“Oh gods,” you whispered. The pleasure was building inside you like steam in a kettle, and you were almost ready to blow. Your hand had a firm grip on his hair, ready to get him in line should he even think about pulling back. Your legs started shaking in anticipation, and the only things preventing you from falling were Raphael’s hands on your hips. He sucked your clit and your whole body stiffened as a wave of bliss rolled over you.

After you reached your climax, he slowed down, licking and sucking diligently until you loosened your grip on his hair. He moved his attention to your entrance, making you moan as his hot tongue made contact with your sensitive flesh. He lapped up the signs of your release, and a low groan rumbled in his chest.

You gave his hair a light tug and he pulled back. You swallowed hard at the sight of him, kneeling, face wet and looking up as if there were nothing else in the world but you. You took a shaky breath and removed your leg from his shoulder.

“And why exactly have we never done this before?” You wondered out loud, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. Raphael leaned into your touch, and you combed your fingers through his soft hair.

“Let’s clean you up.”

You turned and walked on wobbly legs over to the wash basin. You picked up a wet cloth, returned to Raphael who still sat on the ground and cleaned his face.

“There you go. Now, lie on the bed for me. On your back and get comfortable.”

He followed your request, and you chained him to the metal hoop that perturbed from the wall. You stepped back to commit the image to memory. Raphael lay on top of the covers, he had disrobed, but the red silk was draped over him to cover his private parts and his chest. It looked a bit as if he were bleeding from a wound in his left shoulder, and the stream of red had run down his body. His arms were held up by the manacles, but they had enough slack to so he could rest them against the headboard of the bed.

You ran your hands up his spread legs and crawled onto the bed. Both of his forms had their charms, but you loved how soft his skin felt in his human guise, the little hairs tickled your palms so nicely. You planted open-mouthed kisses along the inside of his thighs and were pleased with the shiver that ran through his body. Pushing his knees-up revealed a nice surprise for you.

“Look who came prepared.”

That was the first time he didn’t smile that overconfident smile of his, instead his eyes were dark with lust and an uncertainty that you had never seen on his face.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t come?” you taunted and moved further up his body until your arms rested on either side of his handsome face, and you looked down on him. “Walk around making deals while you had a plug in your tight little ass?”

His eyes gleamed, and he finally said in a small voice: “Yes.”

“I do like preparedness.” you said. “I think you deserve a little treat.”

A brief kiss elicited a soft moan from him. From your backpack, you produced a harness and an array of dildos you had bought from the Red Boutique. In previous encounters, you had noticed a pattern of what Raphael’s favourites tended to be, and you held up the three most likely candidates for tonight.

“What is it going to be?”

When he glanced at the objects, his erection twitched under the folds of the robe.

“The glass one.”

His voice was more casual, as if he was ordering food in a tavern, not choosing the instrument that would penetrate him soon. You put the other toys back in the backpack and slipped into the harness, adjusting then numerous straps to fit your hip and offer enough support for the hefty phallus. The solid glass toy had been the most expansive thing you had bought for your adventures with Raphael, and he enjoyed the cool, ridged surface of the handcrafted item. You guessed it reminded him of someone.

The glass dildo hung heavy between your legs as you walked over to the head of the bed and positioned your hips at eye level with Raphael. He stared at the toy, and with a raised eyebrow up at you.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Oh, your mouth did so wonderfully already. I think, it can do more.”

Neither the dildo nor the harness provided any friction, but the sight of him could ignite your arousal again.

His lips closed around the glass, his breath briefly condensing on the cool surface. You rocked your hips back and forth slowly, watching as the toy slipped a bit deeper into his mouth and back out again. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled lightly. He moaned around the toy and closed his eyes as you gently fucked his mouth.

“Look at you, little devil,” you said. “You take my dick so well.”

The praise encouraged him to take more into his mouth, but he was too ambitious and gagged a moment later. You pulled out.

“You’re doing so good today,” you praised. “but don’t get too cocky.”

“Whatever do you mean, I’m a picture of modesty.” Your laughs echoed around the room.

You positioned yourself between his legs and without ceremony you pulled out the plug, leaving him nice and open for what was to come.

With a more lubricant, the glass dildo slid into him with little resistance. As much as you loved the stretch and friction of riding him, this position was empowering. You held his thighs pressed against you, for no other reason than that you liked how they felt in your arms, thick, powerful and hot. The pillow positioned under his hips made it easy for you to rock your faux cock into his heat.

His hair stuck to his forehead and a thin layer of sweat covered his body. In his true form you had never seen him sweat, but it always happened in his human form and you loved it. His mouth hung open, and his brows were furrowed, little gasps escaping him when you thrust into him just right. He flexed the muscles in his arms, helpless to change his position to get more friction.

A wave of affection washed over you, seeing him struggle so beautifully. You let his thighs go, and shifted your position until your lips captured his and your tongue pushed into his welcoming mouth. He moaned into your kiss, pressed his body up at you and arched his back. Your hips halted, the glass cock buried as deep inside as possible.

“Don’t stop!” Raphael whined. “Why did you stop?!”

“Who said you were allowed to come yet?”

His eyes went big, a look so very unlike him. You laughed and planted a kiss on his lips, then you pulled out.

“I want to have my fun too.” You said and loosened the straps of the harness. Raphael’s eyes followed the movement of your hands, but his gaze wandered around your body. He was desperate for stimulation, but you let him wait. Washing the toy in the basin right then was not necessary, but the effect it had was precisely what you had hoped. Raphael whimpered and rattled his chains, but he wasn’t desperate enough to use his powers to break free.

You dried the toy and threw it back in your backpack. The hardest part was yet to come, and that surprised you. Raphael, though charming, was a devil, he did evil things to all kinds of people, so why was it hard for you now to go through with your plan?

“Are you done yet?”

He tried to sound commanding, but it came off as desperate.

“Why? Do you miss me?” you taunted. Raphael clenched his jaw and looked at the ceiling. You couldn't help yourself, it was so easy to tease him in his current position. In your backpack, you found a book that you had forgotten was there, and you opened it, reading a whole two pages before Raphael sighed.

“Yes, I miss you. Now come back.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Please.” he grumbled.

“Well, if you ask so nicely.”

His head sank into the pillow again when he saw you walking to the bed. The wait had drained his erection, exactly as it should be.

When you straddled his hips, Raphael sucked in air sharply. He hadn't found his release yet, and it was starting to get to him. He buckled his hips, searching for some friction, desperate, so very much unlike the smug in control devil he was the rest of the time. You indulged him and sighed when he got hard again between your legs, dragging his length through your folds. Your core throbbed, and your insides twisted with want. For you too, it had been hard to endure teasing him, seeing him helpless, so at your mercy and hearing him moan and whimper at your touch.

You took him into your hand. With a few strokes, he was full hard, and you couldn't wait any longer; you sank down on him. He cursed. Even you didn't understand what he had said, in that tone it could hardly be anything else.

As much as you loved the overwhelming feeling of his ridged cock when he was in his true from, his human guise was a bit easier on your body. You rode him slowly, rolling your hips and taking note when he pressed into you just right and when Raphael moaned. His voice was really the thing that pushed you over the edge.

You dragged your nails over his chest and abdomen, feeling the muscles harden under your touch, and heard his desperate noises. You rocked your hips and the tide broke, sweeping you away again.

Raphael whined when you stopped abruptly. You had got way off course, but by some miracle you still had him where you needed him. He licked his lips and said breathlessly: “Don't you dare stop again, mortal.”

His breathing was heavy, and he strained against the chains. Raphael could break them. You were afraid he may yet do so if you teased him more, so instead you raised an eyebrow and said mockingly : “At your service, oh mighty Raphael.”

You said a slow pace, and he closed his eyes, concentrating. This was it.

You reached out and touched both manacles and said the last words of the incantation: “Potentiam exhauri et liga.”

The metal started to glow, but it felt like ice under your fingers. Raphael was engrossed in the feeling of you on top of him, that there was a noticeable delay between you uttering the words and his eyes snapping open.

“What did you say?”

He searched your face for context but didn't find any answers. His eyes fell on the chains and he grimaced.

You expected him to thrash, to throw you off, but for a few heartbeats he just lay there under you, still connected.

“Give me the hammer.”

“What hammer?” He asked coolly.

“The Orphic hammer.”

“If you want it, you'll have to give me the Crown of Karsus. That is the deal I offered.”

“No.” You grabbed his chin and his eyes widened. “You will tell me where the hammer is, how to get it, and you will get one thing. You get to leave.”

To make your point, you rocked your hips and as expected, he sucked in air sharply.

“If you think you can extort me with torture, you are wrong.”

You didn't believe a word he said. He was close to breaking, you could feel it, he just needed a push. You pushed yourself off him, letting him slip out of your warm embrace, and savoured the feeling of superiority when he clenched his jaw tight to stop any sound from escaping.

You brushed a lock of hair out of his face as he stared into your eyes, willing you to finally let him come undone.

“Give me the hammer, and I'll give you a hand.”

He took a shaky breath. His erection looked painfully hard, and your hand caressing his chest only worsened it. He closed his eyes, and you knew you had won.

You closed the door to the devil's den, after telling Gale's mirror image how to get the hammer from the House of Hope. Raphael was still tied to the bed, fuming, but very much not undone. You sat on the bed next to him with a warm wet cloth and cleaned his cock while he hissed.

“What are you doing?”

You tossed the cloth in the direction of the water basin and took him into your hand, stroking him back to full hardness.

“Even if this negotiation didn't go according to your plan, I intend to uphold my end of the deal.”

Before he could say anything, you closed your mouth around his tip and threw his head back. This would be the last time you heard that wonderful voice of his sing for you in ecstasy, the last time his body trembled under you as he released approached and the final time he arched his back off this bed, and you savoured it. Licking the under side of his cock, sucking and swirling your tongue around the tip. His hips buckled, and he poured himself into your mouth.

Raphael stayed silent while packed your scattered things and got dressed. You sat down on the bed afterward, and kept an eye on him. The chains robbed him of his powers, but he hadn't got this far in his life by just his charms. If he broke free now, he would kill you and then your companions in his house.

“Why didn't you just give me the crown?” He asked finally.

“Why?!” You shook your head. “Do you really need an explanation?”

“You have already caught me with me pants down, so humour me, cheater.”

“Fine.” You snapped. “If gave you the crown, what would happen? Maybe you would conquer the hells or maybe not. Mephisto didn't use it to overthrow Asmodeus despite having it for ages and hating the ruler of the hells. what does that tell you?”

You waved the hypothetical question away.

“Let's say you make it, let's say you actually make it all the way to the top of the food chain. What then, Raphael?” You didn't wait for him to answer, and continued: “do you really think you will lounge on a throne in Nessus for the rest of time? You? No, Raphael, that could never be you. You will take over everything you can until all the planes in existence are under your rule.”

“I would n-”

A knock on the door silenced him, and you walked over to see who was there. Lae'zel held a silver hammer in her bloody hands, a determined expression on her face.

“We have it.”

You gave her a weak smile.

“I'll tie up some loose ends and meet you at camp.”

She nodded grimly, holding the hammer tightly, and vanished into dawn. You closed the door and picked up your backpack, rummaging in it before finding what you were looking for and carefully pushed it in your back pocket.

“The heist was successful.” Raphael said bitterly, but his grimace changed into confusion when you straddled his chest. You ran your fingers over his warm smooth skin from his temple along his jaw to his chin.

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Raphael.”

You planted a kiss on his soft lips and rammed the dagger into his heart.

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