#since those are his Parts hes usually most Eager to cover up

[kotaromita]

Open Thread

Kotaro's thin eyebrows twitch nervously in the dressing room mirror, conflicted seeing himself in the outfit suggested to him. The way it fit his body, the skin it showed—was it too much?

He had only recently started to experiment a little more with how he dressed, given he was pretty picky with the genre of street fashion he wore. Having someone else choose for him was a surefire way to get him wearing something outside that comfort zone. But seeing his exposed forearms and collarbones made him wary.

Even so, he felt obligated to show them how he looked given they'd given him their assistance in the first place. So he steps out from behind the curtain. "So, does it suit me?"

[uvobreakmylegs]

Trap

inspired from that one scene from the film The House That Jack Built (tho reader gets a better outcome, all things considered)

Kishibe x female!reader

Warnings: noncon, smut, fingering, groping, kidnapping, captivity, sexual harassment, mentions of gore, mentions of death

Word Count: 13.9k

The bar that you worked at just so happened to be situated close to the main office of the devil hunters, and as a result, a fair amount of your clientele were those same people who worked in Public Safety, usually the ones that were just getting off work and were in desperate need of a drink after spending a work shift witnessing countless horrors.

Despite your job as a bartender not coming close in terms of what they went through, you saw a lot just from witnessing the state they were in when you served them: the exhaustion that had seeped into their bones after they would sit down and the far-off gazes as they relived whatever fresh hell they'd been through before downing the rest of their drinks before calling you for another. Sometimes there were even entrails that covered them which you needed to clean up; it was only possible to do so once you held a spare rag up to your mouth and nose while keeping the dustpan as far away from you as possible before you deposited the remains in the dumpster at the back, after which you would quickly scurry away, eager to escape the awful smell.

It'd be easy to be annoyed with them for things like that, but you kept yourself in line by reminding yourself that they were the ones killing the devils so people like you could live in relative safety. If the price for that was sometimes needing to clean up something gross, you could live with that.

And certainly the last thing the exhausted hunters needed was someone nagging at them about a mess.

You got used to the changing faces, of those who either left or those who had died in the line of duty. More often than not, they simply stopped coming in with no explanation, which was a good indication that they were dead, as the ones who would quit usually ended up telling you their life story: why they got into devil hunting, what had happened since that point and why they now wanted to leave. You would listen – they didn't really want much engagement from you, just for someone to hear them out. At the end of it, the hunter would usually slam down their glass and declare that they were going to quit before heading out the door and you never saw them again.

Though there were often times when they would softly put down their empty glass and decide that they needed to keep with it despite the hardship. The irony that followed was that sometimes those hunters who decided to keep going didn't come in after that.

Even though you could make a good guess as to what had likely happened, you preferred to tell yourself that they had changed their mind immediately after and decided to quit after all. Even if it was a lie you were telling yourself, it was nicer to imagine a happy outcome for them, a future that they could – and should – have had.

And the faces at the bar continued to change.

Except for one.

Kishibe.

During the entirety of your year and a half of working at the bar, the biggest constant was the man who called himself the strongest devil hunter and who always, always came in for a drink once his shift had finally ended.

He was an odd one, to say the least. In terms of looks, he stood out almost immediately from the other devils hunters in large part due to his blonde hair and the recognizable scar that ran from the corner of his mouth and across his left cheek. And in terms of what he was like as a person, from what you could see, his monotone way of speaking and his quiet demeanor was deemed to be unsettling to most who interacted with him. He was also constantly drinking, as on more than one occasion you saw him take a swig of that flask he always carried around right as he entered the bar and then again when he left. That, combined with how much he drank at what became his designated seat at the bar, left you thinking that the fact that his liver was still functioning at his age was nothing short of a miracle.

Speaking to him had been weird at first. You had assumed that he would be like the other hunters who came in on their own, the ones who were in a bad place and were trying to drown out the turbulent feelings inside of them by way of harsh liquor. Those ones didn't want to talk; they just wanted a drink and for you to leave them alone until they needed a refill. With your experience with other hunters and the general vibe that surrounded Kishibe, it seemed like the safest choice to keep your distance from him.

But despite your attempts at creating that space, Kishibe turned out to be eager for a chat whenever you were around.

Though the topics the two of you could discuss were limited, you slowly found yourself warming up to the veteran hunter the more you spoke with him. While it was hard to tell what Kishibe was feeling in general, the fact that he continued to seek out your company told you that, at the very least, he found you to be tolerable. Tolerable enough to ask you questions that were guaranteed to get him boring answers. You doubted that he cared much about what your day had been like before you arrived for your shift or what the results of your off-day shopping trips were; he must have just wanted to hear something about how the average person's normal day went, one that was free of hunting and killing.

Until he told you to stop or he didn't bother to ask anymore, you were happy to oblige.

At that moment, Kishibe was on his third drink, staring down at the dark liquid within the glass with the same blank expression that was always on his face. Just like the other devil hunters that were currently in the bar, he was finished for the day and was getting a few drinks before he'd head home. Though with Kishibe it definitely wouldn't be just a few, and it wouldn't end with whatever he got at the bar.

It was relatively quiet at the moment with the small bits of chatter throughout the room being contained to the tables where the other patrons sat, so there was no need to raise your voice when you spoke to him.

“Kill a lot of devils today?” you asked.

Kishibe glanced up at you before returning his gaze to the glass.

“No, nothing like that today,” he said.

“Oh? Then were you training new recruits again?”

“Some of that,” he answered plainly, “but today I was mostly dealing with paperwork.”

“Ah.”

While you weren't inclined to say paperwork was the worst thing to deal with considering that the man killed monsters for a living, you could easily see how trudging through documents and filling out papers could be an exceptionally mind numbing experience.

“I guess it's too bad that being the best devil hunter doesn't exempt you from the boring parts of the job,” you said.

He shrugged.

“It's something that inevitably comes with any sort of job,” Kishibe told you, raising the glass to his lips after.

You leaned your elbow on the surface of the bar as you asked “did the training with your students go well at least?”

“No,” he answered bluntly.

“Oh. Why not?”

Kishibe waited to reply as he took another swig of his drink before saying “they're motivated by money, which is the worst reason to join Public Safety. Not only that, but they're hopelessly weak as well, which makes training them even more of a waste of time.”

“But the point of training them is to make them stronger, right?” you asked.

“There's no point because they're not cut out for it.”

“Is that you saying that they're not crazy enough?”

“It is.”

“Ah.”

You'd heard him say that before. About how the only people who can make it as devil hunters are the crazy ones and anyone who was too sane was little more than cannon fodder. His words.

Whether or not what he was saying was correct wasn't something you could really judge, but considering how long he'd been at that job, it was possible that there just might be some truth to what he was saying, though you doubted anyone else at Public Safety would be willing to agree with his statement out loud.

“Well,” you began, “maybe they'll surprise you. Maybe they just need a bit more time.”

“Doubtful. You either are cut out for devil hunting or you aren't. And these ones aren't,” said Kishibe.

He took a cursory glance across the room before he added “they'd be more suitable for a job like this one.”

Then he looked back to you as he asked “you need any new workers?”

You shook your head.

“Unfortunately we're all good on staff, so I don't think we can take any of them,” you answered jokingly.

“I see.”

He brought the glass back up to his lips as he said “then I guess they'll be dead soon enough.”

Kishibe spoke those words in that same monotone voice, while part of you wanted to believe that he was just a fan of dark humor, you knew him well enough by now to know that he meant what he said. Whoever these students were, they must have been massively under-performing for his opinion of them to be so low.

“Have you tried talking to them about that?” you then asked.

“I have. They just see it as motivation to prove me wrong,” he said, “I'm not going to bother if all it does it encourage stupid behavior.”

“And you can't speak to anyone higher up about your concerns?”

“Very few apply to work at Public Safety in general, so they'll accept anyone without question.”

“They're that desperate for hunters?”

Kishibe nodded.

You smiled, taking the opportunity to joke as you said “maybe I should apply then, especially if they don't care much about someone's background. It'd probably pay better than what I get from this place.”

In response to that, Kishibe gave you a long, hard look, his glass held in midair as he stared at you. Though his expression remained neutral, you got the sense that he wasn't amused.

“…. I was joking,” you said, “I know that I'm not up for killing devils.”

Just like that, the slight bit of tension that had fallen on the two of you dissipated. and the air felt light once again.

“That's good,” he told you, bringing the glass to his lips before saying “you're smart in knowing your limits.”

“Unlike your students?”

“Yeah.”

With one last swig, he drained what was in the glass. The veteran devil hunter then set it down closer to you, silently asking you for a refill. You obliged, grabbing the nearby bottle you had opened for him earlier and filling up the glass until it reached the brim.

As you put the bottle back on the shelf and while he lifted the glass to his lips once again, you commented “it is nice that you're trying to look out for them.”

He stopped what he was doing, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Even though what you're saying doesn't seem all that kind, you must really be worried about them if you're that insistent that they need to quit,” you clarified, “I can only imagine how tired you are of seeing those white grave markers multiplying every time you go to that graveyard.”

The expression on his face remained blank after you said that, which, of course, made it hard to read just how he felt about your statement. But when he averted his gaze and took that sip of his newly poured drink, you took it to mean that you were correct.

Kishibe was pretty open, after all. If you were wrong, he would have said so. You felt certain of that.

“But maybe don't give up on them just yet,” you added, “like I said, they might surprise you.”

“….. I'll consider it.”

You smiled at that. That was as big of a win that you could get when it came to Kishibe, who no doubt had an issue of being stubborn due to age.

You really hoped those students would be able to prove him wrong.

There wasn't any more time to dwell on the matter, however, as a few more men walked in at that moment and took their seats at the bar, waiting to be served. The small moment that you had to chat with your most regular customer had come to a close, at least for now. Even if Kishibe spent a lot when he visited the bar, you would get in trouble if you ignored other customers in favor of speaking with him.

Even if this wasn't the greatest job in the world, you didn't want to face the terror of unemployment.

…. Was there such a thing as an unemployment devil? You'd need to ask Kishibe later, if you remembered.

It picked up quite a bit after that, with a more steady stream of patrons filling the seats and orders for drinks flowing in. As such, you were too busy to continue any form of conversation with Kishibe; the most words that were shared between the two of you were your affirmations when he called you over to refill his glass. And the hours would manage to pass in that way.

It was the same way it usually went. Another busy night where your feet would definitely be aching by the time you got back home.

It was near the end of your shift when Kishibe called you over to ask for his bill, settling up before he headed out for the night, presumably to wherever it was he called 'home'. The time he did so was as usual, as was the rather high bill he had racked up during the hours he'd spent chugging down drinks. He barely reacted to the high amount you had printed out for him, his face staying as blank as always as he fished out the amount needed from his wallet.

“Heading home?” you asked him.

“In a bit,” he said, “need to take care of something first.”

“I hope it's not work related; I doubt you'd be in any condition for late night devil murdering.”

“Even if it was, I'd be fine.”

You raised your eyebrows at that, but otherwise said nothing to disagree with him. If he noticed that reaction of yours, he chose not to comment on it as he handed you what he owed.

“You get off soon, don't you?” he then asked.

“Yeah, why?” you asked back absentmindedly as you placed the money in the register.

“Did you walk or drive here?”

“Oh, I usually walk,” you answered, “my place isn't too far away.”

“Will you be alright heading home by yourself at this hour?”

You smiled as you nodded at him, answering “I'll be fine. I've walked that route dozens of times and I've never had any issues. Plus, there's hardly anyone around this time of night.”

Kishibe nodded slowly once you answered, and while he spoke again just to say “that's good, then”, he said it more to himself than to you.

Shutting the register, you looked back to him as you asked “but what about you? Are you walking? I feel like it'd be dangerous if you got behind the wheel of a car right now.”

“I usually walk, too,” he told you, “both the business I need to take care of and my place are close enough.”

“I see. Well, I hope you have a good rest of your night.”

“Same to you.”

With nothing else to be said, Kishibe began to make his way out of the bar, remaining surprisingly steady as he walked to the door. You weren't sure if his tolerance for alcohol was something else, or if he was just really really good at pretending to be sober.

As he walked out, you noted the reactions of the other devil hunters as he passed them by. A majority of the ones who were still present stiffened when he did so, conversations turning quiet until he was out of earshot. Some were clearly nervous with him being so close. And then there were others who looked at him, trying to make eye contact so they could have some small bit of a good interaction in wishing him well for the night by way of a brief farewell.

Kishibe didn't pay attention to any of them, and when the door shut behind him, the visible tension in the nervous hunters lessened instantly, a collective sigh of relief hitting them.

Seeing that sort of reaction was another thing that had felt weird at first.

Despite the fact that he was constantly drinking, none of the other devil hunters regarded Kishibe as being an old drunken fool as you might have expected. Conversations would quiet down once he walked through the doors, anyone who had begun to get a little too rowdy cutting it out the moment they realized he was there. Kishibe wasn't interested in interacting with any of them, however. Once he had sat down, his only focus was on downing the many drinks he would order while he made conversation with you.

Those sorts of reactions were probably due to the respect that the other devil hunters felt for him. But it was respect mixed with something else:

Fear.

As you only ever saw Kishibe within the small space of the bar, you had no idea what he was truly like when he was out hunting devils. While you could make a guess of how strong he was based on his general aura and the way the others regarded him, you were limited to him when he was in that seat chugging down drinks like no tomorrow.

There was only time where you had gotten an inkling as to what he was capable of, and you hadn't even been around to witness it.

A while back and on a rare night where Kishibe was absent, a devil hunter who was relatively new to the job and had only recently started going to the bar with his colleagues made an impulsive decision when he was tipsy and had smacked you on the ass as you were walking by his table. The hit had been so hard and unexpected that you ended up dropping a tray full of drinks, and the glasses you'd been carrying shattered on the floor alongside the spilled liquor.

When you told the guy to get out he scoffed at you, and at that moment there wasn't much you could do other than clean up the mess while one of your coworkers got a refill for the orders that had spilled. By the time all of that was done, the group the guy had been with had left, one of the others paying for their bill while the guy snickered at you. That, along with the way your boss had berated you after for spilling the drinks despite your explanation, had caused that night to be a bad one for you. It was bad enough that it was still affecting you the next day, leaving you somber through your shift.

Kishibe noticed your mood almost immediately, and after some prying on his part, you told him what had happened. After getting the full story, his expression stayed level as it always did, and it made you sad as you thought that he didn't care about what had happened to you.

But then he asked you for a description of the man who had hit you as well as the ones who had accompanied him. That had surprised you, but you still gave him the information he wanted. Kishibe left soon after and much earlier in the night than he usually did.

Truthfully, you hadn't expected much to come from any of it. Maybe at most the bar owner would receive a letter of apology and some small bit of compensation for the spilled drinks as well as the group promising to be on better behavior. And even then, you weren't really interested in any of that. All you had really wanted was for someone to agree that the entire situation was unfair for you. Kishibe hadn't even done that, so your somber mood remained even after your shift ended.

You weren't expecting to see the guy who'd hit you so soon after that.

A few days later, shortly after you had come in, the devil hunter who had so brazenly smacked you entered the bar and gave you a formal apology, promising that he would never bother you again. The entire thing was very short, as he didn't bother making any excuses or tried to blame his actions on the alcohol. He simply apologized, left an envelope full of money as compensation for what you had dropped and then exited the bar.

Despite his apology to you, he couldn't look you in the face, and there was a distinct haunted look in his gaze as he stared at anything other than you, as though he was terrified of making direct eye contact you.

Neither that man or the group he had been with ever entered the bar again, and when Kishibe came in that same evening, he didn't mention anything. You didn't ask about it, either. Whatever it was that he had done to get that result, you decided that you didn't want to know just in case the answer was something that would keep you up at night. Even if it wasn't something gruesome or morally questionable, it was simply easier to pretend that the incident hadn't happened.

At least those previously rowdy devil hunters were a bit more well-behaved from that point onward.

Late on the next Tuesday night, you found yourself alone as you were the last one clocking out, and therefore the one who needed to do the final clean up and shutting down of the bar. Luckily for you, Tuesdays were always slow and there was never much of a mess to take care of, so despite the late hour you were in good spirits as you exited the building, locking the door at the back while you thought of what you were going to do from here.

Your thoughts went to a new video game you had bought, having only had enough time to play a little bit before you had started your shift that day. While normally you may have felt the current time was too late for something like that, you had tomorrow off, so it didn't feel like a horrible idea to stay up late on your computer. It was very likely that all of your day off would be dedicated to playing the game.

But you were jumping too far ahead. You hadn't even gotten to tomorrow yet, you told yourself. Focus on getting home right now.

You walked along quiet streets as you did just that, at one point zipping your hoodie fully up as the chill of the night air was more uncomfortable than you were expecting. At least you wouldn't need to be out here long, though you still bemoaned the fact that you had forgotten to bring your gloves with you. The only solution you had was stuffing your hands into your pockets in an effort to keep them warm.

As was expected for how late it was, the street you were walking on was virtually abandoned. Any people that you did catch sight of could only be seen on adjacent streets that you passed, all of whom were minding their own business as they hastily made their way to wherever they needed to be. You were in the same camp as they were, and your pace increased as all you wanted in that moment was to get home where you'd be able to relax and unwind.

One walkway you passed by was particularly loud, and you caught sight of a group of businessmen who were chatting with one another. From what you could see, they had been out drinking. Socializing for work, more than likely.

So it wasn't a surprise when you rounded the corner of a turn you needed to make and you saw what at first appeared to be another businessman in the distance, moving about oddly as he walked towards you. With the distance between the two of you and the fact that you had only spared him a brief glance at first, you assumed that he was one with that group, making his way back for one reason or another.

But as the person was walking in your direction, you were compelled to look up at him as he came closer.

It wasn't a businessman at all.

And as the picture before you became clearer as the person continued walking towards you, your pace slowed before you came to a stop as recognition turned to confusion upon realizing just who it was on the path before you.

Your most loyal regular at the bar, Kishibe, was out on the sidewalk by himself. His height, hair and the scar on his face made it easy to identify him. That he was out at night wasn't much of a surprise, but what made you confused was the fact that he was stumbling, barely able to keep himself upright as he went forward. The only explanation for him to move in such a way was that he was drunk.

You were in disbelief. How was that even possible? You'd seen that man consume enough alcohol that it should've been fatal and it had never affected him, yet now he wasn't even able to walk in a straight line – just how fucking much did he have to drink to get that way?

When he nearly fell to the pavement was when you snapped out of your stupor.

Holy fuck

“Kishibe!”

You ran over to where he was leaning against an adjacent wall, lightly placing your hand on his back as a way to help steady him while you asked “are you alright?”

He turned his head to look at you, and after a moment, he shook his head.

“Let me lean on you,” he mumbled.

Taking hold of one of his arms, you did your best to keep him standing as he got his feet firmly beneath him.

“Do you need to go to the hospital? I can call an ambulance,” you said.

“Hospital? No,” he answered, “just get me back to my apartment.”

“I don't know where that is.”

By that point he had his arm over your shoulder, though he was swaying far more than you were comfortable with. Still shaken by how he had nearly fallen moments ago and worried that he could still end up tumbling onto the pavement, you ended up grabbing ahold of his waist in an attempt to keep him steady. Although if he was really going to fall, you had a bad feeling that he would just end up taking you down with him.

You really hoped that wouldn't happen; ending your night by having one or both of you getting a concussion was something you wanted to avoid.

Kishibe had reached a hand into his pocket and had pulled out his cellphone, his fingers seemingly not cooperating when he attempted to put in his passcode. After a few failed attempts at unlocking it, the screen turned brighter as he got in and within a few moments, he had typed in an address and held it in front you.

Your mind blanked before you took the phone from him with an “okay.”

Looking at the screen, you found that the location put in was only fifteen minutes away from where you currently stood. That wasn't too bad, but as you glanced over again to Kishibe and the state he was in, you worried that the short walk would be too much for him right now. If he lost his balance again you didn't think you had the strength to keep him up on your own, and if he passed out there was no way you'd be able to drag him to his apartment. Plus if he hurt himself you'd probably need to call an ambulance, which would be a whole other mess that would likely see you waiting in the hospital for hours.

“Are you sure you want to walk there? With how you're doing right now, I think it might be better if we call a ride for you,” you told him.

“No.”

“But the idea of you walking seems dangerous.”

“You really think anyone will let me into their car with how I am now?” he countered.

Ah. That was true. Kishibe was only still standing up right now because you were supporting him. And not only was he unsteady, but he also reeked of alcohol. Any driver would see him and refuse to let him in out of fear that they'd need to clean his vomit out of their car afterwards.

So the only option was to walk him back?

….. This sucks.

It was late, you'd been on your feet for hours, your fingers were still numb from the cold and you were tired. You'd been looking forward to your plans for when you got back and yet you needed to be the one to deal with this?

Despite saying none of that out loud, Kishibe seemed perceptive to what you were thinking as he said “I know it's inconvenient, but I'd appreciate it if you would help me out.”

“…..”

…. Well now you felt like an asshole.

Kishibe needed help and you were trying to get out of it, and now he was aware that you were trying to get out of it. The fact that he needed to push to get you to help him wasn't good at all. And all of it was just so you could go home and play a video game?

Why were you like this?

With that, you forced a smile onto your face as you said “of course. It's only a short walk, right?”

He nodded.

Readjusting the hold you had on him, you kept the smile on your face as you continued with “plus, maybe the walking will help you feel better.”

“Maybe.”

As the you began to walk him back, heading in the direction that was directly opposite of your apartment, you told yourself that this could always be worse. Kishibe wasn't being loud or aggressive, which you appreciated. While you were stuck with his arm around you and the pace at which you traveled was painfully slow, it would have been a lot worse if he'd insisted that you help him while also being belligerent about it.

At least he was a pretty chill drunk, even if the way he wobbled in your grip still made your stress levels rise every time it felt like he was about to lose his balance.

“If you need to stop to rest a little, we can do that. Just let me know, okay?”

He nodded after you told him that, but with the vacant stare in his eye, you wondered how much he had really heard.

Oh well.

As the two of you went by the path you had passed previously which was full of the businessmen, you found that it was empty now. Either they were getting more drinks somewhere else or they were going home. Though as you took one last glance in that general area, you caught sight of a tiny bit of movement at the base of the building, your eyebrows furrowing until you realized what you were looking at.

“Gross,” you commented.

“Hm?”

“Cockroach.”

Kishibe hummed in response.

“I'm surprised it's still alive in this weather,” you said, “I would've thought the cold would have gotten to it.”

“They're good at finding ways to survive.”

It was good that he was speaking to you. As you were still worried at the thought of him passing out while in the middle of the way home, you figured that continuing to speak would probably be best; whatever you could think of as long as he stayed lucid enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

With the sight of the bug from moments ago, at least there was an easy topic of conversation to have.

“Is there a cockroach devil?” you asked.

He closed his eyes as he nodded slowly.

“We don't have control of it, though,” he then told you.

“Good thing I'm not afraid of cockroaches, then. Wouldn't want to make your enemies stronger,” you said.

You paused as you readjusted the grip you had around his waist before you added “I am pretty scared of spiders, though. Is that an issue?”

“Public Safety has control of the spider devil. If anything, I would encourage you to be more afraid of spiders. That way she'll be stronger,” answered Kishibe.

“Okay,” you answered, laughing a little as you said “though maybe I don't want to be too afraid of them. It'd be a different kind of issue if she became too tough and decided to run off to do her own thing, right?”

He shook his head.

“That's impossible.”

“Why's that?”

“Because if she tried that, I'd hunt her down and take her out,” he said simply.

“You're sure you'd be successful with that?” you asked.

“Of course. I'm the strongest devil hunter there is,” Kishibe told you.

“That might be true,” you said, “but if a devil were to come for you as you are right now, I'm worried you wouldn't be able to do much.”

“I'd handle it.”

“…. You can't even walk on your own.”

“I'd handle it,” he insisted.

Despite his tone, you were skeptical. After all, you were the only one keeping him upright at that moment. Still, it was better to let it go. Just treat it like you're at work, you told yourself. Work that you wouldn't be getting paid for, but work nonetheless. Even though this wasn't the way you wanted your night to end, reminding yourself that you had the day off tomorrow helped in making you feel better about it.

Walking to Kishibe's apartment took about an extra eight minutes due to his slow pace, and there was only so much you could do to get him to move faster while still being polite about it. If only you had the strength to pick him up and carry him, it could've gone so much faster.

At the very least it would have made for a funny scene, at least from an outsider's perspective.

You did your best to stay positive, and you continued to ask him questions as a way to make sure he was still conscious as you escorted him back home. Though after your conversation about the spider devil, Kishibe only answered in grunts or hums, but at least he was still able to answer you. That was a good thing, at least. As long as he was conscious and able to continue walking, that was good.

When you caught sight of Kishibe's apartment building and noted the tall flights of stairs that decorated the sides, you frowned. And when you asked him which floor you needed to get him too, you groaned internally when he answered that his unit was on the fourth floor.

Of course you needed to get him up several flights of stairs.

You didn't want to think about just how long it took the two of you to get up the stairs, nor did you want to think about the times you needed to help him lift up his own feet so he could ascend those stairs with you. By the time you reached the door of his unit, you felt well and truly exhausted from the ordeal, and you wanted nothing more than for him to unlock the door and go inside so you could go back home.

Except Kishibe handed you the key to his door.

Of course it couldn't be that simple.

You couldn't even get him to go in on his own, as when you turned the handle and opened the door to his unit, his weight suddenly bore down on you, pushing you into the darkened apartment with him following after and only managing to regain his footing once he was inside. Even then he stumbled backwards after, his arm hitting the open door and forcing it back shut when he fell against it.

“Are you okay?!”All you heard in response to your worried question was a grunt that seemed like he was trying to indicate 'yes', which lessened your panic a little, though it'd be nicer to be able to see him. In the pitch dark of the apartment, you reached for a nearby wall as you searched for a light switch. After several moments of blindly pressing your hand all over the surface of the wall, you found it, and you needed to shut your eyes once the overhead light turned on as you needed to adjust to the sudden brightness.

Once you were able to see, what greeted you was what appeared to be a sparsely decorated apartment that only seemed rather ominous as the rest of the lights within the space had also been left off. From what you were able to see in your current position, you caught sight of a darkened living room area, and beyond that, a sliding door that opened up to small balcony. There was a couch in the living room, right? You could just leave him there, couldn't you?

Please let me leave now, you silently begged.

“Could you get me to the bedroom?”

Despite how he mumbled his words, you heard him clearly. Looking back to where you'd left him, you were dismayed to find that he was still drunk out of his mind. He still had his back leaning against the surface of the door, and it seemed that was all that was keeping him upright. With the way he was blocking the way out, it meant you'd need to move him, and more than likely you'd need to escort him further, this time to his bedroom.

Once you saw him at your next shift at the bar, you'd need to ask what exactly he'd done to get himself that fucked up. That, or maybe he could just give you a really nice tip for all of the effort spent getting him home safe.

But you made yourself smile at him as you said “sure. Just hang on for a second, okay? I'm gonna turn on some lights so the two of us aren't stumbling around in the dark. I'll be right back.”

A pair of hazy looking dark eyes glanced in your direction after you spoke, and he nodded in understanding. With that, you placed both his phone and the keys to the apartment on a small table that sat in the small hallway before slipping off your shoes and making your way further into his unit. It took a few tries, more than a few moments of turning on light switches before you hastily turned them off once you saw that you had entered a room that you didn't need, but not long after you found what you were looking for: the bed Kishibe needed to pass out on top of.

The bedroom matched the apartment in that it looked rather plain, almost like Kishibe didn't spend a lot of time here. It made sense; with how much he must have on his plate as a devil hunter he probably didn't have the time to decorate his living space. He just needed some place where he could eat, clean himself and then sleep soundly at the end of each day before he returned to his work.

The queen sized bed did look – and feel – rather nice, you felt compelled to note. He must have spent a lot on that to have a good night's sleep.

With your goal of finding where you needed to take him achieved, you returned to the main hallway to retrieve Kishibe. He was where you left him, once more looking dazed as he stared down at the floor beneath his feet. Your gaze traveled down as well, and when you saw the tied up laces of his shoes, you came to a realization.

“Are you going to be able to untie those?” you asked, pointing down at them.

“Probably not.”

At this point you weren't able to be annoyed; it wasn't entirely unexpected given his current state. Just another thing you needed to take care of for him, but at least it wouldn't be as difficult as helping him stumble his way up the stairs.

Do a few things more to help him and then you can go home.

Kneeling down on the surface of the entryway, you reached for the laces of one of his shoes. He didn't say anything as you undid the knots. When you asked him to lift his foot up once they were loosened, he did as you told him and you pulled the shoe off of him, placing it down and out of the way before repeating the process with the other. Again, he said nothing, but you felt those blank brown eyes staring down at you the entire time.

After getting his shoes off, you gently grabbed him by his shoulder and moved him away from the door. Immediately he was back to leaning on you, this time with his nose in your hair. You could feel his breath on your head, followed by the sound of his voice as he let out a content hum.

This was so fucking awkward. He definitely owed you after this.

“Kishibe,” you began, “just a little more walking and then you can rest, okay?”

He grunted again as you once again led him while his weight bore down on you.

With his face still in your hair, you heard the moment when, in the middle of making your way to the bedroom, he inhaled deeply. The sound of that and the feeling forced you to come to a stop.

And after letting out a short breath, you continued to walk with him.

He's drunk, you told yourself. Extremely shit-faced, over the top blackout drunk. He probably wouldn't remember any of this come tomorrow, and while you weren't enjoying this, it'd be better to keep your relationship with him positive. You didn't need to mention any of the creepy parts; just how much you had done to help him.

He'd better be appreciative.

A feeling relief washed over you when you finally got him into the bedroom, the bed only a few feet away.

Pulling forward, you saw this as the final hurdle. Just get him onto the bed. That was all you needed to do, and then you could go home and collapse onto your own not-as-comfortable mattress that had been all you could afford.

You tried to move him so he would lay down on his back, and then you could gently let him go. You didn't really want to bother trying to get him actually into the bed; that seemed like it would take even more time and would be even more of a hassle. No, just getting him on there was enough.

“Alright, here we go.”

Kishibe was supposed to let go as you maneuvered him in front of you. Once he felt the edge of the mattress against the back of his legs, he should've understood that he was safe to fall backwards and that he needed to let you go.

But the arm he had wrapped around your back stayed in place, and when gravity finally won the battle and began to pull him down, you were brought down with him.

A short cry escaped your lips as you ended up on the bed with him, pressed tightly to his chest with your lower half hanging off the mattress.

Goddammit

“I'm sorry,” you began, “I didn't mean for that to happen.”

“Hm.”

You weren't sure of what to make of the way he hummed when you said that, largely because all you wanted in that moment was to get off of him. Bracing your arm on the mattress, you pushed your weight onto it as you tried to get off of him and escape the awkward situation.

Only the arm he had around you wasn't budging.

When a few moments passed with you desperately trying to leave the bed only to have your efforts thwarted by the surprisingly strong grip he had on you, you looked back to him as you asked “Kishibe, could you let me go? I can't get up.”

“Why do you want to get up?” he asked.

“Um, because I need to go home?” you said, surprised that you even needed to clarify that.

“It's late; you should spend the night here.”

“That's okay. I'm sure your couch is comfortable, but I'd really rather sleep in my own bed,” you told him.

“Who said anything about you sleeping on the couch?”

His question made you blink.

“I…. Where else would I…..”

Your question trailed off as you glanced at the mattress you were currently on top of, and a sick feeling began to form in your stomach. A feeling that grew stronger with every moment that passed with his arm still wrapped around you.

“Kishibe, please let go of me,” you said.

“Why?”

“Because I don't like this and I want to go home.”

Again you tried to pull yourself up, and again, Kishibe kept you pressed to his chest.

“Please,” you said again, “I don't want to spend the night-”

You were cut off when you felt his other hand move. Instead of joining the one wrapped around your back, his free hand went down to cup your ass as he blatantly groped you.

Shock and revulsion shot through you and when you struggled again against the grip he had on you, it was with far more force and desperation.

“Let go of me,” you said, “now!”

Again, he only hummed in response.

But that time he actually did let you go, removing his arms and letting them fall to the mattress.

You pulled off immediately, getting to your feet and taking a few steps back in record time, breathing heavily as the brief burst of adrenaline was still running through you. Kishibe remained splayed out on the bed with his legs still hanging off the side. He was still staring at you, however.

After taking in another deep breath, you spoke.

“Rest up and get sober,” you began, “and then when we see each other next, I'd appreciate it if you could come to the bar with an apology.”

You then turned and walked out the door, deciding to leave it at that. Though you noted to yourself that he may very well not remember what you had said or what had happened. As you had told yourself earlier, he was drunk. But even then you didn't intend to back down on this. Even if he didn't remember, at the very least you deserved some form of the word 'sorry' for how he had held you down and tried to coerce you into sleeping with him. Regardless of if his actions were caused by the alcohol, you needed that after he had ignored you the first few times you had told him to let you go.

As long as you could get that, you'd be happy to go back to how your relationship was before, with him as a customer and with the solid surface of the bar separating the two of you.

Returning to the entryway, you quickly collected your shoes and slipped them back on before you prepared yourself for the walk back home. It was late, but you'd probably be okay as long as you hurried back. You probably didn't have the energy for your game, as you'd thought before, so it'd be straight to bed for you once you returned.

As long as you could get a good night's sleep, that was enough.

With that thought in mind, you stood before the front door as you reached for the handle, turned and then pulled it.

The door didn't budge.

“Huh?”

You tried again, turning it again and pulling, just to have the same thing happen.

Maybe I'm turning the handle wrong, you briefly thought, only for your brows to furrow when your attempts to turn the handle upwards resulted in nothing. That wasn't right. Clearly the way you had been trying was correct.

So why wasn't the door opening?

Taking your gaze away from the handle, you noticed something that you had missed earlier: in place of a bolt or a chain on the upper part of the door, there was instead a lock which required a key to open it. Was that really what was keeping you in here?

… It's okay, you told yourself. You left the keys on the table right behind you. One of those would open it.

Your attempts to quell the bad feeling brewing within you were unsuccessful, as when you turned to reach for the keys that you had placed only minutes earlier, you found that they were gone.

….. Were they still there when you had gone back to get Kishibe after turning on the lights? You couldn't remember.

Speaking of Kishibe, he would be the reason why they were gone, right? Thinking back to when you had been searching for the bedroom, that would have given him more than enough time to take the keys and then lock the door. When else would he have been able to do that?

But why would he do that?

“What exactly am I supposed to apologize for?”

Hearing his voice made you jump, and you turned your gaze towards where Kishibe had emerged from as he strolled out into the hallway at a leisurely pace, ending with him leaning against the wall. His large black coat was gone, leaving him clad in his white shirt, black pants and his tie that he had loosened during the time that you had left him alone. In one hand he held his flask, and he unscrewed it to take a long gulp of whatever was in there before he looked back to you, those same blank eyes staring straight at you as he waited for an answer to his question.

He didn't seem quite so inebriated now. He was walking just fine and his gaze was zeroed in on you.

“…. Kishibe, why is the door locked?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing as you stood still within the entryway.

“Because I locked it,” he answered plainly.

“Wh-why?”

“Because I don't want you going out.”

The veteran hunter took another swig from his flask before adding “it's dangerous out there, especially at night. You're much safer inside with me.”

“That's….. That's nice, but I'd really rather go home,” you said.

“Why? Is your cheap apartment really that great?”

His comment made you blink in surprise – you'd never mentioned it, so how in the world did he know anything about your apartment?

“I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I could go back there, yeah,” you told him, “so could you please unlock the door? I don't want to be here any longer.”

Kishibe hummed.

“That's too bad. Because I've decided that you'll be staying here from now on,” he declared.

“….. You can't do that.”

“I just did.”

Kishibe stood to his full height, and that was enough to make you back away until you found yourself pressed against the door, holding your hands to your chest as your heart rate increased. What was happening? Why was this happening? He seemed fine now, despite the state he'd been in – had all of that been a ruse just to get you into his apartment?

Why?

“I don't understand.”

Your words came out hushed, barely able to come out around the blockage in your throat.

“You don't? I would've thought understanding it would be pretty simple,” he said.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you swiftly and with ease as he told you “you're not leaving. I'm keeping you here so you'll be safe.”

“Safe? From what?”

“Everything.”

Kishibe was standing directly before you now, looming over you as he continued with “humans, devils and whatever else; you won't need to fear them anymore. Nothing will come for you as long as you have me.”

He reached a hand up in a move that looked as though he intended to cup your cheek as he said “all I ask in return is that you do as I say.”

The rough skin of his hands made contact with your cheek as you said nothing in response.

You needed this to be a joke.

You needed to him to take a few more moments for comedic effect before he revealed that he wasn't being serious, be that in the form of the words “just kidding” or “gotcha” or something that told you that the reality of the situation wasn't what you thought it was. Even though this entire scenario was completely abnormal for Kishibe, a man who always seemed serious, you needed him to tell you that it was just a fucked up prank, that he just wanted to mess with you.

It didn't feel in line with the man you had grown to know, but you needed that to be the case.

Except Kishibe never said such a thing to you, instead keeping his hand on your cheek and softly rubbing against your skin, his calloused touch feeling surprisingly gentle.

His thumb then moved across your bottom lip and that sent a jolt down your spine.

You pushed his hand away as you said “this isn't funny.”

“It's not supposed to be,” he told you.

You shook your head.

“You're being weird and you're playing a prank or something stupid like that, but I don't like this and I want to leave.”

Kishibe only hummed at that, which only left you feeling worse.

“Stop this, please,” you said, desperation tinting your voice as you said “the joke has gone on long enough and I want you to let me out.”

But he still didn't say anything further. All he did was stare down at you with a look on his face that you couldn't read while his presence was quickly becoming overwhelming.

Seconds were ticking by and nothing was happening. Kishibe was still standing over you. He wasn't backing away like you wanted. He wasn't agreeing with your assessment that this entire thing was a joke, like you wanted. And he wasn't producing the key and letting you out of what had become a deeply uncomfortable and unsettling scene with him.

The longer it went on, the harder it became for you to breathe, all the while the sick feeling that surrounded you only grew more intense as you were slowly forced to accept the reality of the situation:

He wasn't joking.

And you were helpless.

How long of a period had passed before he spoke again, you had no idea. Too wrapped up in your thoughts and growing fear, it easily could have been minutes or seconds. But you were snapped out of your thoughts instantly when you heard his low voice once more.

“You didn't answer my question earlier: what am I supposed to apologize for?” he asked again.

“For…… For touching me. Grabbing me like you did in the bedroom,” you hesitantly answered.

“I don't see why I should apologize for that.”

Kishibe tilted his head slightly as he continued with “you belong to me now. Why shouldn't I be able to do whatever I want with you?”

His words settled in your mind, your pulse beating rapidly as your mind raced.

Then you screamed.

As loud and as hard as your vocal chords were capable of, you screamed for help as he continued to loom over you. It wasn't brave or noble, but there was nothing else you could do to fight him off. You were too weak for anything like that.

Screaming was all you could do.

The screams for help that tore out of your throat come out with such ferocity that you managed to be surprised initially. Never in your life could you remember the volume of your own voice reaching such levels, but you'd also never been in a situation like this one. You turned away from him in order to pound at the door as you continue to call for help, hoping that the extra noise will help to get someone's attention – be it of one of his neighbors or a passerby on the street – just as long as it's someone who'll call the police. If you can just get one person to inform the authorities that something's wrong, then you'll get out of this.

Just one person with a phone and an idea of where you were. And maybe, just maybe, a group of well-intentioned people who might be brave enough to burst down the door to get to you. Even if Kishibe was strong, he could only take so many opponents at once, right?

Your throat was aching and the way you slammed your hand against the door was became weaker as the pain that shot through your hand was beginning to become too much, but you kept up with it. You needed help. You needed someone to know what was happening before Kishibe shut you up.

…. Before he shut you up?

It hit you then: through all that time of you desperately making a racket and being as loud as possible, Kishibe hadn't once made any effort to keep you quiet.

He still wasn't.

With tears still rolling down your cheeks and your hand still balled up in a fist on the door, the cries that had so forcefully come from your mouth came to an end as you glanced back at him.

He was taking another swig from that flask. Completely at ease and unbothered at your desperate attempt to seek help. You watched in disbelief as his Adam's apple bobbed as the harsh liquor ran down his throat before he pulled the flask away from his lips, just as leisurely screwing the cap back on before the metal container once again disappeared into his pocket.

Kishibe looked at you.

Then he glanced up at the ceiling.

You followed his gaze, and while you didn't see anything odd with the plain white surface above you two, you noticed that something was amiss:

Someone above you was blasting music loud enough that you could almost make out the lyrics of the song that was playing.

…. It hadn't been that way when you first entered the apartment. Nor had it been the case when you had first tried to leave. You would have heard that, would have noted something like that immediately. Which only meant…..

The realization sank in as you looked up to the ceiling in horror, coming to the conclusion that in the middle of your screaming and banging, the person directly above you had heard, and made the decision to play the loud music in an attempt to drown you out so they didn't need to listen anymore.

They didn't want to help you.

“It doesn't sound like they're going to do anything,” Kishibe said to you, drawing your attention back to him.

“Doesn't seem like anyone else is going to bother, either,” he added, reaching back up with his hand so he could place it on the door by your head as he leaned in closer.

“You're alone in this.”

The cold words he spoke sent a shudder through you, and you shook your head as if denying what he had just told you would somehow change the way things were going.

“Why?” you asked, your voice wavering as you continued “why won't anyone help me?”

“Because nothing bad is happening to them, so they don't care,” he answered plainly, “maybe if they knew you, it might bother them. But bad things happen to complete strangers everyday; just because this time it's a bit closer in proximity doesn't make them care any more or any less.”

His other hand reached up to play with your hair, almost absentmindedly running his fingers through the strands as he continued to speak.

“As long as they're in the clear at the end of the day, that's all that matters to them,” he said.

“That's…. That's not true,” you sniffled, “someone out there wants to help me. They need to.”

Kishibe shrugged.

“Maybe some would,” he said, “but clearly those people aren't in earshot right now.”

The callousness of his words sent your emotions into a frenzy once again. Tears began running down your cheeks again while you sobbed. Only you weren't screaming this time, nor were you banging against the door. What was the point? If no one would help you even after hearing that, then why bother?

All you could do was cry about it like the pathetic weakling you were.

With your forehead pressed against the door, you weren't able to see any of what Kishibe was doing. You knew he was still behind you – it was hard to ignore how closely he was looming over you – but he had yet to do anything to you.

Would he even do anything?

As soon as you thought that, you remembered how he had groped you in the bedroom, how he had held you down against him even when you told him to let you go. In that same moment, you felt one of his hands around your waist and his fingers slipping beneath the layers of your hoodie and shirt so he could caress your skin directly. His other hand found its way to your jaw so he could direct your attention towards him once again.

Of course he'd do something further. Why had you even considered that he might not?

The blank brown eyes you had grown to know met yours, and despite the futility of the situation, you still made yourself put out one last plea. Even if he was odd, he was still human at the end of the day, and therefore, he needed to have some sort of empathy, right?

“I won't go to the police – I won't say anything about this to anyone,” you told him, “so please, reconsider.”

“No.”

His answer to your request was swift; he didn't think twice about it nor was he moved in any way.

Kishibe had made up his mind and there was no changing it.

Just as swiftly as his answer, he then angled your jaw upward so he could claim your lips in a kiss.

The taste on his tongue was harsh, a cocktail of the liquor he'd consumed over the course of the evening. The strongest remnant of alcohol that flooded your senses was most likely whatever he had just gulped down from his flask. The stubble around his lips brushed against your skin and the sensation made you jump, though with the hand he still had on your jaw, you again were unable to escape his grasp. There was nowhere for you to go; he had you pressed firmly between the front door and himself. The only bit of freedom he allowed you were the ways in which you trembled beneath his grasp, how you shook and shivered while his free hand continued to caress the skin beneath your shirt.

The whimpers you made in response to his touch were swallowed up by his mouth as he prolonged what was certainly a show of mockery for an action that was meant to be tender.

Did he really need to torment you in this way?

When he pulled away from the kiss he did so with a clear plan in mind, as his hands immediately went to the zipper of your hoodie and forced it down before pulling the entire piece of clothing off of you, taking your bag with it. Both items were tossed behind him and he quickly placed his hands on you once again, moving them all over as he explored your body through your clothes. Even through your clothing at acted as a sort of barrier, the feeling of his calloused palms stroking up your sides and down your spine were enough to make you jolt in place and force whimpers out of your mouth.

He moved in closer, pressing up directly behind you which allowed you to feel the growing bulge in his pants.

When he shifted his focus in order to grope your breasts through the material of your shirt, you placed your head so it was pressed against the door again, still sobbing. All you wanted in that moment was to become one with the door; merge into it so he couldn't do this to you anymore. You didn't care what happened to you, just as long as this would stop.

Instead of that mercy, Kishibe continued to toy with your chest. Then he began to speak.

“I'm a bit surprised you let it get as far as what happened in the bedroom,” he told you, “you really had no issue going into a man's apartment that you'd never been to before? There was nothing that raised any alarm for you until I had you on top of me?”

You whimpered.

“You're too naive; that's why you won't be leaving. If I don't step in you'll get yourself killed.”

His thumb and pointer finger found your nipple through your clothes, and when he began to focus on that by pinching it between his fingers, a strangled noise emerged from your throat.

Kishibe felt the need to comment on that.

“Do you like being played with from behind? You're more responsive to this than I was expecting,” he said.

“N-no….”

Your shirt remained as it was only for a few more moments before he decided that he wanted to feel your bare skin, resulting in him ripping your shirt down the neckline and pulling your bra down with it. With skin now on skin, it was instantly noticeable when the shrieks that left your mouth as his fingers tweaked your nipples sounded less horrified and more wanton.

“You really do like this,” Kishibe said, a hint of pleasure in his voice.

“No,” you said again.

Instead of acknowledging your denial, his hot breath hit your ear as he said “I was thinking it'd probably take a little bit to get you wet enough so fucking you would be a bit more comfortable, but I probably don't need to wait all that long, do I? If those noises of yours are any indication, I bet I could slide into you right now.”

“No!”

Even with you raising your voice, he still wasn't listening.

His hands crept around your waist again before they found the zipper of your pants. The sound of it zipping open seemed loud within the space of your head, but it didn't compare to the feeling of his thumbs slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before he shoved your panties down past your thighs, taking your pants with them.

With your most intimate area now exposed, you shuddered as the chill air attacked your flesh. When Kishibe began to palm and knead your ass, you whimpered. Your lower half was then pulled away from the door and he moved his knee between your thighs so he could spread your legs wider. You could feel how heavy his gaze was on your cunt. Heat filled your cheeks while you bit down on your lip, the tears that were still flowing now a bit more angry.

It was humiliating. He had you pressed against the surface of the door, your palms laying flat against it while your ass was sticking out. You didn't want to merge with the door anymore; you wanted to curl up and die.

But even that wasn't an option for you.

A pair of thick fingers found their way to your cunt, caressing your folds in a way that felt experimental before his middle finger slipped between them, the tip shallowly ghosting along your heated entrance which caused you to shudder. The wetness that was beginning to drip out of you easily coated his fingertip, much to his amusement.

“Thought so,” he said.

“No.”

It wasn't true. You weren't enjoying this; just because he forced such a reaction out of you didn't mean that you wanted it. He knew that but he was just insisting on being as horrible as possible. How could you have not realized what he was really like until now?

“Hard to argue when I have the evidence smeared on my fingers, don't you think?” Kishibe asked you. He pushed his digits into your folds for emphasis, and the squelching sounds of him dipping into your wet heat only made you more ashamed. His free hand then returned to your chest while he fingered your cunt.

His fingers were sliding along your walls easier than you would have liked, and the feeling of his blunt nails inside of you as he stretched you out caused several shudders to run through your body, becoming intense enough that you needed to bite down hard on your lip to try and keep down the shameful whining noises that wanted to emerge because of it.

He must have noticed the way you were trying to keep it in as he way he was fingering you suddenly became rougher, with him curling his fingers while searching for the sensitive spots inside of you. He moved in closer as well, breathing huskily into your ear as he spoke to you.

“I wish I'd done this sooner,” Kishibe whispered, “if I had known how eager you would be for me, I wouldn't have wasted so much time before.”

No insults or retorts left your mouth that time; you were too busy trying to be as quiet as possible as all you could focus on was the awful affect he was having on you while his fingers continued to slide in and out. He was being rougher now because he wanted to humiliate you even more – that was the only explanation. To have you moan like you were enjoying this as a way to torment you further. As if the way your wetness was dripping down the inside of your thighs wasn't enough, turning cold once it hit the open air and sending more shudders running through you.

When his other hand came down to toy with your clit, you ended up biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You hated how it felt good. How the feeling of his fingers rubbing hard circles against that nub had your legs shaking and your insides burning. Kishibe intended for you to cum on his fingers, and you hated that he would more than likely be successful in that goal.

Why aren't you stopping him?

…..It hit you that you hadn't really tried much to get away from him. Aside from the way you ordered him to let go and how you pushed his hand away, there was very little in terms of actual resistance on your part.

But what could you even do? How would a civilian fight off an expert devil hunter?

Even though you couldn't imagine any scenario where you on your own managed to get away from him, maybe the way you had done nothing other than cry through your assault had been enough to reaffirm in his mind that you needed to be kept away from the world. For your safety, he said.

You wondered if he was actually delusional enough to believe that excuse.

That train of thought was derailed completely when you felt Kishibe's fingers brush against a spot within you in tandem with the fingers on your clit, and your vision whited out as he forced out the reaction he'd been looking for.

You came on his fingers.

Your face and ears were burning and you could taste iron from your bleeding lip as you tried your hardest to keep in those awful moans.

Mercifully, he didn't continue fingering you when you came. Instead he seemed to savor the way you were clenching down around him as you heard him let out a breathy sigh into your ear. When you had finished, he stayed like that, his chest pressed against your back and the fingers on your clit giving you one last stroke before he pulled away.

After another moment, he pulled his fingers out of you, his hands finally leaving those sensitive, intimate areas. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you had a horrible idea of what was going to follow.

You heard his belt being undone. And then his zipper, which was hastily followed by the sound of his pants being shoved down.

And then his hands were back around your waist, pulling you back into the position he had forced you into earlier that you had unconsciously moved from as your body unintentionally moved back to press against the door, still trying to escape him even though you knew there was no point.

He spread open the lips of your pussy, guiding his cock to your entrance after. Your breath hitched when you felt him rub the tip against your folds, gathering up your wetness on the end of his length just as he'd done with his fingers earlier.

He shoved himself in.

And once he was inside of you, he only took a brief moment to savor it, letting out a small sigh of contentment as he finally got to experience the feeling of the walls of your cunt clamping down on his dick.

“Good girl,” Kishibe mumbled.

Your heart was in your throat, however, as despite knowing where things would be heading once he had begun kissing and groping you earlier, the feeling of his dick being sheathed halfway into you just cemented that this was real: he'd locked you in his apartment and claimed you as his own. And if he continued to get his way from this point, then this would be the rest of your life, one spent as a plaything to Kishibe's whims.

Only for a moment was that thought able to run through your head, however, because soon after he began to fuck you in earnest. Despite your successful resistance before, you weren't able to keep quiet once you felt him moving against you, his cock plugging up your hole again and again as his hips thrust hard against your ass. The sobs that were mixed with your moans bounced against the surface of the door, filling up the small, empty space of the entryway.

If only you were loud enough to drown out the noises Kishibe was making.

For a man who was normally so quiet, there was no attempt on his part to keep in his own groans and grunts. Still positioned with his mouth by your ear as he kept you close to him, you heard everything. His own harsh breathing mixed with small curses that left his lips in time with the cock that was slamming into you. Swears that were changed out for praise of you when his fingers returned to your clit to stimulate you further, causing your sensitive walls to quiver around him.

The words “good girl” were said to you many times during that period.

Your back quickly became sticky with sweat, your own body heat combined with that of Kishibe making it get to the point that it was becoming too much. The feeling of cold from when you had been outside was forgotten as it felt like every part of you was burning up while his body was engulfing your own as he used you to chase his pleasure. You wanted him away from you, just a little bit.

With a shaking hand, you pressed it against his chest as best you could with the awkward position, silently trying to communicate that want of yours.

Kishibe grabbed your wrist and forced it back against the doorway, keeping his hand gripped firmly around your arm and refusing to let go even when you tried to wiggle out of it. Eventually you were forced to give up on getting what you wanted.

Just like everything else tonight.

With the brute strength he was displaying as he pounded into your pussy and how sensitive you still were from your previous orgasm, you found yourself cumming much faster the second time. Your pussy walls clenched hard around him once again, but this time Kishibe made the choice to fuck you through it.

That only prolonged your orgasm, and the longer it went on, the more strained your moans became as your throat was thoroughly raw by that point.

Once your pleasure faded, you were left waiting for Kishibe to finish. Something you didn't need to wait long for as soon enough you felt him stiffen within you, and then his swollen cock erupted, long white streams of cum painting your insides as he kept himself pressed close, wanting to be as deep within you as possible. He groaned loudly as he did so, and his hand returned to your breast to knead the soft flesh once more as his own orgasm began to ebb away, his cock still twitching in the aftermath.

The entryway was now filled with the breathless gasps of the both of you and the scent of sweat and sex.

Once his cock had softened, Kishibe released the grip he had on you and pulled his dick out of your pussy, and finally, he stepped away from you.

Immediately you slumped down, exhausted, your front half still pressed against the door while you sat in the entryway, your pants still around your ankles and Kishibe's cum and your own release dripping down your thighs and onto the floor beneath you. You still had tears to shed, apparently, as the sight had you going back to sobbing. Your throat hurt and your nose was stuffy, but all you could think about was how you wished you hadn't made the choice to help Kishibe earlier.

If only you had decided to go with your own selfish instincts, you wouldn't be here right now. By now you probably would've been asleep, safe and sound in your own bed in your own apartment, and the only danger you would be facing would be the possibility of your next door neighbor's children running wild again and slamming doors so hard that the walls would shake.

Being reminded of your day off that you had planned out had you crying harder as you realized you couldn't ever go back to days like that.

God how you wished you could redo your actions from tonight.

You were reminded of Kishibe's presence when you felt his hand run down your back, his knuckles grazing you lightly and with a touch so soft that it felt out of place when you thought of what you had just experienced at his hands.

He wasn't trying to comfort you, was he?

With robotic movements, you turned your head once again so you could see him, see the face of the man who had hurt you so horribly. Unsurprisingly, there was no real emotion to be gleaned from his expression as it was as blank as it always was. Though when you looked at his eyes, you found that there was a hint of something there. Something more intense and obsessive than you had ever witnessed from anyone, much less Kishibe.

“You did good,” he told you.

“Fuck you,” you weakly hissed in response.

“Mm, not right now. Maybe in the morning.”

He moved his hand to your upper arm, squeezing you in what seemed to be an encouraging manner as he said “it's late now. We should get some rest.”

“Can you walk, or should I carry you?” Kishibe then asked.

You didn't respond. Instead you shrugged off his hand and turned your head to face the door, not wanting to look at him any longer.

“Alright then.”

Within a moment, you were scooped up off of the floor and into his arms with surprising ease, and while you were feeling disoriented from the way you were moved about like that, Kishibe had turned and walked away from the door with you held firmly against his chest.

It shouldn't have been too much of a shock that it was this easy for him to pick you up, and yet…..

“You could have just forcibly taken me if you wanted,” you mumbled.

“I could have,” he said.

The way he so readily agreed with you turned your emotions to anger once again.

“So why bother with all that bullshit?” you snapped.

“Because I thought the way you doted on me was nice,” Kishibe said.

“You're a scumbag.”

“Hm.”

Kishibe neither agreed nor disagreed with you, as he stepped into the bedroom with you, taking care to make sure your feet didn't hit the door frame as he carried you in. Once the two of you were fully inside, he stopped and then looked at you.

Having his gaze fully on you once again had that bit of anger die out, as suddenly you felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt in your life before this point. Your shirt was torn and the majority your legs were still bare as he hadn't bothered to readjust your pants before he'd grabbed you, so you were in his arms with your pants around your ankles.

Not just humiliating, but awkward as well, especially when you moved to cover yourself back up as the way he stared at you had those intense feelings of shame and helplessness running through you once again. Though you knew it wouldn't accomplish much of anything, and especially not when you were at the mercy of Kishibe's whims.

“Did I say you could cover up?”

The sound of his voice made you freeze, and then when you processed his words, you began to shake in his grip. While it seemed that you were out of tears to shed, you were still able to sniffle softly in despair.

That got him to react, and Kishibe leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead before he buried his face into your hair again.

“It'll be hard for now, but it will get better,” he told you.

You only shook harder in his grip.

With a hum against your hair, he spoke again.

“You should be happy. In this world where people's priorities are on themselves and themselves alone, you have someone who's willing to do anything to look out for you.”

And with that, Kishibe used his foot to close the bedroom door firmly behind the both of you.

[deen-djarin]

Suds n’ Trunks

Summary: Joel ordered a car washing service…bikini car washing service.

Tags: 18+, No Outbreak!Joel, Cheeky Flirty!Reader, Porn with a sprinkle of plot, Daddy kink, Choking, Joel is a menace and so is reader, Oral (m & f receiving), Unprotected P-in-V, Consensual Creampie

—

The sun shone on the perfect suburban streets of Austin, Texas. So hot you could fry an egg if you wanted to. You rolled your windows down, driving down a neighborhood you’re not familiar with, and pulled up at the house that sits in the cul de sac, a dirty- no filthy ford pickup truck parked on its driveway.

This must be the place.

A sigh fell from your lips as you hopped off your car with your supplies in hand; a bucket, sponge, microfiber rag, and various soaps for different parts of the car. The heat was even worse after you’ve left the comfort of your air conditioned car, but the thought of being out of your clothes and soaked in suds and the cool water excites you.

Once you’ve discovered this lucrative market of bored, horny, lonely middle aged suburban guys— eager to see a show, and maybe get their car cleaned as well, you start to do this gig every summer. The money is good plus these guys tip generously.

Your service by its core is nothing but a mobile car wash, but the carwash is being done by you, clad in a skimpy bikini. c’mon, who wouldn’t want that right?

When you scored your first customer, you became a spectacle for the neighborhood. Your client shamelessly pulls out a lawn chair, having a grand ol’ time “enjoying the sun” as you wash their car. Neighbors walking out their houses mowing their already perfectly trimmed lawn, walking their dogs, cats, and some approached your client for a neighborly talk they probably haven’t had in months.

You’ve gotten the whole neighborhood out of their house basically, then your client list doubles with those people coming over to you and asking to do theirs next. Some cars don't even need washing, but you do them anyway with a smile knowing you’re gonna eat good that night.

Ever since then you decided to do this gig every summer, cheekily naming your little business “Suds ‘n Trunks”.

—

You ring the doorbell of the Miller’s residence and step back. You could hear a soft grumble from behind the door before it opened and reveal a scruffy, middle aged, handsome man. your eyes scans him quickly, his hair tousled, his shoulders broad, big arms, big hands, Jesus Christ you want to just-

“Can I help you?”

His gruff, deep, Texan drawl snaps you out of your trance and brings you back to reality.

“Uhm yes, Mr. Miller? you called for a car wash?” You asked him with a sweet voice you come to learn that older men love, it always works like a charm, making them tip you a fat wad of cash— these men just craved attention from a pretty girl, and you’re happy to give that to them.

“Oh..yeah you could uh, it's that one right there,” he motioned to the dirty pickup truck. You give him a smile and nodded, “okay, i’ll go on and get started then.” Joel nodded and shut the door immediately.

—

A red Ford bronco sat on his driveway, absolutely covered in filth. You usually don't deal with this much grime, dust, and mud. Granted, most cars you’ve washed barely need a wash, the clients just wanted to see you wet and covered in suds, which you couldn’t really blame them.

You took a breath and started to step out of your tanktop and shorts, revealing the red matching bikini you’re wearing underneath and started to go to work.

—

Joel was exhausted after doing several construction projects back to back yesterday, from dawn to the ungodly hours of the night resulting in his beloved truck — Shirley— looking like it had been dragged in the mud…literally.

Joel likes to take care of his things, Shirley is no exception. His free time on the weekends is often spent on his truck in the garage, polishing her to perfection. But after all the hard work he did, just the thought of washing her made his back groan in protest.

So he got the number of your services from his coworkers after they commented on the state of Shirley, a smirk planted on their faces and they kept snickering which Joel found odd, but he was too fed up and exhausted to think twice on booking your services.

Joel grunts as he settles on his couch, his cold bottle of beer in one hand, the tv remote on the other. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and turned on the TV.

It's finally his time for him to take his hard-earned relaxation time. which should be easy, but he could hear the annoying sputtering sound of his neighbor’s lawnmower.

That thing needs more oil. He thought to himself as he took a sip of his beer.

Then another sound of a lawnmower sounded from the other side of the house, even more annoying than the first.

What the fuck? Why are they all mowin’ the lawn at the same time? at this hour? he thought.

Then comes the obnoxious yapping of Mr. Thompson's french bulldog and chihuahua.

What the hell is goin’ on? it's a whole ruckus out there.

He groaned, frustrated that the whole neighborhood seems to be against his well deserved relaxing time. He grumbled as he strides towards his window, drawing up the blinds to see what the fuck is going on out there.

His eyes nearly bulged out, blush quickly crept up his neck to his cheeks, and his cock twitching in his pants instantly at the sight.

You, bend over in the hood of his car, wet, covered in suds, in a fucking bikini. He tried to look away, he really did, but the way your hips sways, your ass jiggled, as you scrubbed hard with the caked on mud on his truck— it was hypnotizing.

—

“What the hell are ya doin’?”

The sight of Joel's furrowed brow as he stared at you in your revealing outfit was a mix of disapproval and desire. Your sweet smile remained as you answered his question, "Mr. Miller! I'm just washing your car."

His gaze roamed over you, making you shiver with anticipation. "In that?" He grunted, clearly torn between his disgust and arousal. "Well, yes… It's part of my service."

The man stood silent for a moment, his confusion palpable. "Part of your service?"

"Uhm, yeah... It's a bikini car wash service… You didn't know?" you tilted your head, confused.

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"The name is Suds 'n' Trunks," you reminded him softly.

"I know what it's called!" he huffed, clearly frustrated.

Unsure of how to proceed, you hesitated. "So, uhm, you want me to just dress up and go or—"

"No, finish your job," he grumbled, still irritated. Your eyes trailed down to the growing tent in his jeans, confirming the source of his conflicting emotions.

You hid your smirk and purred, "Yes, sir," before returning to your task. The knowledge that you had such a potent effect on him only fueled your desire to please him.

—

Your back is even more curved now, ass sticking up more than they should as you washed the side of his truck, knowing Joel is looking– watching you like a hawk while he sits on the porch, a beer in his hand and a cigarette on the other. you turned your head over your shoulder just to give him a small smile, which he returned with his jaw clenching.

You bask under his gaze, your body tingling, giving him the best show you’ve ever given. you squatted as you started to clean the lower part of the truck, your ass jiggle with every hard scrub you give.

The tension between the two of you is palpable, leaving Joel frustrated, he knows damn well you’re taunting him. He’s torn between wanting to yell at you for acting so unprofessional and embarrassing him in front of the watchful eyes of his nosy neighbors— or fucking you against the truck for payback.

He sits there watching you, contemplating on what to do. You gave him another cheeky look over your shoulder and that was it, his last resolve snapped, fuck it.

—

“Careful with her,” he said lowly as he approached you.

You turned your head, batting your eyelashes, “Hm?”

“You’re goin’ too hard on her, just painted that part,” he murmured as he got closer, just right behind you.

“But the mud is really caked on this part,” you told him and went back to scrubbing.

“A-ah, hey,” he tutted and leaned down behind you, his large palms sitting atop of yours “Gentle…easy does it,” he murmured, his hot breath fanned against your ear.

You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan as you felt his hardness pressed against your thigh. Your hand following his movements, “There we go…there we go, good girl,” he murmured and you swore every part of your body shivered.

“This is gonna take longer to finish, sir,” you murmured, your voice a mere whisper as you turned your head to him.

“I know…but you’re gonna get a bigger reward out of it, how’s that sound hm?” he muttered to your ear before abruptly pulling away from you and sitting back on the porch.

your breath hitched, heartbeat skipping, and the heat between your legs grew hotter. You turned your head towards him to see him sitting back at his porch, his head nodded at you to continue your work, a small smirk curved his lips.

—

You’re halfway done with the truck when his neighbor starts to approach you, a middle aged guy you came to learn named Michael. He’s been clearly hitting on you, and trying to get a closer look on what you’re doing. which usually doesn’t bother you but you could practically feel Joel's watchful eyes boring into your back.

“So you do this for a living?” he asked as he stood a few feet away from you, “It's just a summer gig i do,” you replied with a small smile, keeping the response light.

"Sweet, it's nice seeing a young, beautiful, hard-working woman," he chuckled. Your jaw tensed for a moment before you forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Can you do my car next? It's pretty dirty too," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. You felt a flush of annoyance, but your eyes met Joel's, who glared disapprovingly from his porch.

"Well, uh..." you hesitated, glancing back at Joel. He shook his head, a clear indication that he didn't want you to entertain Michael's advances. "Sorry, Michael. I'm booked for today... I gotta go somewhere after this."

Michael sighed, "Aw, just my luck," he lamented. "I'll ask Joel for your number, huh? I'll book you as soon as you're free." You chuckled, "Yeah, you go do that."

Michael made his way over to Joel, asking for your number. Joel nodded, but with a grunt, he gave Michael the wrong number. A smirk played on your lips as you returned to your work.

—

After what feels like forever you finally finished with the last drag of your microfiber rag. You let out a sigh and turned around to Joel sauntering his way. “All done Mr. Miller,” you purred.

He looked at his truck, all clean and shiny. A satisfied smirk graced his face, “you did a good job” he praised. “Good enough to get that reward?” you murmured with your head tilted innocently. Joel let out a small chuckle “Mmhm... come on inside and i’ll get it sorted for you, pretty girl.”

Your eyes gleamed with lust and you bit your lip in anticipation as he led you inside his house. The wind hits your wet body, the coolness leaves your nipples even harder, your body tingling with need.

By the time the two of you were inside, Joel’s body was taut, like a spring ready to burst. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, his large palms grab a hold of your wet body and pinned you against his door, you let out a surprised whimper at his sudden actions.

“Been a good girl for me huh? Takin’ care of my truck,” he murmured as he leaned down and his lips grazed your jaw to the skin under your ear. “Been naughty too haven’t you? Tauntin’ me with this sweet ass of yours,” he grabbed your ass and gave it a hard squeeze making you let out a small moan, he pulled you closer, his hard cock pressing against your wet bikini bottoms.

You couldn’t help but grind your hips against him, needy and desperate for friction, eliciting a small moan from you and a groan from him. “What do you have to say about that huh? Pretty girl?,” he muttered and nibbled on your earlobe, “I’m sorry sir” you panted softly.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem to be that sorry,” he chuckled lowly, his voice gravely and his accent was thicker than before “Think I would have to punish you… you thought it was funny huh? Makin’ me hard as a rock with those fucking neighbors watchin’?” he growled to your ear and slapped your ass, you whimpered and jolted forwards.

“I’m sorry sir..please don't punish me,” you whined and bit your lip. “You’re sorry huh? Go on, pretty thing, show me how sorry you are,” he murmured. You didn't need to be told twice, you fell to your knees, eyes wide as you looked up to his face, hands deftly undoing his belt and jeans and pulling it down along with his boxers.

Your mouth salivated just from the sight of his cock springing free, thick, veiny, and throbbing, just how you thought it would be. He gave you a nod to tell you ‘go on’, you leaned down and darted your tongue out, tasting the heady taste of his precum. He groaned and tossed his head back, hand tangling in your hair and pulled you in, you hummed and finally wrapped your mouth around his girth with a small whimper. Your jaw straining to accommodate him, tongue moving with practiced ease as you sink down deeper, taking in more of him.

“Fuck yeah..good fuckin’ girl…thats it,” he muttered and started to guide your head the way he wanted, you thrive with his praises, taking in him as deep as you could. Gagging and sputtering here and there but you didn't stop at all in search of his approval and satisfaction, you didn’t want to stop. The room was filled with the sound of his grunts and heavy breaths, along with the obscene sounds from you and your muffled whimpers.

Joel nearly came when he saw you starting to snake your hand between your legs, “Naughty fuckin’ slut, touchin’ yourself huh?” he groaned and started to thrust into your mouth, holding your head in place. “You want me to take care of that? Hm?” he growled and you whined as an answer. Suddenly he abruptly pulled you away from his cock, “get on the fuckin’ couch,” he muttered, you scrambled off the floor and quickly gotten on the nearby couch, “on your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he commanded and you did as he said, bending over, facing the backrest of the couch.

He stood behind you and pushed you legs wider, your head craned over your shoulder to look at him with your needy expression, bottom lip between your teeth. He gripped your chin and he leaned down, finally crashing his lips to yours. He was rough, didn’t even hesitate on pushing his tongue into your mouth, tongue dominating yours, making you whine and push your hips back, desperate, begging for him.

His kiss left you panting as he pulled away, he trailed kisses down your back, biting on the knot that holds your bikini top together and pulling on it and letting it unravel, his hand started to grope your tits, playing, pinching, pulling on your sensitive nipples. “Mr. Miller,” you panted “please..”

“Use your word, Baby, what do you need?” he murmured to the crook of your neck. You whimpered and kept moving your hips, “anything- please- your finger, mouth- anything, i need you,” you rambled desperately. Joel chuckled darkly, his large fingers playing with the knots of your bikini bottoms, “needy little thing,” he murmured before pulling on the knots and unraveling the red wet fabric, making it fall to the couch.

Joel practically growled at the sight before him, you, bent over with your ass high in the air, naked, your pussy dripping and ready for him. “Look at you..” he murmured and leaned down, groping your ass and pushing it apart to reveal more of you. “Mmh..” he grumbles before leaning down and placing a broad lick on your cunt. “Oh- god- Mr- mmhngh! Mr. Miller” you whined and pushed your hips more to his face. Joel groaned and started to really eat you out, his large palms splayed on your ass, face completely buried in your drooling pussy. “It's Joel, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he pulled away from your cunt for a second, “I wanna hear ya moan my name.”

“Joel..” you breathed, getting used to the feel of his name on your lips. Joel started to flick his tongue rapidly on your clit, making your eyes roll back and moan out his name, “fuck- ahh! Joel!” He grunted in response, “yeah that’s it, moan my name…mmhhh good fuckin’ girl.”

You were falling apart already at the hands of his tongue, moving on your pussy with practiced ease. Joel relished the sounds of your moans, and the sweet and tangy taste of your cunt. He groaned and started to push his thick fingers to your entrance, “Joel! Ahnghh! F-fuck! mmhngh!!” you cried out, he grunted and pulled away from your pussy for a second, “That’s it baby, you’re gonna cum hm? Gonna be a good girl an cum on my face?” he muttered and curled his digits to hit that heavenly spot within you, you whined in response, barely able to come up with words but nodded with your eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl, c’mon, come on my face” he panted and started double his efforts, his tongue flicking on your sensitive clit, slurping all your juices, whilst his fingers kept hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, you back arched and your eyes rolled back, you swore you saw stars. His name kept falling from your lips in between moans and whimpers which he responded with praises.

“good girl, that’s it”

“you’re so pretty when you cum for me”

“tastes so good baby, there you go..”

He peppered kisses across your shoulders and back as he waited for you to come down from your high. “joel..” you panted and kept pushing your hips back to grind against his throbbing cock, eliciting a groan from his lips, “yeah? you want my cock, pretty girl?” he muttered and rutted his hips against you, his cock sliding against your cunt. “yes- please joel- please-“ you let out a loud moan when he suddenly pushed his cock into your core.

“fuuuck” he groaned as he pushed himself in “fuck- shit, baby you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he panted and gripped your hips tight. “joel! oh- f-fuck hhngh!” you whimpered and gripped the back of the couch. Joel pulled back until his cock is almost fully slipped back, you whined at the loss of his stretch, then he slammed back in. “Fuck! Oh- f-fuuckk! Joeel!!” you cried out, “Yeah baby that’s it- shit- yeah take it baby, take it” he growled to your ear and wrapped your hair on his hand and yanked it back. Your head tilted back at the force and he crashed his lips to yours again, swalowing all your moans and whimpers as he fucked you with a relentless pace.

“J-joel” you warned between pants, “Yeah i know baby- fuck- yeah i can feel it,” he groaned and panted “c’mon baby give it to me, cum on my cock, c’mon” he murmured and went faster. The sound of his skin smacking against yours gets louder and louder, the couch groaned and creaked in protest. You could barely utter any coherent words at this point, just slurring his name and how good it feels between moans and pants.

Your back arched and trembles as you cry out his name like a prayer. Joel slowed down for a second, letting you ride out the orgasm, “there you go…hmm there you go” he muttered soothingly, his hips rocking deliberately, slowly. “You can take more, sweetheart?” he murmured to your ear, you couldn’t help but nod. ”Good girl,” he praised to your ear and kissed your jaw before his arm wrapped around your waist, the other around your chest and pulled you up until his chest pressed against your back. He resumed his hard relentless thrusts, his hand on your chest groping and playing with your hard nipples. you felt like floating at this point, just taking everything he gave you like a good girl.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled to your ear, you could barely talk just letting out sounds of pleasure, he spanked your ass hard and you gasped out a moan, “Yours! Hahngh! All yours!” you whined, Joel gripped your neck and pulled you closer to him “Who?” he demanded, you panted and choked out, “Yours daddy!” bingo.

He growled and bent you over again, his hand still tight on your neck, choking you just right. “Yeah that’s right, such a good girl for daddy,” he muttered and pounded into you. You kept choking out moans, calling him daddy over and over. He shifted his position, propping one leg on the couch to get a different angle, deeper, and it allowed him to reach that spot within you. “Oh my g- aahhngh!! daddy!! right there, oh fuck- fuck me right there!!” you cried out. He grunted and let out a dark chuckle, “there sweetheart?” he taunted as he thrusted extra hard aiming at that spot again. “yes!! yes- yes please- please i- daddy please” you rambled, begging for him, his cock has reduced you to nothing but desperate and needy. “well since you asked so nicely,” he said coyly before hitting that spot over and over again.

You felt you’re gonna shatter yet again in any second, a ticking time bomb set on your lower belly. “D-daddy i��m- hah- i’m-” you could barely finish your choked out sentence. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for daddy?” he panted to your ear, all you could do was nodded and give a whimper of confirmation. He chuckled darkly and his hand snaked down to rub your clit with fervor while his hips kept pounding to your ass, “Go on then, come for me, come for daddy,” he muttered to your ear.

Your vision blurred and you saw white. It feels like you’re barely conscious, your third orgasm hits you even harder than the last. You didn’t noticed whats happening until joel groaned, “Fuck yeah you’re squirtin’ on me baby- good girl- hhnngh good fuckin’ girl.” Your thighs trembled, wet with your release, red from his thrusts.

He finally let go of your neck and you gasped out for much needed air, his thrusts started to stutter. “Where do you want it?” he panted to your ear, “Inside, inside daddy, please,” you begged and started to move your hips to meet his. Joel couldn’t hold back any longer, 1, 2, 3 hard thrusts later and he came completely undone inside you. “Fuuuckk!! Fuck yeah- oh shit baby” he moaned, “fuck! makin’ me cum so much, pretty girl…oh yeah good fuckin’ girl,” he panted to your ear.

After his hips stilled, he pulled out of you, making you whine and clench around nothing, pushing his hot sticky seed out of you.

He chuckled and whispered to your ear, “look at you…all messy n’ dirty,” he cooed. “You cleaned my truck now it's time for me to clean you,” he murmured before peppering kisses down your spine yet again.

—

author’s note: THIS WAS MY FIRST FIC EVER AHSHSHEH so forgive me if its shitty or the grammar is horrible bc english is my 2nd language:3 ALSO i have never written smut before heheheh, your feedback is greatly appreciated!! thank you for reading this horny piece of literature!!

[jezebelblues]

𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 | 𝐇.𝐒 ݁ᛪ༙ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭.

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐧—𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.

pt. i, pt. ii

𝐂𝐖: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 7.3k

❏ yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye

Fourth of November, 1701

The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.

Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermen’s hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could hunt—rabbits, mostly—a meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.

YN stood at the end of the dock, the sea’s bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman she’d known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. “Any luck?” She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.

His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. “Lucks got nothin’ to do with it. s’the new king, swear it. God turned his back on us ‘cause of him.”

She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. “Don’t say such things, not out loud.” She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. “Best not to tempt fate with those words.”

He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. “You agree with such things. S’pose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.”

They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.

As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.

Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the day’s secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.

Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. “You’re still makin’ that stew, yeah?” He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldn’t quite bring himself to start.

“Mum has already started it,” YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. “Cabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.” She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“No doubt you’ll have your sister servin’ it, then?” He asked, as though it were an afterthought. “I hear she has a way of makin’ anything taste finer.”

YN’s lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didn’t indulge him outright. “Oh, she has her charms, but she’s picky ‘bout who gets to see ‘em.”

He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. “She's got the whole town near dreamin’ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.”

YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. “You’d need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. You’d best hope for a rich merchant or a duke comin’ ashore.”

His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.

It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. “Have you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?”

YN’s gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. “Folk say all sorts of things,” She muttered, almost to herself. “Been empty as long as I can remember.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. “Empty, maybe, but someone’s taken to hauntin’ it now. The lads swear they’ve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movin’ about, like he’s watchin’ the town from that high window.”

She felt a faint chill that wasn’t from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “They say a lot of things,” she repeated, her tone steady but soft. “Could be nothin’ but the wind playin’ with shadows.”

He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. “Aye, that’s what I'd think, too. But seems each person’s got a different tale to tell. Some say he’s a protector, sent to keep us safe.” He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. “Others say it’s somethin’ darker—maybe one of the king’s men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.”

YN’s lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But she’d since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as they’d once been.

“I heard some folk say it’s not a man at all,” She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. “Gran said it’s a spirit—a demon.” she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. “You believe my ol’gran true?”

Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didn’t argue with her. “You don’t seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.”

She didn’t answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.

The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.

The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long day’s labor.

As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, no use lettin’ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethin’ decent out of it. And,” she added, with a playful glint, “my sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.”

Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. “Well, if it’s to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I s’pose I could lend a hand,” he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.

Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.

“Is that you, YN?” Her mother’s voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. “And Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but he’s off fiddlin’ with somethin’ in the corner.”

Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. “Niall!” He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boy’s hair, giving a wink to YN. “That depends—will your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?”

YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. “I'll make sure to keep it fit for eatin’. Now, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.

YN’s older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

“Ella,” Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. “Now there’s a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.”

“Oh, you may say.” Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. “But sayin’ doesn’t make it so, does it?” Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadn’t said a word.

YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. “She’ll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. You’ll be talkin’ all night before she so much as bats an eye.”

“Empty flattery?” he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. “This is pure honesty, YN. Your sister’s a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.”

Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps that’s ‘cause it’s hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?”

Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. “Tell a tale, Niall!” He urged, his eyes bright.

He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. “Ah, tales are easy to tell when the company’s fine.” His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.

“Enough of your foolishness, Horan.” YN’s mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. “There'll be time for tales when your stomach’s full. Now, all of you—sit, before this stew turns cold.”

They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.

“Well, I'll be,” he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. “Tastes just like stew!”

YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked, else we’ll make you eat the scraps.”

Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. “It's better than you deserve,” she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.

As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the day—the fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk they’d seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.

It wasn't until they’d nearly finished eating that YN’s mother’s voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. “Arthur,” she said gently, “I don't want to hear any more of you playin’ outside the town walls.”

The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “But ma, I’m careful,” he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.

“She's right,” Ella added, her voice calm but firm. “The woods aren’t safe, especially with winter comin’ on.”

He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. “Niall plays near the woods, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. “Aye, lad, but it’s different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,” he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, “there’s been talk of someone wanderin’ near the old watchtower.”

YN’s mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Too much talk.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. “I don’t care if s’only lore, you’ll be safe rather than sorry.”

A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. “Who is it, then?” He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “A man?”

Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. “No one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say it’s best not to linger too close to it, just in case.”

Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. “There now, it’s probably nothin’ more than a lonely ol’ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Can’t have you disappearin’ on us.”

YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. “You heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.”

The boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.

With a faint, tired sigh, YN’s mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niall’s usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.

Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.

Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.

Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. “Thought you’d sleep through it, lazybones.” He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. “Cheeky lad,” she muttered. “Come on, then. Let's get to it.”

They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.

“Careful now.” 

He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.

“Look at him,” he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. “Thinks he’s king of all creation, that one.”

She grinned, crouching beside him. “Well, he’s a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?”

The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the pen’s latch when he was done.

They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YN  frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.

“S’not lookin’ good, is it?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.

“No,” she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. “But we’ll manage. Always do.”

He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.

“No need for lookin’ so glum, Arthur,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager you’ll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.”

He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.

Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments she’d set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.

She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the window—a young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.

The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the day’s trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.

When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the cabbage patch,” he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. “Come to see if I've hauled in a king’s feast for ye?”

YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. “I wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if you’ve managed one.”

He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Oh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.” He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. “Not a king’s ransom, but it’ll do for stew, won’t it?”

She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. “Aye, it’ll do. Might even save us from havin’ to wrangle another cabbage.”

Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. “Couldn’t have that, now, could we? I’m doin’ my part to keep your cookin’ passable.”

“Passable?” She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. “You’re just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.”

He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. “Now, that’s hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, that’s not my fault, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. “Poor Ella’ll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.”

“Aye, she’s a hard one to please,” he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “But I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryin’.”

They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.

The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the day’s labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Maura’s, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.

Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet her—Maura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.

“I'm tellin’ you,” mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. “There's somethin’ in that tower. maybe it’s a spy, maybe it’s worse.”

Maura scoffed, shaking her head. “If it were a spy, we’d know by now, wouldn’t we? why bother lurkin’ about if there’s nothin’ worth seein’ here?”

“There’s plenty to see, Maura,” the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. “Who’s to say he hasn’t been watchin’ us all along, takin’ note of who’s loyal to the new king and who’s not?”

Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “or worse—what if it’s no man at all?” Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. “There are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.”

Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. “Aye. folk say it’s a night creature—a demon, even.“

YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wives’ tales—a way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, who’d taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.

“You've a skeptical look about you, dear” Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’d walk up to that tower yourself, would you?”

She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. “I'd sooner believe it’s a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Don’t see why we should fear him.”

“Peace, or no peace, he’s still up there, watchin’ us all.”

YN didn’t reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.

The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at her—a kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.

Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.

IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.

The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.

Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories she’d heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else too—a quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.

The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.

Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtower’s age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.

The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishings—a wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadn’t seen another soul in years.

Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle—a sense that she wasn’t alone.

A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire century’s worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.

“What brings you here?” His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.

YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. “I–I thought you might be hungry,” she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. “Folk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.”

He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didn’t reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.

Didn’t seem exactly the safest thing.

“People rarely visit me,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “Especially not with offerings.”

“Well, it’s no great feast,” she laughed breathily—nervous, setting the basket down on the table. “But it’s enough for a quiet meal.”

He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“I don’t need much,” he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. “But thank you.”

The silence stretched between them as Harry’s eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel it—her pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger he’d worked so hard to bury.

But he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let even a flicker of it touch his face.

With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering she’d brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.

“Are you here… often?” She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.

Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes,” he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. “I find it… peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. “It doesn’t frighten you, being all alone up here?”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles—him—frightened? How sweetly ironic. “Sometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.”

She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste it—the sweet, heady pull of her pulse.

But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. “And what about you?” he asked, his tone soft but steady. “Doesn’t it frighten you to come all this way, alone?”

She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it should. But I suppose I don’t scare easily.” She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. “It’s quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like it’s closing in. Out here, it’s–it’s freer.”

Harry’s gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why he’d chosen this place—this forgotten, lonely tower—to escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldn’t risk unleashing.

She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “People say you’ve been here a long time—I mean, they say the tower’s been abandoned forever. But you don’t seem…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didn’t quite know how to finish.

“Don’t seem what?” he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.

She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. “You don’t seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,” she murmured. “Like you’ve got more in you than—than just seclusion.”

He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—a faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life he’d once dreamed of. But that life was gone. He’d buried it the night he’d been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.

“It’s strange,” he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closer…

He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. “Solitude,” he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, “sometimes feels simpler.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that bravery—the quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a stranger—intrigued him. She wasn’t running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.

“Thank you,” he mumbled—almost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. “Not many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. “Well, maybe I’ll bring something better next time,” she replied with a small laugh. “If you’d want that.”

He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”

But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.

Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time she’d stood there.

He had always been a weak man for the living.

Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelenting—an obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.

Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when he’d believed his life was bound for something beautiful. He’d been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. He’d had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.

But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearly—the dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. He’d thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.

But then he’d seen his attacker’s face.

The man’s eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teeth—a flash of something razor-sharp, malevolent—before sinking them deep into Harry’s throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.

He hadn’t known what had happened to him for days afterward. He’d awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didn’t understand. He’d stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when he’d finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, he’d learned what he had become.

The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadn’t known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greed—enslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. He’d fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.

It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. He’d taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant. 

His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. He’d hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victims’ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadn’t wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.

And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.

Her name had been Beatrice—a young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls who’d looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. She’d been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, she’d been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. He’d been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. She’d come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

And in that moment, he’d lost himself.

The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him whole— the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from her—all of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.

After that, he’d fled, haunted by the horror of what he’d done, determined never to let it happen again. He’d hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.

And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldn’t deny the faint spark she had left behind.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldn’t come back. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evil—something to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldn’t escape.

And if she returned—he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

[jjkamochoso]

JJK Men Reacting to You Self Harming

Angst, fluff

Request from Wattpad

JJK men x gn!reader

Warnings: cussing, sensitive topic at hand under the break!!! Please do not read if this will trigger you in any way, shape, or form. My only intent is to comfort those who might need it❤️ there won't be any super graphic depictions, but I will mention scars, bruises, blood, etc. so please be mindful of your ability to read this without causing discomfort! Remember that you are worthy and loved, and there are so many other things you can occupy your mind with than hurting yourself... please take care of yourselves❤️

Yuji:

You and Yuji were sparring like you usually did, opting to practice together since you made a great team. Your training shorts were just long enough to cover your self harm scars and since they were older, you weren’t too worried about them showing; you assumed no one would see them and if they did, wouldn’t guess how you got them. Yuji grabbed ahold of your legs and flipped you over his shoulder, your body landing in the grass with a heavy thud.

“Good move, Itadori,” you huffed out, taking his outstretched hand as he shot you his trademark smile.

“Thanks, y/n! By the way, those sure are some scars you have on your legs! Whatever you were fighting must’ve been a really strong opponent.”

“Something like that,” you said under your breath. You felt Yuji’s eyes observe your scars that were now visible and hoped he wouldn’t ask anymore questions.

“They’re awfully straight and neat,” he mused before turning serious. “Wait. These look like…” He didn’t finish his sentence but the way you avoided his gaze gave him his answer. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you.

“That’s horrible, y/n, I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to do that to yourself. I know my support probably isn’t enough to immediately make you quit doing it, but just know I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to. Self harm is never the right answer.”

You melted into his loving embrace. “I already feel better, Yuji. Thank you. Seriously.”

Megumi:

You ran right to your dorm room after having an extremely bad day, eager to shut out the world and release your frustrations on your legs. You grabbed the familiar tool from your nightstand, creating the all too familiar marks on your body. All of a sudden, you heard a knock at your dorm door.

“Y/n? You in there?” Megumi called out. You quickly covered your mouth with your hands, accidentally cutting your finger with the razor blade and letting out a small whimper from the unexpected pain.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, opening the door.

“Please don’t!” you yelled out, but it was too late; he was standing in your room, his eyes trailing over the blood beading out of various parts of your body. He was completely emotionless as he walked out, leaving you to try and comprehend what just happened. You figured he’d never want to talk to you again; your weakness probably disgusted him. You gently dabbed at your wounds with a tissue but they wouldn’t stop bleeding. To your utter surprise, Megumi came back, a bottle of water, clean rag, and bandages in his grip.

“What are you doing?” you breathed out.

“Cleaning you up,” he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You sat in silence as he softly wiped your leg, bandaging your cuts. He then grasped your hand, cleaning and bandaging that wound as well.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” he eventually asked tentatively.

“Not really,” you replied, “but I should. I’ve been hiding this for so long that it strangely feels… okay that someone knows.”

“Good. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this to yourself ever again.”

Yuta:

"Y/n! What happened? When did you get hurt?"

You turned around in the hallway that was completely abandoned, save for you and the wide eyed boy that had just passed you by.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" you responded, thoroughly confused.

Yuta tilted his head. "Your leg is bleeding through the bandage. I saw it when I walked by you."

Your head whipped down to look at your thigh and saw the bandage you had applied earlier that day was now dangerously close to falling off.

"It's nothing!" you exclaimed much too quickly for Yuta's comfort.

"Are you sure? Let me help you change it," he suggested, walking closer to you at an alarmingly fast rate.

"No! I'm okay, I promise." You spun around, ready to hightail it to your room, but Yuta was too quick. He had gotten ahold of your arm to keep you from running and peeked under the bandage, observing the long marks riddling your skin.

"Y/n," he breathed out, "these aren't marks from a mission, are they?"

You didn't know how to answer him without making a fool of yourself.

"Please don't tell anyone!" you pleaded, knowing he had caught on to your horrible habit.

"I would never," he replied, his eyes glistening with sadness at the thought of you hurting yourself, "but you should. Or at least try to stop. You don't deserve this punishment you're inflicting on yourself."

You stayed silent, unsure what to say. Yuta brought you into a bone crushing hug, his tears falling onto your shoulder.

"I will help you get through this. Just, please, don't burden yourself with this any longer. I'm right by your side, always."

Inumaki:

As you opened your dorm door to go get breakfast, you saw a note resting on the ground outside. It was lying underneath a freshly picked flower and you hummed in excitement, wondering what all of this was about.

You read the first line of the now-unfolded note: Please don’t be mad at me~

You recognized the handwriting to be Toge’s and you sighed, reading on to see what he did this time.

I’m not sure how to approach this correctly so I hope you understand that I only want the best for you. I saw your fresh scars when we were playing video games last night and I wanted to ask you about them but didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I hope you know that you are worthy and loved, and that you should never feel anything less than. I can’t imagine how much you must be struggling to be able to hurt yourself in such a way. I want you to know I’m here for you and want to help in any way I can. Seeing you hurt so bad SUCKS. Please come to me when you’re feeling down. I’m always here for you.

—Toge

Reading his letter made you feel like you were going through all the stages of grief, but by the last sentence, you didn’t feel anything but relief. When you glanced up from the paper, you saw Toge strolling about, trying to look as casual as possible.

“I’m not mad, you know,” you called out. Toge’s eyes brightened immediately and he practically ran over to you.

“Thank you for this,” you said, gesturing to the flower. He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Also, thank you for saying something. I know that must’ve been hard, but I’m glad you did. It’s something I’ve dealt with for such a long time but knowing I have someone to turn to is… I’m grateful for you.”

“Tuna,” he replied, giving you a comforting hug.

Noritoshi:

Noritoshi was helping you clean out your bedroom when you stumbled upon your collection of razor blades. You hadn’t used them in a while but you saved them just in case your habit reared its ugly head. You urgently yet discreetly tried to move them out of view but he was too fast.

“What are those for?” he wondered, taking a step closer to you.

“Nothing,” you replied suspiciously, holding the box behind your back. “It’s just trash, that’s all.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not stupid. What’s in there?”

You bolted from his unyielding stare, hoping to throw the box away in a dumpster outside, but the Kamo clan heir was too fast and blocked your path away from utter embarrassment.

“Show me. Now. Because I think I saw razor blades in there and I want to make sure.”

“What does it matter?” you seethed as Noritoshi took the collection from your hands. With his fear confirmed, he set the box out of your reach.

“Next time, cut me.”

“What?” you asked incredulously.

“Cut me,” he repeated, his voice steady. “If you hurt so bad that you want to punish yourself, punish me instead.”

“I could never hurt you like that, Noritoshi,” you said, your voice small. “It would kill me to see you in pain.”

He walked over and gently took your hand in his. “That’s exactly how I feel knowing you hurt yourself in the same manner. Do you understand what I mean?”

You did—that’s what bothered you the most.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I care about you and because of that, I worry for you. If you hurt, I hurt. If you bleed, I do too. You don’t have to struggle on your own. I’m here for you, day and night. When you need something, anything, please, get ahold of me. I don’t want you opening this good for nothing box ever again.”

You looked deep into his anxious eyes before burying yourself in a hug with him. “I promise to come to you when I need help. Thank you for being here for me.”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do.”

Todo:

You didn’t know how it happened—one minute you were eating lunch with Todo, the next you had blood dripping from your now opened wounds on your legs. You knew you should’ve bandaged yourself before leaving your dorm this morning but you thought your wounds weren’t serious enough for that. As you tried to dab at your scars with your napkin, Todo stood up in distress.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, slamming his fists together in anger.

“I did,” you replied sheepishly. Todo stopped, confusion sweeping over him.

“I don’t get it,” he replied, “did you mean you accidentally hurt yourself?”

“No,” you said nervously. You debated on telling him the truth or not, but he had already seen your scars. It was only a matter of time before he asked the other students what had happened to you, describing the appearance of your wounds, and then the whole Kyoto school would know your secret.

“I self harm,” you admitted, “and I’m ashamed. I’m weak. I let my emotions control me and the only way I gain back control is by hurting myself. It’s pathetic, I know.”

“No it’s not,” he said immediately. “I may not understand it, but I know it’s not pathetic. To fight your own mind like that… that is a battle not easily won.”

“You got that right,” you remarked.

“If you allow me, I will help you fight. We’re not meant to take on enemies alone. I will do everything in my power to make sure you never feel so low as to hurt yourself again. This is my most sincere promise.”

Todo put a hand over his heart as he gazed at you with utmost certainty. You didn’t know what to say; his immediate response overwhelmed you in the best way possible.

“Aoi, I… just, thank you,” you said, wrapping your arms around the huge man. He returned the gesture tenfold, holding you close to him.

“Anything for you.”

Ino:

“Hey y/n, it’s Ino. Listen, can you meet me at my apartment in like, half hour? I need to talk to you. It’s nothing serious-wait, I guess it is, but, like, no one’s dying or anything. But yeah it is serious but not worryingly so. Just moderate serious. Okay, let me know. Bye!”

You stared at your phone screen for a good minute trying to process the chaotic voicemail you received. You sent Ino a text saying you’d be there and he opened his door on your first knock.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you with my voicemail but I really need to tell you something. Well, more like ask you something, too, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, I’ll get right to it. I saw the scars on your thighs the other day and they looked like self harm ones to me. I hope I’m not making a huge mistake asking you this but… do you? Hurt yourself, I mean?” he asked, ending his rant. You were quiet for a second too long in Ino’s eyes so he raced to fill the silence with explanation.

“Not that you need to tell me or anything! I’m chill with you doing what you need to do to cope with things but that’s not exactly the best way to do it. Not that I’m a professional! I’m also not trying to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, I just want what’s best for you and-”

“Ino, take a breath, please,” you said, releasing a short laugh as you rested a hand on his. “I’m fine with you bringing this up, weirdly enough. I thought the first time someone found out I’d be freaking out but… I don’t know. It feels good to not be the only one who knows, you know?”

“Oh? Oh! Wow, yes, that is good,” he replied, pulling his beanie off and swiping his free hand through his hair before turning more serious once more. “Again, I’m sorry for springing this on you but I’m worried for you. I hate seeing you in pain and not feeling like you can share your troubles with me. You shouldn’t have to take your frustrations out on yourself. I’m always gonna be here for you to talk things out, okay?”

“Okay,” you said, wiping the stray tear from your cheek. “Thank you. I appreciate you more than you know.”

“And I care about you more than you think.”

Gojo:

"Geez, you have a bad run in with a cat or somethin'?" Gojo asked, peering down at you with his one eye uncovered by his blindfold.

"What are you yammering about, Gojo? Some of us are trying to work here," you said, rolling your eyes. You were currently at a cafe with Satoru, sending a quick email from your phone before digging into your pastries.

"Your leg" was all he said, a long pale finger pointing at your shorts-clad thigh, but it was enough to make you feel like you were about to drop dead from cardiac arrest. He had seen your self harm scars.

"Oh, those. Yeah, a cat," you grumbled, tucking your leg away where he could no longer see it. You pretended to be enveloped in your phone but Satoru knew something was wrong.

"You're acting weird and the more I think about it, those markings were weird too. Unless that cat really hated your guts."

You ignored him which only made him pester you worse about it.

"What'd you do to it? Step on its tail? Pull its whiskers? C'mon, tell m-"

"It wasn't a fucking cat, Satoru, I did it to myself, okay? Just drop it," you exploded. For once in his life, Satoru was speechless. You were so ashamed of your confession that you stood abruptly from your chair.

"I'm going home," you told him, leaving your food behind as you slammed the cafe doors open. You didn't want the strongest sorcerer to hear about your struggles, your weaknesses.

You certainly weren't expecting him to follow you.

"Wait! Y/n, hold on," he called out, his long legs easily catching up with you.

"Leave me alone. I don't want your pity," you snarled.

"Pity? No way, I just..." He was trying to think of the best way to approach this newfound information without scaring you off. "I just want to talk to you about it. A genuine, serious discussion."

You stopped walking. "Who are you and what have you done with Satoru?"

He pouted. "I'm not joking. I don't want you to feel like you have to resort to hurting yourself ever again, and I think it might be helpful if you know you can come to me about anything. But I can't help if I don't know the whole truth."

You contemplated it for a moment, but you knew Satoru wouldn't offer to do something he didn't actually want to do.

"Okay, yeah. That would be nice. Thanks."

Satoru wore a small smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Now, c'mon. No good therapy session starts on an empty stomach."

Geto:

You and Suguru were enjoying a fun day at the beach, playing in the water and frolicking in the sand. As you laid on the blanket to indulge in the picnic he laid out for you, your shorts rode up your leg a bit, showcasing your newest self harm scars. You were completely oblivious, indulging in yummy fruit while Suguru couldn’t tear his eyes from your marked skin.

“Y/n, darling? Have you been feeling alright… emotionally?”

Your arms bristled with goosebumps but it wasn’t from the cold fruit you just swallowed.

“What brought that question on?” you asked nervously, trying to casually pull down the leg of your shorts to cover the scars. Little did you know it was too late.

“I won’t mince my words. I just saw your scars and I know you did that to yourself.” He reached out to grab your hands but you backed away from him in horror.

“Suguru! It’s not what it looks like, I-”

“It’s alright, I’m not upset. I’m just extremely worried,” he explained, his eyes muddled with guilt. “I wish I had seen it earlier. I know what it’s like to struggle. I want to be there for you so you don’t drown in pain like I did.”

You listened to his words, carefully soaking in everything he said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you replied quietly. Suguru reached for you again but this time you didn’t back away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help you sooner,” he responded. “Will you allow me to help you?”

After a few moments of decision, you nodded your head. “Of course. I trust you and I’m ready to release this heavy weight I’ve been feeling for so long.”

“I’m glad,” Suguru said, giving your hand a squeeze as he looked out at the sparkling sea.

Nanami:

"Darling? Everything alright in there?"

You mentally cursed yourself out. You had been upset all day over something minor and, yet again, took your frustrations out on yourself, but you must have been too loud this time, your hisses of pain overheard by your boyfriend Kento in the other room.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" you called out, not wanting him to walk in on you as you tried to bandage yourself up as quickly as possible. You heard footsteps come closer to the bathroom door.

"Are you sure? You sound like you're in distress."

"I said I'm fine," you snapped back, holding a towel to your injuries to staunch the bleeding. You saw the door handle move and your breath caught in your throat--in your haste, you hadn't locked it.

"Don't come in!" you yelled, but it was too late. Kento's eyes trailed over your bleeding thigh, confusion written all over his face. He stepped closer and you grimaced, knowing nothing got past his watchful eye.

"Those markings... you..." He trailed off, a look of knowing crossing over his features. "You sit. I'll clean you up."

Your face burned with embarrassment but you did as he said, not wanting to make things harder on yourself. It was quiet as he kneeled before you and patched you up, the silence making your heart skip a beat.

"You don't have to do this to yourself," he said simply after a long bout of silence. When you didn't reply, he looked up.

"The world is already cruel. You don't have to punish yourself further," he stated, his eyes softening at your exhausted body language.

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," he interrupted. "Don't be. If anything, I should apologize for not noticing sooner." His fingers traced over your previous scars as he placed the last bandage on and took hold of your hands. "Do you want to talk about it? Whatever's been bothering you? You shouldn't have to suffer alone."

You nodded, grateful for his lack of judgement.

"I'll make us some tea first," he told you, placing a kiss on the top of your forehead. "I love you and I'm always here for you. No matter what."

Choso:

You were busy hanging out with Choso at your apartment, watching tv and enjoying your time together.

“Could you get me a hair tie please?” you asked Choso. “I have one on my bathroom counter.”

“Of course,” he replied with a gentle smile, eager to help you in any way he could. You thought nothing of sending him in there until he hadn’t come back after a good 5 minutes. You followed after him, wondering if you had inadvertently put the hair tie away and confused the poor man.

“Did you find it?” you called out from your bathroom doorway. Choso turned around and you gasped immediately. In his hands were the bloody tissues you used that morning which he must’ve pulled from the trash; you forgot to empty the can before he came over.

“Y/n… what is all of this? Did you get hurt and I didn’t notice? I could’ve bandaged you up. Are you alright now?”

You felt like your world was crumbling down. How could you lie to the man standing in front of you who looked like he was about to start sobbing? You floundered for an excuse but found none—your mind was totally blank.

“I, um, this morning… it’s not your fault you didn’t notice. I’d actually prefer it if you never noticed. I don’t know how to tell you but… I hurt myself.”

His face contorted into confusion. “How? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You paused. “Actually, no, I’m not fine. I cut myself many, many times. It’s a horrible, nasty habit that I can’t seem to kick and I’m sorry that I kept it from you and I’m sorry that you found out this way and I’m also sorry that-”

“Don’t apologize,” he said softly, dropping the tissues back into the trash and scooping you into a hug. “I don’t understand why you would do something like that, but I want to. I swore to protect you from anything and I intend to uphold that promise. Please, let me help you.”

You let out a shaky sigh. “Okay. I’m ready to talk. I’m ready to… to heal.”

Toji:

“I hope you don’t mind but I let myself in.”

You jumped up with a start at the sound of Toji’s voice. You forgot you had given him a key to your place! Normally you’d be ecstatic to see him but you didn’t want him to see you in your current outfit. Since you weren’t expecting company, you were lounging around in shorts, leaving your self harm scars on display.

“I need to change!” you spurt out, clamoring to get away from the large man, but he was too quick (and eagle eyed).

“Those are some brutal scars you got there,” he remarked, pointing to your legs. “I can’t imagine what the other guy looked like after your fight.”

Toji expected you to laugh, or at the very least let out a tiny sigh from your nose, but you were deadly silent.

He frowned. “What’d I say?”

“N-no, nothing, I…” you trailed off. You didn’t know how to tell him. You wished you could’ve played it off, went along with his joke, anything but be in the situation you’re in now. You drew in a deep breath. You couldn’t hide this from him forever, anyway.

“They aren’t from fights. I did it to myself,” you explained, not meeting his eyes. Now it was Toji’s turn to be quiet. You were afraid to see his reaction. Would he laugh at you? Leave, slamming the door and never coming back?

No, Toji was…comforting you?

You felt a large hand grasp your shoulder, prompting you to finally face him. You were greeted with his serious expression, features set in a rare show of resoluteness from the man.

“Never, ever, do that shit again, okay? No matter what you’re feeling or thinking. You come to me the second you feel any type of feeling that might lead to that again. There’s no way I’m letting let you add another mark to that pretty skin of yours.”

You nodded, fighting back tears at his unexpected understanding of your situation.

“Now c’mere,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug.

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

I'm here again (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

I was thinking of headcanons for the hantengu clones with a black s/o

Like I see aizetsu as a boob man, he just likes the feel of a boob and they are soft and he likes to suck on em he likes resting his head on your chest, wants to fuck your titties

Sekido is a lil bitch and likes your ass, he stares at it intensely but also smacks it very hard just to watch it move, sit on him trust me he will be so thankful, he won't show it though, once got the balls to ask if he can try anal with you

Karaku, horny mf likes your thighs, they squish and mush, he likes the feel of it (and he wants you to crush him with them) will also fuck your thighs (ain't that a bonus)

Urogi likes everything about you, your ass, your thighs and your boobs, although he likes the squishy parts of you and he's always eager to touch you in some way (it can be nsfw or not when he touches) but he likes you for you

Plus it wont matter since he fucks you anyways

Well I just came to share some things about this cause it has been in my mind eating me alive and I wanted to see your own headcanons on this 🙏🏾

Tits, ass or all?

LITERALLY WE HAVE THE SAME HEADCANONS AJDHEJD but since u asked for mine here's a very detailed version I got carried away with 🙈🙈🙈

Warnings: fem!reader, mention of stretch marks, chubby reader, cellulite, body worship, spanking, praising, marking/possessiveness, size differences (?)

Aizetsu

Aizetsu holds your boobs for comfort more than you do. He's not picky with the size, but what matters most is that you'd let him touch and hold your boobs whenever he wants

Aizetsu is too shy to admit this but when your boobs are tender around the time of your period he'd offer to message them which dose feel rexlaing to you but he's only doing it for his own pleasure to have his large hands on your breasts. He also loves how your veins show on your boobs

Aizetsu likes to randomly put his face between your boobs. Your demon slayer uniform had your chest exposed like mitsuri so when he sees you come back to the house where him and his brother live at he'll go to you and shove his face first then wrap his arms around you not caring if people are looking or not

Aizetsu will lay on your boobs a lot for comfort, but it always ends up sexual no matter how many times he apologizes. He won't take your unform off, instead he'll just move it enough to have your boobs exposed and gulp at how your nipples will harden from his touch and even his staring "I'm sorry y/n... j-just give me a few minutes."  Liar

Aizetsu purposely forgets when you tell him not to leave marks on your boobs. So when you scold him for still leaving marks, he frowns more than usual. "But y/n... what if those other male slayers look at your boobs? I need to show everyone your mine... even if I have to have my marks here.."

Aizetsu will get on top of you and holds your boobs together himself as he slips his cock between them, stroking it between your boobs being a moaning mess. "Your boobs are just so soft a-and so pretty" his voice becomes broken moans "your boobs are going to look s-so much prettier when I cum on them, stick out your tounge, that's it. Good girl" he throws his head back, feeling your warm tounge touch his tip each time he thrusts making him cum on your boobs and mouth moments later

Aizetsu loves to watch your boobs when his hips snap hard fucking his cock deep inside you. When you cover your boobs to stop the intense bouncing they make he'll grab both your wrist and pin them above your head "please don't hide yourself from me. You're so pretty, so beautiful I love seeing how these beautiful tits bounce when I fuck you. Your nipples are so hard for me too" he sucks on them "be a good girl and cum on my cock" he'll say while sucking on your boobs

Sekido

Sekido was furious with your demon slayer uniform when you guys first started going out. "What kind of perverted human makes you wear this? The skirt is way to short I'll kill him" he said but after some time he Forbid you to wear pants since he had a obsession for your ass and loves how your skirt showed your ass when you'd bend over

Sekido will never admit he loves your ass but won't deny that he isn't obsessed with it. He would always ask you to pick up unnecessary things for him and be in the right place just to stare at you from behind, looking at your skirt ride up just enough to see the underline of your ass. "Don't pull down your skirt when you pick that up. No one's looking, " he'll say, but it's him looking, having his eyes locked on your ass

Sekido will get "mad" at you and "punish you," but it's just to have a reason for him to slap your ass and that's the only place he'll slap you. When he slaps your ass he'll watch as your butt jiggles, and he makes sure to slap each cheek. "Sekido, that hurt!" You pout lifting up your skirt to see a redness "humph. Stop being a baby it wasn't that hard, " he'll say, but spank your ass again

Sekido would pull you back to him and rub your butt with his hand after he spanks it and giving your ass little squeezes. "It's your fault. Don't make me angry like that again, " he'll say, but have a smirk on his face

Sekido secretly loves it when you surprise him by not wearing any panties. There will be times where you will come into your shared room with him, sit on his lap when he's sitting on a chair and write your report for the demon slayer core but not have any panties on

Sekido will take notice when he feels your bare ass on him. He won't say anything but lift up your skirt and watch his cock grow against your ass. He'll have you ride his cock, reverse cowgirl style and watch when you jump on his cock or bend you over the desk snapping his hips harshly while spanking your ass "don't you have a fucking report to write?" He asked and spanks your ass hard "get to it. Y/n"

Sekido always cums on your ass, he likes to watch his cum run down from your ass to your legs

Karaku

Karaku has no shame when he talks about his physical attraction to a person, and that's the thighs. When he started dating you, he loved how your unform was designed as shorts for the bottom. That way, he could see your plumbed thighs

Karaku will actually get upset if you wore the regular pants like what most demon slayers have on. "Karaku, I only have these on because it's cold. I still have a job to do, " you said,"so!? I like seeing your thighs jiggle every time you step... these pants hide that!"

Karaku never minded the cellulite on your thighs and would make some very unsettling threats about anyone who would think badly about them. He'll even trace his nail over them, which would always make you jump and shiver, but it always brought a smirk on his face

Karaku found it fun to always grab the back of your thighs when you stood up and put his hand on your thighs when you sat down since he love how your thighs spread out when you sat down even on his lap

Karaku loved having his head between between your thighs. Most boyfriends would lay on your chest or stomach for comfort, but for Karaku, it was lying between your thighs. You could be reading a book or just laying down, and Karaku would lay between your legs in silence and even wrap your legs in a criss cross way to lock his head between your thighs

Karaku will call out when you're in the mood when his head is rested between your thighs and will turn around, taking off your panties and going down on you. "Feels good, princess? I know it does. " Karaku will hold your hands when he eats you out because he loves it when your thighs lock his head in when you're close

Karaku loves to leave marks on your thighs. "What? Are you worried your slayer friends will find out your fuckin a demon? Don't worry princess I'll leave my marks right here" he'll say trailing his fangs to your inner thighs and leaving his fangs marks and love bites there

Urogi

Urogi almost lost his mind when you came to him with a new unform. Your uniform had your chest exposed, arms exposed, and you had on a skirt with slits at the sides. He says this often, but he loves it when you're confident about your body since he found you very attractive both in the face and body

Urogi was never the jealous type when it came to your physical appearance since he knew other men in the demon slayer core would fond over you because of the stories you'd tell him. "Well, I can fight, so I'll just fly high and drop them down from the sky." he'll laugh

Urogi's big claws take up a good amount of your body. When he puts his claws on your sides, he'll examine your body, holding you still and moving his claws up and down. "Are you done yet?" You giggled, and he chuckled, "nope. Need more time to feel you"

Urogi's sharp talons will rome on your body but mainly your love handles, tracing out the lines of your stretch marks and is very grabby when it comes to your love handles. You can tell when his touch is innocent and when it's not because when he's in the mood he won't tell you, you'll just know from how he touches and kiss you "if you want to do it just say so" you'd spit out but too shy to say you want it too "what about you baby? Your thighs are squeezing on my claw. You won't let me go, " he'll chuckle

Urogi worships your body. Before fucking you he'll always kiss your body from your lips all the way down to your legs, praising you each time. "You're so fucking gorgeous" he kisses "my pretty slayer" another kiss "let me make you feel good baby, spread yourself for me. Good girl look how wet this pussy is for me~"

Urogi likes to have you riding his cock but always loves to give you a hand by placing his claws on your ass and moans deeply from how your pussy clenches around his cock. "I'm hitting the right spot aren't I? My cock is so deep inside you you can't help but squeeze me can't you" he whispers in your ear and nibbles on your neck

Urogi will let out a surprised moan when your hands are on his broad muscular back and you accidentally grip onto his wings "Fuck~ not the wings" he'll grab your ass harder thrusting his hips up into you, filling you up with his cum.

[waywardsou2]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ General Bad Batch Head Canons ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Hunter

He was secretly always jealous of Cut getting to settle down, have a life, a family, getting away from all the war and bloodshed. Hunter had wanted that but never thought it was possible

Hunter cried, fully cried to himself the night after Crosshair, despite everything that had just happened on Kamino, had still chosen the Empire over his brothers. Despite all he had seen on the battlefield all of the people he had failed to save, nothing hurt more than losing his brother.

When he was young, and ever since then Hunter has only ever let his brothers trim his hair. And he helps them cut theirs too. Hunter is very particular about his hair being a certain length and usually only trims his hair a few inches at best.

Hunter's face tattoo is actually to cover a birthmark. His other brothers (not the batch) used to tease him about it when they were cadets. He eventually got the tattoo to cover it up. These days he regrets it and doesn't understand why he folded to their teasing but he's still happy with it anyway. He doesn't regret the tattoo perse more the reason he felt the need to get it in the first place

Wrecker

Wrecker got Lula from a kid he helped on Ryloth when the Separatists were attempting to invade the planet, he loved it and was very attached to the toy. But he knew how important it was to the kid and he kept it with him for years until he gave it to Omega. He thought it made sense to give it to her, a young kid he had helped gave it to him and now he had passed it on to the next kid who needed it

Wrecker used to place fake bombs or stink bombs under his brother's bunks as pranks. He was always so obvious whenever he was doing this because he would be over-eager and giggle to himself, but he did manage to jump his brothers a few times with the prank

When Wrecker was caught in a bombing accident that messed up his eye and scared his face, he had a hard time adjusting to the way he looked, he didn't recognize part of himself now. And he especially hated when his hair didn't grow back the same way, and because of that he decided to shave it all off and continue to keep his head bald

In addition to that I think that when Wrecker was younger, he had hair a similar length to Hunter, and he liked it, despite the Kaminoans telling him to cut it several times. He does miss his hair at times, but he does like it better without hair hindering him.

Tech

Techs goggles function the same as prescription glasses, he's actually far sighted, this is why his helmet was built to fit around his goggles because he basically cannot see without them

(less of a head canon more of a canon fact with my personal twist) Tech is the youngest of his brothers but he was the quickest to mature and grow, which he likes reminding them about constantly.

(this one is gonna hurt, sorry in advance) When he fell off of the rail car into the ravine below, he didn't instantly but have some very fatal wounds and wasn't far off, Hemlock and his men found him and Hemlock took his goggles from off of his dying body and left. Leaving his men to dispose of him (I don't know what my mind was thinking when I wrote this, I guess I just love angst too much)

Tech had feelings for Phee but he never knew if she was being polite or flirting with him. He never said anything about it to her or his brothers because he figured that there was never going to be a time for him to ever act on those feelings so he never did anything about them.

Echo

(keep in mind I haven't seen any pre Bad Batch content of Echo so some of this stuff might conflict with his canon)

When Echo got blown up and had to have his face reconstructed he was awake for most of the procedure because if he slept or if they induced him it wasn't likely that he would wake up again, especially considering all of the damage done to his body and brain.

(Idk why but this one is super random but just feels right to me) Echo really likes butterflies, he likes the delicacy and beauty that comes from the creature's existence, the first time he saw one he was taken aback and had stopped to admire it. His Commander scolded him for getting left behind at the time

Echo used to pick at his head implants, they made him really uncomfortable and self-conscious, and his brothers used to have to stop him from damaging them and endangering himself. It was a really big issue of his for a while.

Crosshair

Crosshair's tattoo is also a cover-up for a scar, it's the right side of the crosshair that touches his nose. That line is actually a healed over scar underneath. He thought considering his nickname that the tattoo wasn't a bad idea. He was also secretly just copying his big brother Hunter, not that he would ever admit that

This guy can nap anywhere, and I mean anywhere. He doesn't sleep so he naps when he can. In trees, standing up, in the cockpit literally any where.

Adding onto the head canon from before I think Crosshair would have insomnia. But as he would do he never told the Kaminoans because he didn't want them to "fix him"

Crosshair has a nervous/general tick where he chews on his lip, he used to chew it so often that he often had cuts all over them. In place of cutting up his lips he decided to try and alternative - toothpicks. This was a good way to hide it but to still be able to tick when he needed to, plus the toothpicks were easy to access because he could collect them from the mess hall on Kamino

I realised at the end that I hadn't written any for Omega. How dare I? I promise I'll upload some soon

Hope you enjoyed these! Tell me your head canons below!

[tokoyamisstuff]

Note: The reasons may vary, but I personally think none of these men care about their spouse's body type or beauty standards in general. So I wrote about body parts instead, hope that's alright with you. 💕

gn! Reader I not all of those are sexual

Featuring: Alucard, Anderson, The Captain, Walter, Maxwell, the Valentine Brothers, The Captain

Alucard

Neck obviously, since it's something so symbolic about you willingly exposing this vital spot to a monster like him. Loves digging his teeth into the tender flesh, mesmerized as he watches the liquid cascade from your collarbone down to your breasts/chest (his second favourite part).

If he feels like it he'll play with your blood as well, painting it across your skin and then licking it off, eager to not waste any drop.

Too shy to focus on inheritly sexual bodyparts, would always gaze away (even though he's craving to look, it just goes against his teachings). Since he's used to be surrounded by fully covered women, he gets excited by the smallest amount of exposed skin. Indulges in the soft feeling of it against his rough hands.

Anderson

Also, the size difference (idc how tall you are, it will be there) wakes his protective instinct. Cradles you in his arms as often as possible, putting his head on top of yours.

The Captain

Thighs and ass definetly. Will act chivalrous and open doors for you or let you go up the stairs first just to see it wiggle. It's driving him crazy. Digs his fingers into them at every opportunity, leaving marks with his bruising grip.

Also anything that's sensitive to his touch, not only during intimacy. Believe me he'll find out your weak spots. Man has a map of your body drawn in his mind.

Walter C Dornez

Hips, as well as good hip dips and belly. He's most likely responsible for them growing on you, since he likes you well fed. Loves kneading them or seeing his wires lace into the cushion of your plush.

Got stretch marks? Even better! Absentmindedly traces them with his fingers or rubs oil onto them...for skincare purpose and not his own satisfaction, of course.

Enrico Maxwell

Your hands in general, will always want to hold hands or feel them somewhere else on his body. At the beginning it shot pleasant tingles through his nerves, unused to closeness. But later on it becomes a soothing and reassuring sensation to always feel he's not alone anymore.

Will demand lots of massages or for you to run your fingers across his scalp while his head is in your lap, his favourite spot.

Luke Valentine

Anything about your hair, from color to it's texture and smell. Enjoys twirling it around his finger, playing with it, combing and styling it, or tugging on it during the act.

Prefers you (at least partially) dressed rather than naked, especially if he gets to choose outfits for you to wear. He's a man that likes to let his imagination run wild.

Jan Valentine

Literally anything, this guy's a freak. Doesn't matter at all, you could wear a fucking potato sack and he'd get aroused. If you ask him he'd just say anything works as a hole if you try hard enough. Sorry, he's not that romantic.

If you catch him at a good moment he'll babble something about how you're just so gorgeous that he simply can't decide on a single feature of yours.

The Major

Eyes are the windows of our soul, or so he says. Gets captivated by yours each time, his intense stare searching them whenever you're in the same room.

Usually at some point his gaze always wanders down to your lips, relishing the way they move as you speak and running his thumb across it before relishing in the taste of you.

[shakesbeth]

Queen in Heaven | An Anne Boleyn One-shot (The Tudors/historical fiction)

This is one of the first fanfictions I ever wrote, almost ten years ago! And it's about one of my favorite historical personalities of all time: Anne Boleyn, Queen of England and mother of Queen Elizabeth I

To write this one-shot I based myself both in the series' scene (The Tudors) and from historical descriptions of what truly happened.

I hope you all enjoy it!!

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

Tower of London, England. May 19, 1536.

Lady Rose didn't know how she put herself in that position. The execution wouldn't be open to the public, and not everyone was allowed to watch. Maybe it was because no one imagined that a girl like her could get in the way of anything; probably that was why.

It was colder than usual that morning, and although it was a little after nine o'clock, the sun threatened to remain hidden behind the clouds for the rest of the day. She – as expected of the rest of the Court – had gotten up earlier than usual, and the first thing she did when her maid entered the room was to order her dress to be prepared. She had chosen a French model (since she did not know when she would have the chance to wear French fashion again after this day), with a moss green petticoat under the skirt and a bodice of the same color. The cap, decorated with pearls and sapphires, held up her brown hair, braided and parted in the middle, and matched the pair of necklaces she had chosen to wear – one close to her neck, the other reaching down to below her cleavage. It was a provocation, Rose knew, since everyone knew the Queen's personal taste for wearing green and pearls, but she was going to the execution anyway. Everywhere she went, people were downcast, silent and mournful. There was no sign of the King or his precious Jane Seymour, and for Lady Rose that was a good thing, she decided she didn't have the patience for those two today.

The Queen had also woken up very early, or so people were saying. She attended her last mass and remained quiet and calm all morning (very different from her behavior of sometimes crying fits, sometimes terrifying silence on other days). Lady Rose speculated about what was going on in the woman's head at this time.

Now, standing on the cold stone floor of the Tower of London, she tightened her arms around herself to try to ease some of the cold she felt. Most of the people who passed by there gave her curious looks, probably because of her bold choice of clothing, or even were curious as to why a lady of her rank would be there.

The crowd began to gather in front of the Green Tower, a knot of people forming a sort of corridor around the small wooden door in the wall. Rose followed where they were pushing her, and before she knew it she was squeezed between a fat lady blowing her nose with a handkerchief and a tall, opulent man scraping his teeth with his nails. She suppressed the sick feeling in her stomach and took a deep breath. Standing on her tiptoes, Lady Rose turned to the warm crowd behind her. No more than a hundred people were there today, a mass of cocked hats and English caps, all eager for Anne Boleyn’s grand demise.

Gossip and whispers drifted from all around Lady Rose, making the room seem much larger than it really was. Some of the conversations were about how cold it was today, while others were about ladies comparing the size of their rings to each other’s. But one conversation in particular caught her attention. The man next to her and the other in front of him were talking about the Queen, more specifically about the choice of the executioner who would do the job.

“They say that the delay in the executioner arriving was due to the King regretting what he did to the Queen,” the man next to her said.

“I heard that story too,” the man in front of Rose replied. He was short, almost as tall as her, and had a blond beard that covered most of his face. “And that the Queen’s choice of a French executioner instead of an English one was just a ploy to buy time and try to convince His Majesty, the King, to change his mind about the execution.”

''Well, I heard that His choice was because 'A Queen of England does not bow her head to anyone and in any situation''. Brave, I have to admit.

''Whatever.'' The blond man shook his head. ''The important thing is that today some justice for poor Catherine, may God rest her soul, is done.''

Lady Rose tightly clutched her hands in the fabric of her dress. How dare they talk about the Queen like that?

''Look!'' The man next to her said and raised his finger. ''The witch is there.''

Rose felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and punch that despicable man right in the face, but her gaze was directed to the woman standing at the exit door of the Green Tower.

Anne Boleyn looked more like a child afraid of being alone than an adult, standing still while leaning with one hand on the wall. Her expression was one of terror and panic as she stared at the crowd. It seemed like an eternity when she finally broke free of the Tower and began to walk slowly towards the scaffold, trailing behind her were four ladies-in-waiting dressed from head to toe in black. Shouts and prayers intensified and Rose only caught a glimpse of the Queen's slender body before raised arms and moving heads got in her way.

When Anne was just a few steps away from the White Tower, Rose lifted her skirt and quickened her pace so as not to end up last and not be able to see anything. She stopped in front of the wooden structure – built right in front of the Tower, large and opulent like a theater stage – struggling to breathe, her corset seemed to have gotten tighter. A few seconds later, the crowd was already around her again. Further to her left she noticed that there were the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon, and his son, little Frances Brandon. In front of Rose there were four more people, while on her side a fat woman in a horrible black dress sniffed her nose nonstop.

With slow and steady steps, Anne Boleyn climbed the scaffold and walked to the middle of it, facing the crowd. Lady Rose did not know if it was her expressive eyes or her calm and confident posture, but in a matter of seconds all the voices and cries stopped.

Looking at the queen now on the scaffold, facing the crowd with her head held high, Lady Rose could tell that Anne Boleyn had never been so beautiful. It was as if she were not there to die, but rather to give a public speech about some deed. She was wearing her famous pearl necklace with the gold B pendant, and her hair was parted in the middle and held back – to everyone’s surprise or not – by an English cap; perhaps, Lady Rose thought, this was her way of showing that she was still the Queen of England. She wore a red skirt over a dark gray damask dress, and, to top it off, an ermine cloak. That dress was so beautiful. Too beautiful to be stained with blood and stored in a coffin forever. And the worst part was that poor Anne would not even be buried in a coffin. The King didn’t even bother to do that, Rose thought, but quickly covered her mouth with her hand. If she had said that out loud and anyone had heard, it would soon be her up there on the scaffold too. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the empty arrow box, with its wooden lid, resting on the ground next to it. Poor Ana, poor Ana…

Rose remembered when Anne and the king had met. She had been there. She had seen how the king could not take his eyes off the beautiful lady who had just arrived from the French Court, with her customs and tastes so different from those of the English. It had been long years and scandals since then. She sighed loudly. And to think that she had once wanted a romance like theirs, but who would have thought that this would be the end, after all.

The Queen's ladies-in-waiting perked up on the left side of the scaffold, while the executioner stood on the right side, with his face covered – which was already a custom – and his gloved hands lowered at his sides. But… Where was the sword?

Anne Boleyn seemed to clench her jaw as her chest rose and fell rapidly in her tight corset. She stood there on top of the scaffold facing everyone as if she were deciding with which words she would begin her last speech. Despite her high head and shoulders, Anne Boleyn looked more afraid and in pain than ever; and her eyes, Rose felt bitter, her eyes were so sad.

“Good Christian people,” she said, her voice as thin and weak as if she were ill, but then she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it.” Her voice was still sweet and soft, but with an authoritative tone that Rose had never heard before. – I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that, whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the king – some people exclaimed ''Long Live the King'' and even ''God Save the King'', while Anne seemed to squirm at saying that – and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. – She finished by waving to her ladies who approached, with tears in their eyes, to help her with the rest. One of the ladies removed her cap and covered her head again with a white linen cap, while the other removed her collar and ermine cloak. They returned to their places and the executioner approached and knelt before Anne.

"Madam," he said, and Rose noticed a certain emotion on his part. ''Forgive me for what I am about to do.''

The Queen smiled slightly and extended her arm towards him, handing him something Rose had not seen before; a small purse of coins.

''Gladly. And here is your payment.'' The executioner accepted the purse, fastened it to his hip and stood up.

Anne Boleyn composed herself and looked back at the audience.

''And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul.'' Then she knelt, holding her hands over her chest.

To Rose’s surprise, everyone else knelt too – even those who had just condemned her were now there, teary-eyed, praying for her. Rose barely noticed her legs buckle, and only knew when her knees were pressed against the hard ground. The Duke of Suffolk and his son were the only ones who didn’t kneel, which didn’t surprise her at all, since he was the one who had started spreading the false accusations against Anne in the first place.

''Jesus receive my soul; O Lord God have pity on my soul.'' The Queen whispered, more to herself than anyone else, her voice as soft as a flower ''Jesus receive my soul; O Lord God have pity on my soul, Jesus receive my soul; O Lord God have pity on my soul…''

Her cheek was already wet, but Rose refused to sob or even open her mouth to breathe more easily. She didn't want to miss even a second of the Queen's voice. She wouldn't forgive herself if she did.

Everywhere she went, all she could hear was the Queen's soft voice, along with the suffering prayers of the crowd around her.

The only problem was that the Queen kept turning her head toward the executioner, she wanted to see where the sword would come from. Rose tensed. The cut wouldn't hurt, but only if she didn't move. She had to stay still, she had to stay still…

"Boy!" the executioner yelled. "Take my sword!"

Then Anne Boleyn turned her head toward the only boy present there, Frances Brandon, focusing her gaze on him. Rose held her breath. She knew what was coming next, and she didn't want to look, she didn't want to look.

The blow came fast as thunder. Lady Rose felt the air leave her lungs—as did the ground beneath her—as she watched the silvery glow descend and dance in the air. One second there was suffocating silence, and the next there was a multitude of screams and cries. The body fell whole, hard to the ground, and only when it touched the wooden surface did the head come loose and fall to the side.

The other ladies up there bent down to wrap the body in a cloth and place it inside the arrow box. Rose even saw one of them sniffle and press her lips together to keep from crying.

That was when the executioner lowered the blade—now covered in blood—and lifted Anne Boleyn’s head with his other hand. A lady in front of Rose fainted, and had to be supported by the gentleman at her side. She heard more surprised and horrified screams and even tired sighs.

And it was when she looked at the head hanging from the executioner’s hand that she was truly startled. Lady Rose had seen more than her share of executions in her life, but she had never seen anything quite like this. Anne Boleyn’s eyes were open, one side blinking rapidly while the other remained wide, and by God, her lips were still moving. They were still moving.

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

So... What did you think?? 😉

[rinwellisathing]

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 13

Enver Gortash/ Trans male Tiefling Durge

Content warning for misgendering and trauma, the usual Durge specific violence and gore, and the intro to what might be a sex scene if I feel confident enough to write it.

After dinner, it was Sentry's turn to take the lead, to bring his companion to a place he knew well and only his presence offered safe passage. He gripped Enver's hand as he led him eagerly down into the sewers and through the twists and turns that led to the ruins. Manic glee crossed the tiefling's face as he thought of showing his muse what he had been working on since their last encounter.

“So, there IS a 'secret murder cult' in the sewers. Of course I knew about you and your family, but I thought the location was pure fiction to sell copies of The Baldur's Mouth.” Enver chuckled, gazing around as his Dread Executioner led him across the threshold to what seemed to have once been a series of small dwellings. The amusement turned to awe, however, as the two entered an otherwise unassuming hovel near the entrance to the ruins. Gortash could see the tell tale signs of arson. Ashes were all that remained of any furniture or signs of life that had once made this perhaps a home. Old blood stains coated the walls and floors and apart from the main large room, which once might have held a small kitchen and sitting area, he noticed all the doors seemed to have been smashed and sundered before the place was set ablaze.

“Oh, you'll need to look up to appreciate the first exhibits in my sculpture garden, my muse.” Sentry grinned, eyes bright and eager as he pointed to the ceiling.

Those deep, dark emerald eyes flicked upward and Enver found himself smiling appreciatively at the sight above him. There was an artistry to the slaughter, a beauty to it. Two tieflings, similar in coloration to Sentry, hung from the ceiling, mouths slack and wide. Their tongues had been removed leaving a dried and lovingly preserved issue of blood covering their lips, chins, and necks. The woman had her stomach eviscerated and her insides hung like the chains of a fine chandelier. The man had been castrated and his hands removed as well. Both were missing their eyes. The preservation was immaculate and though Enver could tell from the state of the dried blood that these were old corpses, they looked otherwise freshly killed. There was beauty in the loving detail.

“My first kill, my parents. They misunderstood my true father's vision for me so I made them understand MY vision for them.” Sentry's expression was giddy and beaming with pride. “Just the first exhibit in my sculpture garden. But not what I wanted to show you specifically. Still, please, enjoy the tour, yeah?” He was practically dancing with excitement.

“I see, you're a natural, my dear Sentry. A prodigy, I dare say.” Enver's lips curled upward as he admired his companion's work. His parents. It may not have been what Sentry had planned to show him, but it resonated. It was a piece he certainly understood. He must have been lost in thought because he found himself coming back to the present as Sentry eagerly tugged his hand and led him to the next room.

This room had been completely destroyed, walls knocked down with immense force to make space, but it had been worth it. The place was filled with all manner of nightmares. Body parts preserved and sewn together from hundreds of different people, bones wired and fused to create creatures most of the city couldn't fathom in their darkest dreams. A massive skeletal structure of a four armed horned and tusked monstrosity wove its way across a vast space of floor, twisted and wicked looking, seeming to stalk the rest of the figures. It was crafted so delicately with a reverence beyond even the rest. But Sentry was quick to pull Enver past the creature and draw his attention to the most lovingly detailed creation in the room.

A throne of severed and preserved hands rose up just behind the monstrosity and mounted atop it was a sculpture of bones clad in a black horned half-mask, long black and gold robes, and decked out in jewels and gold. The hands were painted black and atop its head was a crown of carved and gilded ribs set with glimmering purple gems.

“A crown for my muse. A throne for The Tyrant.” Sentry's gaze was wild and eager. Lust and violence dancing behind those bright mismatched eyes.

Enver gazed quietly at it for a moment. Frozen, his body and mind blank and unsure how to react, torn between a thousand emotions before finally, he grabbed Sentry by the arm and pulled him close. The Executioner's reaction was swift, free hand flying to Enver's throat and tightening around it. The two grappled roughly before their lips met, nipping and biting between deep kisses. The copper tang of blood on their tongues.

Clawed, calloused fingers began to undo the laces of Enver's shirt. “Fuck, these are laced so, so poorly.” Sentry remarked between breathless panting.

“Meanwhile, who dressed you? The shirt is something from a bad romance novel.” Enver replied, nipping at Sentry's neck as he opened the black velvet vest and began to unlace the white undershirt.

Sentry froze a moment as the shirts were pulled away, tense and feeling blood pulsing in his head. Jackal's taunt filled his mind. 'Be sure to kill him before you get to the bedroom, he may not like what he finds'. Orin's constant reminders 'Vereena the breed-spawn.' Bile rose in his throat but he forced it down. If he doesn't like what he finds, imagine what he'll think of what I'll do to him. The sculpture garden could always use another piece, I could improve my Tyrant. He waited, breath caught in his throat. Enver's hands traced his scarred chest, lingering a moment on the precise surgical scars, but he made no mention of them and Sentry's eyes widened when he realized no look of shock or disgust crossed his muse's face.

He pounced, shoving his partner to the ground and straddling him, pinning Gortash's arms and kissing him deeply before trailing affectionate nips and love bites down his neck and chest. The thick hair that coated his muse's body was soft and the tiefling nuzzled like a contented pet against it. He admired the softness of the Tyrant's body. No chiseled muscle for his blades to contend with one perfect night he could imagine years from now. His tongue ran down over the soft flesh, tasting eagerly and burying his nose in that dark hair, inhaling the scent as he moved lower, achingly slowly. He felt fingers tangling in his silver hair and then, one hand gripping one of his horns. Heat rushed to his face and his vision blurred just a bit. A sound halfway between a moan and a purr escaped Sentry's lips, muffled by his muse's supple flesh.

[popculturebuffet]

Pride Month Triple Feature Finale: Rocko’s Modern Life: Static Cling (Commission for Weird Kev 27)

Well this last installment is a bit late, but any month can be pride month if you belivie in yourself, so we end this pride month trilogy with Rocko’s Modern Life Static Cling, something i’ve been wanting to cover for years, but usually something came up or I realized I forgot to include it by the time the schedule was already full up. But with violence, legeslation, and outright bigotry towards Trans Persons only escalating, it felt like the right time.

For those not as familiar with Rocko, quick refresher: Rocko’s Modern Life was one of the earliest Nicktoons, created by Joe Murray and being a hit not just with the networks target demo, but adults who related to the series, a 20 something hang out sitcom but with all the lunacy animation allows. Our Rocko, his doofy friend Heffer and nerdy best friend Philbert dealt with nipples of the future, death, time travel with the elderly, elves, and recyling. The show was very of it’s time but also timeless as MANY of the fairly adult subjects it tackled in it’s unique goofy way still resonate: the show tackled topics like your parents not approving of a mixed marriage, the struggles immigrants face, homosexuality (via clowns), a sexually unsatisfying marriage leading to a wondering eye (done ENTIRELY straight to the point the episode was banned), finding out your adopted, bosses treating their workers like a commodity instead of a person, megacorporations running our lives, credit card debt, and even sex work

It’s thanks to Rocko we have classics like Regular Show, it’s successor Close Enough and Tuca and Bertie. The kind of show that uses wacky humor while still showing some very real shit we have to deal with. 

So in hindsight. .it’s not really a stretch that with changing times, rocko would go from having to use clowns to cover queerness to doing a full coming out episode in it’s revivial special, a pogniant well done story that deeply reconteculaizes a beloved character

Pig you’ve been out since 1996. 

So let’s look at this touching tale and all the other neat stuff just in time for the show’s 30th anniversary shall we?

Static cling follows our boy, his bulbous buddy and his somethign else rhyming with b , picking up where we left off.. and the original finale to the series had our heroes shot up into space, returning as the elderly. The last part is stricken from the record Roseanne style, and instead our heroes have largely settled in: Filburt misses his wife tails, he misses her a lot, but otherwise our heroes are doing fine on fatheads reruns... till Filburt notices the remote has been jammed up Heffer’s butt for the past decade, they fight as usual and Rocko has to scream at them to “PUSH THE BUTTON”. TV’s Frank would not abide. 

SO with that our heroes return to earth. There’s also a nice small joke in that... most people really aren’t phased our heroes were gone 20 years: while we sadly dont’ get a scene with Heffer’s family , easily one of my faviorite parts of the series with Rocko’s dinner visit being one of my faviorite episodes, we do get to see his beaver hating grandpa, with all his innuendo glory, the only change being

And Filburt naturally easily reunited with Hutch because their perfect and we need that. It’s like our heroes were never gone for the most part.  The real exception is ROcko.. and i’ts easy to why: Filburt had a wife and four adoring children eager to finally get to know their dad. Heffer’s family is implictly there and his grandpa is still around only now he can posses lawn gnomes. Nothing’s really changed for either in a way that harms them. Filburt missed most of his kids’ lives, but they seem to have grown up fine.  In contrast when you think about it.. no one was really waiting for Rocko. He hit it off with Shiela well, but that was one episode towards the end. I mean he could look her up on face-o-rama, or something, so ti’s not lost, but when you think about the series with his family in australia.. all Rocko had were his friends, mrs. bighead (who warmly welcomes the guy back and gives him some needed support), and Spunky. Rocko really has nothign to come back to: his job is gone and while his friends adapt to the 2010′s really well... it’s all too much. it also makes sense: Heffer always went with the flow and while Filburt seems a bit too accepting on paper, he’ sa giant nerd in a world where he can livesteream being nauseous and blather about his opinons for an adoring public. I mean I woudnln’t of had the tools to do this when the show aired. I was two and the internet wasn’t easy to come by. Six maybe. 

While the montage of various “new” things was.. dated even by when it came out and is kinda just there outside of Schlammo, the unhealty energy drink , it hammers home that while his friends have accepted the present.. Rocko is lost in it. He was never one to easily accept new trends in the show itself, usually being pulled into things like health clubs or credit cards by Heffer, so it’s entirley in character that being stuck in a world 20 years later with nothing to really hold him there shatters his normal optimisim. I’ts pretty heartining to see rocko shattered a bit when bev finds him. It makes her trying to support him and help him heartwarming.. but it can’t really fix the problem of feeling like the world’s passed you by. It was striking to realize how deep Rocko’s story comes off, a story about nostalgia and how it can help us when we feel lost.. but how we can cling to it as our only salvation. I’ll admit to having dived into my various coping mechanisms, comics, games, tv, youtube, to escape... and to have a minor panic attack if one’s missing, so I may just relate to rocko a bit.. but it still works.  It also kicks off the plot as the fatheads is gone, and Rocko badly needs it. HIs cries for it fall on deaf ears for mr bighead though, who just oopsied at work.. and now his world is collapsing for real, with his job gone and his house soon to be gone. “A tv show won’t solve your problems rocko”. It’s a simple statment.. but one that’s true. TV can offer an escape.. but it’s not going to fix what’s wrong with yoru life. It’s the thesis statment of this special.  Granted it can at least save ed’s job and house and conglomo as the special revenue would do it. It’s heavily spoofing how much companjies rely on these revivials and nostalgia pops, with the series lovingly mocking how much money fans think a rocko special would bring nick.. and then accidnetly being accurate as while Static Cling didn’t bring in millions upon millions of dollars, it was still a success all the same. 

The problem is the head of congolmo wants the chameleon twins to make it cheap with CG. I mean grante dth eproblem is the fatheads also you know.. ende din the run of the show, but honeslty i’m willing to ignore that for what a good story it is and it could easily be said Rachel just had to go back and make more to pay the bills or something. This was also built both off the actual rumors, that later came true of a CG Rugrats reboot, which honestly dosen’t LOOK bad.  So with that our heroes decide to search for the series creator, “Ralph” Bighead, who disappeared during the time skip, as all the money, all the success didn’t make them happy. We get some fun gags including a faviorite of mine “Culturally ambgious pillows”, as our heroes tour the world to find the creator.  And thus about halfway into the special they find them int he desert.. and find out why no one had seen them. See while they last saw them as “Ralph”.... our heroes instead find RACHEL Bighead. 

And honestly ti’s excellently done for the most part. Before we get to all the good let’s get the elephant out of the room: Joe Murray should not have continued playing rachel. Joe.. is a cis man. A cis man should nto play a trans woman. I can however accept this wasn’t done with any malcious intent, and was likelky done to hide that Rachel was trans now, as the special has it as a twist, wtih Rachel having a hat on and only revealing their trans by steping out of her fatheads foodtruck. Having a new VA might give that away. I still wish they’d swapped them but I get Joe meant well.  I mostly get that.. because everything ELSE is done well. When you look back on who rachel was.. they were miserable. They had all the money in the world, but could never find creative fufillment with the fatheads, to thepoint they tried sabotaging a followup with wacky delli. I mean we got the cheese, the best character in the show, but Rachel never found fufillment. It was only by realizing who they always were and making their body into what they truly always wanted that Rachel is happy. Said happiness.. allows her the reconciatlion with her creatoion she never got in the original show, selling fatheads freezie pops. She found a new art, the life she alwasy wanted she’s content. She even refuses to do the special, and rightfully so: while the creator SHOUDL revivie a work if possible, if they don’t want to.. they shoudlnt’ be forced to. Rachel only agrees because her parents are in danger.  I also love the acceptance rachel gets: the boys all think it’s neat and instantly accept it, as you should. The reveal itself is simply done: Rachel steps out, says “I’m rachel now”.. and the boys all think it’s neat and accept it, attaching their drone to the ice cream truck and flying off. Bev also fully accepts it, happy their daughter’s happy and even finding her some cute shoes. It makes sense for all involved: while all from the 90′s, Rocko’s group has always been an accepting bunch for the most part, while Bev was always the parent that accepted their kid more.  It’s harder for Ed.. but it’s a well done harder. He’s bigoted, and potrayed as stupidly as that sounds: he rejects the idea of the special simply because he rejects the idea he has no son but a daughter. I also like the stealth pun there: he once claimed he had no son when he disowned rachel.. and it turns out he never did. Everyone around him rightfully sees this as stupid, and it’s portrayed as such, but what i Like is that they play this realistically. Instead of Ed throwing out slurs or throwing a tantrum, which sadly could very well happen, he just disowns his child, again, and storms off. He can’t accept a trans daughter because to him it’s a change. To Rachel.. it’ sbeing who she was always meant to be. Rachel ends up still making the special, remembering her past, including biting ed’s eye as a baby.. and using that. And while Ed has to be dragged to the premiere, as many a person has to be dragged into acceptaince... it’s said work that helps Ed see what a fool he’s been. Rachel reworks the fatheads.. but now includes a baby based on themselves. It adds great new jokes to the bit.. but it’s the last one, a reinactment of her “damaging her fathers retina”.. that makes Ed realize what he shoudl have all along: this is his child and who they always were. Being a woman not only allowed them to be happy.. but it dosen’t change who they are.. because this is who they ALWAYS were. And what helps is that... Rachel didn’t NEED ed’s acceptance. Their disapointed, but when he wails no at it, she simply says yes. They do the short because, even if Ed dosen’t accept her, she wont’ leave her parents homeless and still loves them both. And it’s ED who has to come around and accept that he has a daughter, he always did.. and that’s wonderful.  We also get Rocko.. not accepting the change. A baby, how dare he.. but ed talks him down, getting to the point of the special in a truly lovely speech. 

“Rocko we can’t live in the past, we can be grateful for it, but life isn’t permenant, and if we don’t embrace what’s now, we miss out on a lot of the important stuff. “ I couldn’t of said it better myself and belivie me i’ve tried. And it’s a perfect message for this special.. and for Rachels’ story. embrace what you have, not what you thought you had. This special is phenominal, with tons of great gags, a truly amazing story at the core, and lots of great cameos in some lovely animation. Check it out wether your new to rocko or want to revisit an old friend. Thanks for reading and happy belated pride. 

[zappedbyzabka]

So I just read a fic about this but I have a different idea

Sid cuts Johnny off after Laura’s death and Johnny, not wanting to be a ‘freeloader’ and asking his friends for help, turns to the streets and doesn’t tell anyone about it

Sid lies to all his friends and tells them he ran away to New York and it’s not till a couple of months later that Dutch finds Johnny on the streets and take him home

Johnny really doesn’t want to prove Sid right and keeps running away so Dutch decides to basically pay him thousand of dollars to stay and fucks him every chance he gets, after all, Johnny can’t up and leave if he’s in the middle of having his back blown out by his sugar daddy

👀👀👀👀 yesss

(My instant thought was that Dutch started working for Silver’s, who was another client of Johnny’s, and that’s why he has money to give. Timeline is a little ambiguous.)

Johnny tried to hide, making sure no one who knew him ever saw him, comforting himself with the thought that he’d be too unrecognizable, covered in dirt and malnourished, selling his body to every man that offered him a buck or ten, his throat raw and hole aching by the end of every day. He kind of…enjoys that part though; he likes that all these men, sometimes married, go out and find him, want him, tell him they’d leave their wives for them, put a ring on him, and give him everything he needed—of course Johnny never took them up on the offer, but it was fun to play along sometimes. He hated thinking about the women at home waiting for their husbands, but he needed money.

Turns out that his past training comes in handy for a job like that. He was still flexible, unable to get as easily into a split as he could before, but still very flexible, able to get his pressed to either side of him on a dingy motel mattress no problem. He also had a habit of sneaking some extra cash out of their wallets; who cares? Most of them are a waste of oxygen and don't deserve the money anyway.

Then Mr. Silver came along. Johnny must admit, he was a little frightened of the man at first; he clearly had power and money. He came in a limo, smoke seeping from the window as it was lowered. Rich men were the roughest and most sadistic. Or the opposite, and liked to be degraded by someone "lesser" than them.

He walked up to the door, putting a hand on the car and leaning down, glad he smoked enough in high school to not be coughing up a long; that’d lose him a client…usually. He waited for Silver to speak first. One thing he learned is that these men like it when you let them lead, it makes them feel like you weren’t always gonna try and charge them 30 bucks for a 1 minute make-out session and another 50 for sweet talk.

But he seemed nice, and he was handsome. Johnny has always been a sucker for danger. He greeted Johnny easily, offering him $100 up front to get in the car and ordering his driver to step out and open the door for Johnny. It felt nice, it had been a long time since he was treated with any semblance of respect.

Johnny felt eager to get in the vehicle, scooting close to Silver and putting a hand on his thigh, looking up at him through golden lashes. He’s been told his eyes make him look weak, innocent; guys like that.

Silver didn’t fuck him in the limo, but Johnny left his mansion with a limp and the corner of his lips red.

Silver told him he’d take him out, gave him modest clothes, and took him to McDonald’s. He bought him whatever he wanted, like it was a reward or comfort added to the filthy money. But Johnny didn’t care; he was hungry and lonely, and Silver thankfullly didn’t say anything when he started crying over his food. The last time he'd went to McDonald’s was with Tommy. He remembered every detail: Tommy ordered a cheeseburger and a large coke, and he was wearing one of those striped shirts he liked so much—pastel white, pink, and blue. He remembers the way the fluorescent light shined on Tommy’s thinning hair. He remembered thinking Tommy’s smile was his favorite. Tommy's voice made him feel twelve years old with his very first friends again. He was so tired that day, and Johnny couldn’t figure out why, but he still joked. Now he’s in a hospital, probably thinking Johnny abandoned him. The tables were different; everything was.

Silver offered Johnny a bed for the night and breakfast in the morning, and Johnny said no. He slept at Motel 6, holding the extra pillow in his arms the entire night.

In his dreams, he and the cobras get that apartment they promised to rent together, and they’re happy. The shouting is of joy, and the sounds of footsteps aren’t so scary anymore. All his friends are shielding him again.

Dutch had loved Johnny since high school and never stopped. He had a lot of competitors back then—italian slips of paper hoping to shove their stupid big dicks into Johnny and making Dutch want to punch their lights out—but the main ones were the other cobras. He’s still sure to this day that they felt the same way about their leader as he did. There was a reason they were so loyal: Tommy looked at him like the sun shone out his ass, and Bobby was so lenient with him even when he chided others. but all of them got it, all of them understood.

He’s told Johnny everything because he always pictured him in his future— gold gray hair and summer days. Sitting at their dining table, it would be small, so Johnny wasn’t reminded of the dining table he was always lectured and degraded at. The cloth Dutch’s grandma made on top. He can picture how the fabric would look under his and Johnny's held hands, he can picture the bands on their fingers.

He was in jail when Johnny "moved to New York". And It was hell not knowing what happened. Before that, Johnny had been visiting him, not super often but when he was able, but he’d frequently send him letters, long letters in Johnny’s surprisingly neat handwriting, all about what he’d been doing that week, whether he had gone to a concert or had a fight with Sid, he’d always tell Dutch. Sometimes they even smelled like the soap Johnny used, which made Dutch hope Johnny slept with them under his pillow before sending them. The other inmates teased him relentlessly about his "girlfriend", some even having the audacity to snatch one of the letters out of Dutch’s hands and read it; that dude got a concussion. That doesn’t even compare to when Johnny first visited him in jail. Johnny wasn't really dressed up, just had a hoodie and some jeans on, but that didn’t stop them from staring at him; their wants sickeningly clear. Then Johnny would press the tip of his shoes against his under the table and tell him he couldn’t wait to have him back, and suddenly Dutch wasn’t thinking about anyone else.

Dutch didn’t want to be away anymore. He didn't want to keep landing in jail and disappointing the cobras—the only ones he gave a shit about. And he didn’t want to keep leaving Johnny alone. Why did he always come back beaten and skinnier than before? Where were the others?

He’d been panicking when Johnny stopped showing up. He thought he’d for sure messed things up or that something terrible had happened because he wasn’t there to stop it, and he couldn’t stop picturing Johnny getting jumped somewhere and calling out for him. Would he call out for him? Does he know Dutch would help him?

After a few weeks, he called Jimmy to ask if Johnny was alright, he didn’t expect him to say Johnny ran off to New York. He didn’t believe it either

He stayed on his very best behavior, even letting himself get beat up, just so he could get out as quickly as possible and figure out what was really going on. It took too long, but he made it out, got a job from this nice fella with a ponytail, and started looking.

Apparentally, the other cobras had been suspicious too but were so busy with everything they hadn’t been able to look. Bobby had even convinced himself that maybe Johnny did run away; Dutch told him he was just being selfish and lying to himself so he didn’t have to face his own worries. Bobby didn’t deny it.

Sid was no help at all, insisting with a smile that Johnny left and sticking to it. Dutch got thrown out when he didn't give in to the bullshit.

When Dutch found Johnny again, it had been after a long day of trying to find clues, and he felt like one of those brooding detectives in those crime shows Johnny and Bobby loved so much. It’s so tiring to search and come up with nothing; it’s so hope-draining. He needed a drink, and on the way to the bar, he spotted that familiar face. Johnny looked different—somehow even skinnier than the last time Dutch saw him. Dutch couldn’t get over there fast enough. He parked his car and ran over there.

"johnny!"

Johnny had turned to him, eyes wide. "Oh my god. What are you doing here? I—You got out?"

Is he disappointed? Are those other makeup-covered faces his new friends?

"I told you I’d get out this time. I even got a good job! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Johnny. Why is your stepdad telling everyone you moved? What happened?"

Johnny looked down, shoulders slouched. "We got into another fight after…" he swallowed, "after mom died, and he kicked me out."

Dutch felt his stomach tighten. He wishes he could have been there. "Where are you staying?"

Johnny sniffled, rubbing his eyelid and smearing up his mascara. "Different places."

Dutch knows what that means: "I’m homeless."

He knows from personal experience.

"Will you come to my place then? I’ve got weed and Monoply waiting for us."

Johnny picked at his nails. "You aren’t mad at me?"

Dutch tilted his head, brows creased. "Why the hell would I be mad at you?"

"Because I disappeared. I didn’t call. I mean, I don’t get paid a lot of quarters, just cash."

Dutch pauses for a moment, looking at their surroundings and the other people near them, who are also underdressed like Johnny and tired looking. He looks at the marks on Johnny's thighs and the rest of him. It clicks. He won’t say anything, not yet.

"When was the last time I got pissed at you, John? Sure. I get irritated a lot, but rarely with you."

Johnny nods; he can’t deny that. He doesn’t want to. Dutch grabs his hand carefully. "Will you come over like old times?"

"Yeah, okay."

It was the best night either of them had had in months. They didn’t talk about the time missed or the difference in them that it brought yet; they gave themselves over and lived in the past for the night.

Dutch didn’t want him to live. Never wanted him to go back to "work" again. Johnny didn’t either, he was honest about that, but he kept repeating that he refused to be a freeloader and refused to use Dutch like that. Dutch can’t believe Johnny can’t see how he’s helped him change for the better and how this love that’s been raging in him for years is the biggest reason he has money now.

He practically begged him to stay; there’s space for him on the couch, there’s space for him on Dutch’s bed—a spot for him everywhere Dutch goes.

He told Johnny to at least stay while he looked for a better job, that he really didn’t have to pay. Johnny told him he’d have to think about it and went to take a shower.

In that time, Dutch mulled over the idea he had in his head the second Johnny brought up being a freeloader: he could pay Dutch by dating him.

He felt creepy, he’d rather Johnny not pay him anything—feel right at home. But he’s been doing it with all those countless other guys, and Dutch would just…make the payments few and far between—no matter how badly he wants it more.

Dutch focused on the dripping ends of Johnny’s hair as he brought up his idea.

"I didn’t know you liked me like that." I love you. "But I think it’s a good deal."

He cupped Dutch’s face in his hands, looking over his features. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Dutch pulled him in instead of answering, kissing him until he couldn’t anymore. "Stay."

Johnny stayed. Now he’s bouncing in Dutch’s lap, mewling shamelessly as Dutch’s cock hits his sweet spot over and over again, arching when Dutch grabs a handful of his ample ass, his other hand groping at Johnny’s pec.

"Fuck. Always loved your cute little tits, babe. Used to get so hard when you’d walk around without a shirt." Johnny whines, hole clenching like a vice around Dutch. "God, swear I had blue balls every day back then—fuck. I used to imagine how tight your ass would be too, and it’s so fucking tight—can’t get enough. You got me addicted, sweetheart. Even before I had it."

Johnny stares down at him. "So—ah!—so why didn’t you do something about it, huh? Coulda' wrestled me to the ground and pounded me, I would have loved it."

He’s suddenly thrown on his back, his wrists pinned firmly to the mattress. His hole spasms when Dutch brutally plunges right back in, giving Johnny no time to adjust as he starts up his hard, fast pace once more. No mercy. Johnny’s eyes roll back.

"Quite bein’ a bitch."

He tests Dutch’s grip; no budge.

He really can’t stop the pleased noise that comes from him.

Dutch grins, sweat glistening on his face. "Yeah. That’s right. You can’t get away from me, Lawrence."

You’re all mine now, he wants to say, but there’s a 50/50 chance that Johnny will like it or punch him right in the mouth. Dutch has always wanted him.

Johnny crosses his ankles behind Dutch’s back, relaxing against the bed with a glazed look in his eyes that he only got when Dutch did something about that attitude. "You’ve always been so strong."

"And you’ve always been so fucking hot, John. Like a damn dream."

"You dream about me?"

I have for years. I dream of being allowed to love you. "Yeah, I do. Dream about your sweet ass."

Dutch lets go of his wrists, wrapping his strong arms around Johnny’s waist and holding him as he ruts faster.

"I‘ve dreamed of you too. Heard you fucked good and couldn’t stop thinking about it." He throws an arm around Dutch’s shoulders and runs his fingers through that thick hair, kissing his cheek. Dutch has always had chubby cheeks. Reminds Johnny of a squirrel—adorable.

He can’t know about Silver; Johnny can’t lose Dutch again, not like all the others.

Moodboard

[softievante]

a request, if you're interested!

BIG mingyu finds a box of clothes that wonwoo is planning to give away. He gets curious and tries to try on one of wonwoo's shirts and its really tight on him(barely goes past his moobs). when he tries to get it off, he finds that he can't and wonwoo comes home to an embarrassed mingyu who is struggling to get it off

ANON THIS WAS SO VISIONARY OF YOU… i must confess i’m a bit vanilla when it comes to my own common writing about size, but i like to challenge myself + your req was like 🤌 hope i’ve met your expectations :3 i’ve also used it to test this try at writing about bigger boys :)

cw: (light?) humiliation (it’s consensual ok)

“the curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back” says an ancient proverb that’s more well-known for its first part. the second one usually comes as a surprise for most people, and sure gives a new perspective to the saying. curiosity wasn’t supposed to be a bad thing, nor something worth of negative consequences. knowledge should be celebrated, after all.

to change the animal in question, though, would it make a difference? let’s say, a puppy. a very curious, nosy puppy boy who was all on his fours (not for the reasons he commonly got into that position), grunting and sighing as he didn’t find what he was looking for. would he end up in trouble for such eagerness to find out about everything and anything?

mingyu was, beyond all, impatient. and it seemed the bigger he’d gotten, the more impatient he’d grew, too, always whining and demanding and pouting when he didn’t get what he wanted. right now, the small noises of frustration came from the mystery of where had his boyfriend put his new pair of jeans, bought last week when mingyu decided his then current ones were getting too snug. all clothes seem too snug when you reach third digit lbs, you know. especially when you surpass the first hundred.

so there mingyu was, on all fours, belly touching the ground as he sweated due to the effort to keep supporting his own weight. the closet wasn’t the coolest place in their apartment, which only made him more miserable.

“where the fuck is this…” he paused in the middle of cursing when he found a cardboard box where ‘DONATION’ was written. “oh.”

he pulled the box out of its place, suddenly forgotten about his pants.

it wasn’t supposed to be anything interesting, nor surprising since the purpose of those clothes being there were literally stamped on the cardboard, but somehow mingyu started to grab and inspect piece by piece, laughing at some weird t-shirts and gasping at others that he considered too cute to be thrown away.

in the process of rummaging through them, however, an idea lit up in his mind. some of them were pretty. pretty enough for mingyu to take his time examining the fabric, the striped pattern. obsessing with how small wonwoo was in comparison to him.

if he took just an instant to think about it further, he wouldn’t do it. mingyu is not the type to ponder, though, so before he can understand how disastrous his actions can be, his torso is already naked, hands gabbing excited at wonwoo’s t-shirt to pull over his head.

it looks like a crop top. and that’s being gentle. the fabric got stretched, the effort to make it enlarged enough for mingyu’s width turning it into a second skin, almost. it barely covers his fat breasts, the sleeves are suffocating his swollen arms.

curiosity gets the cat killed, and the puppy… the puppy gets stuck, breathing hard when he notices it’s tight, tight, not the common tight of his clothes. the collar hugged his neck, making him realize how extra he got everywhere.

a voice sounds from the room, “mingyu-ya?”

mingyu froze. he knew what was coming for him, and it was not flowers and chocolate.

“hey, why are you…” wonwoo stopped mid-sentence when he saw the scene in front of him. “woah.”

“i think i stretched it,” mingyu spat out like it wasn’t obvious that he had completely ruined his boyfriend’s t-shirt.

“stretched it? baby, you’re about to rip it,” wonwoo chuckled, biting the inside of his cheek as he drinks in the sight of mingyu’s enormous frame displayed like that. his belly hung over his sweatpants, full of rolls and stretch marks, his navel deep and begging for a finger inside. “how did you find these? and why were you trying them on? there’s no way they’d fit you,” wonwoo makes sure to point it out, putting his hands over the soft skin.

“i was looking for my new pants and found the box,” mingyu explained, sighing when he feels his boyfriend caressing the large area of his gut. “and i just thought it’d be fun but… but now i’m…” the words struggled to be out, until he expelled them in a sigh, “i can’t get it off.”

wonwoo’s eyes glistened in both desire and malice.

“got so fat you can’t lift your arms?”

“t-that’s not it! i can lift them alright!” mingyu raised them in retaliation, which only made things worse. everything jiggled, in a way that was almost ridiculous.

“ooh, poor thing, need help from his boyfriend to get out from the tiny, tiny shirt you stole from him?” wonwoo mocked, pinching his boyfriend’s double chin. “god, it doesn’t even cover your tits.”

mingyu flushed. there was something terribly arousing about having his overgrown, fat chest called tits. especially when said tits were being squeezed by his lover’s slender hands with no mercy.

“w-wonwoo, please…”

“please what, baby?” wonwoo teased, holding the two breasts under the tight shirt. his cold hands provoked a shiver on mingyu’s skin.

“help me… h-help me take it off,” mingyu whimpered, face violently red from embarrassment.

“what if i don’t want to?”

“p-please.”

“alright, let me just have this for a moment.”

maybe there was a time wonwoo was less shameless. currently it was not the case, so he made no ceremony before putting his mouth over mingyu’s left nipple, sucking on it like it was a very sweet source of pleasure. he did the same with the right one, encouraged by the moans his boyfriend slipped, fingers entertained between wonwoo’s hair strands.

“already worked up, big guy?” wonwoo mocked when he let go of the right tit, a sly smile on his face while he gazed at mingyu’s wrecked face, lips circled in an ‘o’ and forehead painted by a thin layer of sweat. “can’t even stand up for a few minutes to have your boyfriend suck on you?” the only response he got was a mere whine. “alright, arms up,” wonwoo commanded, finally kind enough to help mingyu out of the t-shirt.

after some struggle, they managed to roll it up and pull it off, a fit of giggles elicited from wonwoo in the process as well as cries of protest from mingyu.

wonwoo folds the t-shirt neatly, like it isn’t all funny-looking after mingyu’s try-on.

“gonna keep this in case a good opportunity to make you use it comes at hand.”

mingyu smacked his arm.

“i’m not gonna wear it again. ever.”

“we’ll see about that.”

[nvrcmplt]

that guy. that one guy that said that they would fuck kinji like that. c: red sitting on their lap, straddling them. now, "now, you just have to get me to flip over for you." ;) should be easy, right? it should be easy, absolutely..

It wasn't like PChan wasn't used to forward beings, but this one was a little different! For one, they had fur! On the outside! It was a sight he was interested in heavily, but who was he to distract them from their desires of wanting to spread their legs for him? Pchan's gaze was soft for a moment but within that moment of nodding his head in agreement and allowing his lips to roll back in display of sharpened fangs - the alien couldn't stop himself from snickering. "Flip over, hm, okay… I won't stop until you're thoroughly a mess, okay?" Consent, the Earth thing - instead of going by body pheromones or body language, this planet had a rule with verbal communication. He was learning well.

Since Kinji was eager though, PChan didn't hesitate to reach out with one hand to grasp the back of their head and promptly raise it back, making his chin lift so that the fox would only feel the heat of Pchan's tongue, one at current, swiping from clavicle dip to chip end in a wet stripe. It could be disgusting but the saliva was pink, sticky and seeped with ease into the pores as he purred in a manner akin to a blend of earthen creatures. A second hand eased upon Kinji's waist, a third under his shirt and the fourth - yanking shoes and socks off to remove garments one by one.

Pants tugged down to knees, shirt shoved over head and tossed aside. Pchan's tongue yet again lapping a larger and longer stripe of his pink fluid secretion up Kinji's chest starting from his mid-stomach to stop at neck again. Shifting once, knees straighten carrying the nude fur-creature to the nearest surface. A table it seemed, and promptly deposited them onto it with a pop of his neck. "Ah - my name's Praecipua, but you can call me PChan… " Tongue overflowed, twisting and spread from one to four. The fleshy flower twitched with dripping pink strings before his hands grasped Kinji's hips, and ankles to raise that ass up for his meal.

"Sing for me, pretty?" Palms grasp upon globes of flesh, tugging apart and then the heated, sticky movement of tongues began their work of soddening the entirety of Kinji's backside. Crevice to taint, to balls and underside of dick. Consumption of their most intimate part - but most of all, the invasion of their eager opening from one tongue, then two, then all of them as he rests his teeth against flesh and allows his tongues to stretch deep, curving and bending to smear the walls of the tailed being in his drug like saliva. Nub covered tongues roll back and forth, twisting over the convulsing muscles to really open them wide.

Pressing down upon all areas until he found what he loved the most in human men. That little switch that made them see stars, make them drool, shut down their protests to pleasure and become putty in his hands. Whilst Pchan was going at Kinji's ass at that point, his body was too being stripped of clothing by a secondary set of arms, tearing aside shirt and unbuttoning jeans to kick off. Allowing his starry flesh to show through a touch more, his tail bone oozed a thick substance before it solidified like jelly and formed tendrils, lengthy and darker than his usual purple hue.

Those woke with a shift, and in turn parted from one being to eight to slither onto Kinji's frame. The tips peeling back to reveal fleshy mouths, some with tongues, others without, thick and stronger secretions began to be smeared over Kinji's frame to trigger his body more and more into the want for sex, to mate, to be fucked and bred. It took no time of course - Kinji could fight all he wanted logically, but his body was at PChan's mercy the moment he allowed the alien to eat.

Thus, with his vine like tendrils smothering Kinji in their touch - rubbing over nipples, licking over neck and nape, filling his mouth with a bulbous tip that oozed potent secretion into his throat, another tail-mouth was fastened to their cock, swallowing, twisting and eating its fill. PChan's tongues eased from the backside of the fox, swallowing the flavour and licking his chin clean from his own saliva with a hungry grin upon features. Watching their back tremble, their thighs tense and them just overall enjoying themselves.

The Alien moved forward to rest a knee besides theirs, towering as he leaned over the Fox to nose at ear and gently nibble the fur triangle as his hand fastened around their throat to squeeze. "Happy, pretty?" Kissing down the side of their face, he moved to stroke down their ribs, smearing his fluids into place, stroking over stomach and touching everything he could reach before humming in a decision made. "I'm going to breed you now, pretty… Make lots of cum for me, okay?" The weight of his erection rested over their tail bone, the heat from it was twice of that of his tongue's prior, and as PChan leaned back and up on his knees, he took pleasure in stroking his cocks head over the gaping hole, teasing with his movements until Kinji made some sign of want, to then promptly line himself up once more…

And with a hand upon their crown, thumb parting teeth and pinning tongue to his mercy. Pchan's shoved his entire length into their smaller body with delight - not stopping until his pelvis slaps against ass cheeks and their body succumbs to his saliva's gift of no pain and instead enhanced pleasure. PChan didn't do more but grin down at his precious partner, moving his free hand to hold onto Kinji's tail and use it as an anchor to fuck the male beneath him for the next five hours shamelessly devouring their entire frame in everything he was.

[mel-the-pirate-writeblr]

The Night We Met (Isles of Ysamaldri)

This short is inspired by the song of the same name by Lord Huron.

Isles of Ysamaldri Masterlist

This is a piece of an original fantasy story that I’ve had kicking around for a good seven years now. Specifically, this short focuses on the relationship between two significant characters, Maple and Cedric (who I also wrote a bit about for one of the December whump events). I was listening to the song “The Night We Met,” both a female cover and the original, and I couldn’t get these two out of my head with how wistful it makes me feel, and how their lives (and relationship) had changed drastically, as they wish to go back to a Before.

This isn’t necessarily in any place in the story relative to the other short things I’ve posted here.

Story short (899 words) under the cut!

Cedric couldn't sleep – it was the full moon, and the thoughts of his past surfaced. Usually, these thoughts weren't pleasant, surrounding the few months he had spent as a test subject to improve the Queen's personal guard and royal warriors, in that lab. While his last memories of being a highly-ranked Shal'jí went sour rapidly, it didn't start out that way.

     Like his time as one of the Mion Isle queen's most loyal warriors, his last few months knowing Maple – a fellow Shal'jí – hadn't been a pleasant time. But it didn't start out that way, did it? The night we met, we knew – we knew.

Like many others before and after him, Cedric had been given into the service of the Queen of Mion Isle, Queen Tahl’drí. Those given into the service of the queen as future royal warriors usually came at young ages, between their first or second year of life. This was due to a family hoping to improve their favor with the queen, or give the child a better life than they could give them themselves. It was an honorable role to have, and a vital part of their society. 

     Each child grew up and learned within Mion's palace, taken care of by other, older Shal'jí when they outgrew specialized caretakers. It created a community of siblings, a family. Everyone grew up with each other.

     Everyone, except for Maple. She wasn't a normal Cí’mehia.

     Like everyone else, Cedric had had a family, and a family name, and, like every other Shal'jí, he shed it once he got adopted into his new life.

     Except for Maple, who never had either in the first place.

     One fateful day, when Cedric was five years old, one of the Shal'jí brought a strange child to Cedric's year-group. They said she was a Cí’mehia, but anyone who saw her didn't see the familiar blonde/black hair, or the small cheetah ears, tail, nor the emerald green eyes that all Cí’mehia shared. This Cí’mehia resembled a domestic cat fitted onto a humanoid frame. She had pale ginger fur that covered her, in contrast to the mostly-human-passing Cí’mehia children, and pale green feline eyes. Her ears had the same proportions as a housecat, instead of the smaller ear proportions that the Cí’mehia children had.

     The newcomer looked eager yet nervous at the same time, meeting the other children whose curiosity beckoned them forward toward her.

     Cedric was one such child. And, that night, he met his best friend in all the Isles.

     If only we could go back, and do it again, Cedric thought. I'd refuse Tahl’drí's request to be part of the Cerine tests. 

     But he knew that wouldn't help. He'd otherwise have been complicit in whoever became the first Cerine, and their imprisonment in the lab. And who knows what else since then. Who knows how they might have – or might not have – held up.

🙞 🙟 🙝 🙜

Maple only dreamed of her childhood once in a while, and even then, most of the dreams came from her time in the lab. I had spent so many years in the lab. But this memory wasn't from that cold place – this was the day she met her siblings. It was the day that she had finally had the family she was promised.

She hadn't expected them to all look... the same, though. None of them looked like her. They all looked the same as the scientists and lab technicians she had known all of her life.

     The other children surrounded her, the curiosity burning in her eyes and in all of theirs. Clamouring voices pressed in, and so did their hands, but the older Shal'jí didn't let her retreat. They were a comforting presence behind her, as if to back her up. 

     Then she met Cedric, and Chetchri.

     Maple had only just begun understanding that no one would ever look like her, and that mattered to a lot of the Shal'jí she shared a year-group with, and the ones younger, but of the couple who didn't, she held on to them with a vice-like grip. They didn't call her a lab-cat, or deny that she was a Cí’mehia, like them. They called her a friend.

     As time passed, she and Cedric became closer, and Chetchri took an interest with working in the lab under the Mion Palace. Things changed for the busier, but largely stayed the same. Maple and Cedric often guarded the Queen together, and were regarded as some of her most skilled and trusted Shal'jí. And they trusted the Queen.

     But not anymore.

     Chetchri was part of Cedric's guard, when he was down in the labs. She brought Maple updates on him when she couldn't bare to go down there herself, which was most of the time. Maple had only gone down there a handful of times in the few months he had been down there, and one such time was as he escaped.

     I wanted to go with you.

     He ran, and she couldn't do anything – she couldn't raise the alarm, but she couldn't help him, either. He ran, oblivious to her presence, and she watched in the silence.

     Part of me is happy for your escape from the Isle. Part of me pities you.

     Part of me hates you for leaving me without a word.

[kaijime]

watch your mouth

includes. osamu miya x f!reader

cw. corruption kink, virgin reader/first time, osamu wants to breed u <33, dubcon, kitchen sex? [it’s in his shop so?], fingering, pierced dick [prince albert piercing], vaginal penetration, size kink, praise kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink, slight dumbification, creampie, thigh slapping?

wc. 3k

a/n. my piece for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab, thank you for letting me join!!

osamu miya likes to think he follows a strict routine. he wakes up early, shows up for his job, works, and goes home, waiting for tomorrow to arrive and the cycle to repeat itself.

but ever since you've entered his restaurant, you've become a part of his routine.

he sits behind the kitchen counter, watching in admiration how you tend to the customers. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass, but it’s not a lie if he doesn't say it right?

"samu?" there's that nickname again, the one you deemed him ever since that interview for the part time job. "this customer says you forgot to give her a part of her order"

"no i didn't"

"yeah, look" you approach him with the receipt in hand, pointing to a small part of the inked writing. "see?"

he can't see. or at least he can't see the receipt. he's too focused on you, pressing up against him. he knows you're not at fault, but you couldn't be that innocent.

you couldn't be innocent enough to not know the things you were doing to him, the things you were making him feel, the urges that blossomed with every lingering look and longing touch you left on his body. you just couldn't be.

right?

yet, even when his idiotic brother dropped by his shop and shamelessly started flirting with you, you, it seemed like you didn't catch onto what he was doing.

"what's the freakiest place you've ever had sex in?" the fake blond asked, and osamu would've stopped him, if he wasn't curious to hear the answer for himself. still, he doesn't drive his full attention away from the counters he's been wiping, seemingly focused on the simple task.

you chuckled awkwardly under your breath. "that's inappropriate, tsu-"

"c'mon, tell me" he bumps his elbow against yours "can't be that bad"

"no i-... i've never uhm..." osamu can tell you're stumbling and stuttering to find an answer, so he lends you a few helping words.

"'tsumu” he calls "will ya stop harrassin' my employees?"

"'m just talkin' to her samu, no need to make a big fuss" he downs the last of his food and leaves, supposedly in a sudden rush.

it doesn't seem like it’s been hours since then, but the moon hangs low, and the crickets sing outside the window in spite of the late hour. despite the passing of time, not a single word has been said between you and your boss about the conversation you had with his brother, and every minute that passes only seems to thicken the tension between the two of you.

"shit" you mumble, mostly to yourself. you didn’t expect him to shoot up from his place, bent down searching through the lower cabinets.

"watch yer mouth" he says, an evident frown on his face, where he would once smile at you and nod in greeting.

"sorry" you reply, lip pouting slightly while you cleaned off your finger with a paper towel "just got a papercut" the blood tints the paper red and you wince at the stinging sensation.

"here" he holds out his hand to examine yours, even though you already cleaned most of it off, there's still a slight trickle of blood. he wipes it out with the towel he always hangs on his shoulder.

as he cleans your hand, he can't help but think about how it'd look so pretty wrapped around his cock. it would certainly bring more relief than his fist after all this time he's spent thinking about you while stroking himself late at night.

it’s not the first time thoughts like these cloud osamu's mind, but this time he's a little less discreet about it. he stares at your hand like he wants to devour it, and you'd be a fool not to notice it.

"samu?" you call out to his faraway mind, and he snaps out of his thoughs, loosening his grip around your hand.

"right" he mumbles, clearing his throat "sorry"

"thank you" you almost whisper, if he wasn't so close to you, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

he turns and goes back to the cabinets, thinking about what you answered earlier. you'd never what? had sex? were you that uncorrupted?

it would make sense to him, and it would help ease the pain of seeing you let his brother flirt with you like he wasn't even there, but those are all selfish reasons he wants to believe, and he's too scared to ask.

apparently not scared enough.

“what were ya talkin’ about with my brother” he asks, nonchalant as ever, making your breath hitch as you turned around hesitantly.

“we were just chatting” you say, the slightest purse on your lips that tried to relieve the nervousness of the conversation.

“sorry about that” he apologizes. “he can be annoyin’ sometimes”

“oh no, he wasn’t” you lie, clenching around the table cloth you held in your hands. even if the talk had been going smoothly, you still felt on edge after the question his brother left you thinking about. “he was really friendly”

“really?” his hands find comfort in his pockets, and if you’d looked close enough, you would’ve seen the slight smirk in his lip, one that indicates how eager he is to hear what you had to say. “then why didn’ you answer his question?”

if only you knew how much it mattered to him, to know if you were a pretty untouched virgin or not. osamu miya likes to go for girls like you, college girls who look for a quick cashgrab as a part time employee, innocent little girls who unknowingly fall for his charms and next thing you know he’s ruining them with his cock.

but you feel different, you feel delicate. like a pretty piece of porcelain he might break if he continues to toy with you under his calloused hands. yet, he can’t help but think about how perfect he finds your body. perfectly ripe and ready to be filled to the brim with his seed, the perfect age to be plump and round with a child. his child.

“does it matter?”

oh, it does, especially when he pins you against the counter and grips your cheeks between his thumb and his index finger. “samu?” you ask, displaying that innocent look on your face he’d grown to hate.

“i told ya to watch yer mouth” his hands roam down your body until they grab at the back of your thighs. “now jump”

“samu i- i’ve never done anything like-“

“i said jump” hesitant with your actions, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist as he settles you on the shop counter, where he takes off your pants and runs a finger over your clothes slit.

“please” you grip his wrist and beg in hopes for him to stop, but he slaps it away, pinning them behind you with his other hand. he slides your panties down your legs and plays with your clit, circling the nub with his fingertips and watching as your expression changes from one of fear to pleasure.

“please what?” his breath shudders against your neck, where he nuzzles his head and finds comfort in your scent. he slowly inserts a finger into your hole, scanning your face and searching for any signs of discomfort, despite him practically forcing you into this position.

you’re not strong enough to answer him, too lost in the way his fingers feel inside you. you’d been too afraid to do anything by yourself, but god did it feel so good when you gave yourself up to him, slightly bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers and arching your back into his frame.

he’s fond of every little expression you make, the bite of your lips, the clench of your thighs around his hand, and the tilt of your head, willingly granting him access to the skin, all for him to mark, bite and suck. all for him to claim as his.

“d’ya like it?” he asks, putting another one of his fingers to use inside your tight walls, feeling them clench and suck his fingers back inside every time he was close to taking them out.

“yes! yes! i-i... mmh!” you can’t even finish the sentence, not only because you’re sobbing and clenching around his digits uncontrollably at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation, but also because his lips suddenly enclosed yours in a hungry kiss.

he didn’t even have to put up a fight with you, pleased to find you let him do whatever he wanted with your mouth. his tongue tangles with yours in a passionate clash of lips, until he pulls away at the feeling of your hips wildly bucking against his hand, a sign of your inevitable orgasm approaching.

“feels weird ‘samu! ‘s-‘samu please!” the implication of your sensations being new to you made his cock strained against his pants, threatening the thick fabric of his jeans to snap if he grew even harder. the tight knot in your stomach finally snaps when he curls his fingers, sending you into ecstasy as your vision blocked out and you moaned uncontrollably loud.

still, after everything, osamu hasn’t forgotten where he is, and he knows his shop isn’t a decent place to lose your virginity. so he puts you down with shaky legs and slips up your panties, catching you before your trembling thighs can treason you and make you fall.

“do ya have a car here?” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and puts a hand on your hip, guiding you over to the door which he locks before he continues to walk to his car. the dim lighting of the parking made this the perfect spot, if he were to fuck you in his car, no one would see it. but he has self control, or at least he tells himself that.

“no, my friend usually picks me up” he hums an answer and opens the passenger door to his car.

“i live a few minutes from here” he explains “wanna come over?” he asks, fully aware that he’s taking a leap of faith and you could just refuse him. but that’s not the case, and he’s more than happy to see you hesitantly get in his car and put your bag in your lap, covering yourself as much as you can since he ‘forgot’ to give you back your shorts.

the short ride to his house is awkwardly silent, and terribly torturous. his hand had found home in your thigh, and it had only sent an ache between your legs like you’d never felt before, prompting a clench from your thighs every so often.

he wasn’t lying, he only lived ten minutes away from his shop, but the distance seemed so much longer when his lingering touch would leave you high with the need for more.

“you ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you again as he waits for you to take his hand and get out of his car. he’s quick with hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs against his hips, carrying you to his doorway and leading the way to his room. there, he gently placed you on the bed and stripped off his clothing, taking off the apron he should’ve taken off at the shop, his shirt, his pants and—

“eager?” he can see the wanting look in your eyes, he’d be a fool not to notice it. his voice only startles you out of your thoughts, enough to make you stand up and take off your shirt as well, now fully exposed to him if it weren’t for the bra covering up your tits. there’s only so much he can hold back, but right now, with those pretty puppy eyes you unintentionally give him, he just can’t help it when he takes off your bra and slightly suckles at your nipple, circling his tongue around your perky nub and watching your face warm up in embarrassment.

he takes you to his bed again, this time while he plants kisses all over your neck. he’s hungry with the way he nips and bites at the skin, leaving a trail of teeth marks that would need to be covered up in the morning. in the morning, because right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else other than the way he rutted against you.

his cock already seemed big when he hadn’t taken off his briefs, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he slipped them off and rubbed his tip against your clit, right?

he was huge, thick tip dripping precum, with a girth that looked too big to be real, pulsing against your pussy. he positions it against your drooling hole, using your slick to lube up his tip and feeling— metal?

you sit up, leaning against your elbows to see the prince albert piercing that runs along his tip, metal jewelry threatening to slip into your pussy, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“i-it won’t fit!” you kick and shake your thighs around him, only for him to put your ankles together and fold your legs over his shoulder, pinning you down and slipping in the pierced head of his cock. you wince and gasp at the sudden stretch, silenced by his mouth clashing against yours, eagerly nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to drink in all your saccharine moans.

“good girl” he praises, slipping in inch by inch of his cock into your tight virgin walls “fuck- this tight little cunt is suckin’ me in, want ma cock princess? yeah? gonna stuff ya full of me ‘til ya can’t even speak, you’ll just be a dumb baby for me”

“hurts!” your words only drive him closer to shoving himself in one smooth thrust, but he holds back, he sees how much you struggle to take barely half of him, he wants to make this good for you to. he wants to make your first time your best time, the one you’ll remember and think about if you ever fuck another man. he wants to mold your insides to fit his cock perfectly, he wants to train you to be his perfect little girl who won’t find another way to get off if she doesn’t have his cock, he wants you to depend on him to always make you feel good.

“‘s ok princess” he leans down, folding you into a mating press as he kisses your neck and slips in the last of his cock, covered in a thin layer of white sheen. “my good girl, creamin’ around me” he mumbles against your ear while he starts a slow pace into your pussy, carefully rutting his hips into you, almost afraid he would break you. “so pretty”

“please!” you sob, tears stream down your face despite his carefulness, it would break his heart, but he can feel the way your own body betrays you, clenching around him and pulling him in for more of the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. “so big! c-can’t take it!”

“sure ya can, look” he puts a hand to your tummy, guiding you to do the same as he puts his hand over yours. there’s a small bulge, that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts in and out. “you’re takin’ it so well princess, keep yer hand right there” his other hand starts working tight circles against your clit, making you throw back your head at the sudden sensation.

“no! if you do that i-!”

“what are ya gonna do? cum? clench around my cock like yer doin’ right now every time i praise ya?” you fist the sheets to your sides, anything to relieve the aching between your legs and the tight knot that keeps forming in your stomach again.

“please don’t!” you desperately paw at his wrist, only to be slapped away and for him to increase the speed of his cock, rutting into your with more force. suddenly, the head of his piercing hits a different spot, one that left you gasping for air and arching your back against the mattress. “ah! right there- right there ‘samu!”

“yeah? you like it when i fuck ya right there?” he parrots, angling his hips at the same spot over and over, abusing it until he’s sloppily thrusting into you, on the verge of cumming and spilling all his load into you. “my pretty girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat, all because i’m makin’ ya feel good”

“yes ‘samu! please please, please m-make me feel good! wanna cum, please!” fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you scream and beg for him, unwillingly rutting your hips against him as you cum around his cock, your high too much for your sensitive body as you whine uncontrollably when he doesn’t stop. you’re too overstimulated to say a word, gone too dumb on his cock to even realize that you’re babbling little nonsense words about how good you feel, and how much you want him.

“dumb lil’ thing” he says, giving one sharp, final thrust before he empties his load between your legs, deep inside you, careful not to move you too much in fear of his cum spilling out of your clenching hole.

he’s right, you are a dumb little thing, because as soon as he pulls out you’re desperately bucking your hips, blindly searching for him in hope he would fill up the sudden emptiness in your pussy, unintentionally spilling all his hard work between your thighs.

“no!” he grunts, slapping your thigh and grounding you to the mattress as you wince in pain, dark color blossoming at the skin where he’d placed the spank. “look what you’ve done, bad fuckin’ girl” he says, the sudden tone shift sends a tinge of fear all over your body, and you’re reduced to nothing but a kin to a stray puppy, a terrible look of guilt in your eyes, even if you don’t realize what you’ve done wrong.

“look at the mess you made” he mumbles, flipping you over and placing ass up “now i’m gonna have to fill ya up all over again”

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