#spice inserts

[burning-spyce]

it's time for cheesebir- i mean turkey ❕️❕️🍴

[aspenmissing]

Hiii, are you comfortable with writing something about Reader x Arcane character getting caught while making out? Maybe both of them are really stressed and needed a little distraction at work or in a hidden corner somewhere in the city.

ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 4493 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ: ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ʜᴇʜᴇ)

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

The weight of the council meeting still lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Jayce slumped into his chair, one hand dragging through his already-mussed hair, the other tapping mindlessly on the table. Across from him, you mirrored his exhaustion, arms folded as you stared at the mess of blueprints and reports scattered before you.

"This is impossible," Jayce groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. "How do they expect us to solve everything at once?"

You sighed, shaking your head. "They don’t. They just want to watch us try until we collapse."

A humourless chuckle left him as he rolled his shoulders, rubbing at the tension there. His usually confident posture was weighed down with exhaustion, frustration evident in every movement.

The stress had been building for weeks—long meetings, sleepless nights, the pressure of expectation closing in on both of you like a vise. The worst part? You barely had time for each other. Stolen glances, brief touches in passing, but never enough to ease the ache of missing him.

Jayce exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "Maybe we just need a break. Five minutes. Just… something to clear my head."

Your gaze flickered to him, taking in the way his fingers twitched restlessly on the table, how his broad shoulders seemed so tense, like he was carrying the weight of the world.

"I have an idea," you murmured, standing and rounding the desk.

Jayce barely had time to react before you slid onto his lap, straddling him with ease. His eyes widened slightly, but the second your hands cupped his face, his tension melted like snow in the sun.

"What are you—?" His words were cut off as your lips brushed against his.

A slow, lingering kiss. Not rushed, not desperate—just enough to make him forget, to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest as he kissed you back, slow at first, like he was savouring the taste of you. His fingers skimmed your sides before gripping your waist, pulling you just that much closer. The heat of his touch sent a thrill up your spine.

But when you tangled your hands in his hair, tugging lightly, everything shifted.

Jayce exhaled sharply against your lips, the frustration of the day bleeding into something else entirely. His grip on you tightened as he moved suddenly, one strong arm wrapping around your waist while the other gripped the desk.

The next thing you knew, you were on the table.

Papers and blueprints scattered to the floor as Jayce pushed them aside without a second thought. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them just enough for him to step between them, his body pressing into yours.

"Jayce—" you half-gasped, half-laughed, but he swallowed whatever protest you had with another kiss.

This one was different. Deeper. Desperate.

His lips crashed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs, his hands pressing into the curve of your back, pulling you against him like he needed this—needed you—more than anything else.

"You're too damn distracting," he murmured against your lips, breathless, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, skimming the bare skin at your waist.

You smirked, letting your nails drag lightly along the back of his neck. "Funny. I was just about to say the same about you."

His answering chuckle vibrated against your skin before he dipped his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. You shivered as his lips found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"Jayce—" you whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as his hands wandered, heat pooling in your stomach.

And then—

"Ahem."

You froze.

Jayce’s lips lingered against your skin for a second longer before he stilled, his body going rigid.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was none other than Viktor. His expression was somewhere between exasperated and amused, his golden eyes flicking from you to Jayce and then to the mess of scattered papers on the floor.

"I take it this is your solution to stress management?"

Heat flooded your face as you scrambled to push yourself upright. Jayce stepped back immediately, coughing into his fist while straightening his shirt, trying—failing—to look composed.

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. "By all means, don't let me interrupt your… problem-solving session."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Jayce groaned too, dragging a hand down his face, looking anywhere but at Viktor.

Viktor turned to leave but paused just before the door. "I’ll let the council know you’re… preoccupied."

The door shut behind him. Silence stretched between you and Jayce.

Then—

"Of all people, why did it have to be Viktor?" Jayce groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

You bit your lip, barely holding back a laugh as you nudged him. "So… continue?"

Jayce groaned again, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. Maybe stress relief wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

VIKTOR

The apartment was filled with the soft glow of the city beyond its grand windows. Piltover's skyline stretched high in the distance, golden lamplight flickering against the polished glass, illuminating the intricate brass fixtures that adorned the walls. The faint hum of the Hextech trams outside blended with the quiet ticking of the many clocks and machines scattered around the room. The air smelled of ink, metal, and the faint remnants of Viktor’s tea—long forgotten and cold in its cup.

You sat on the couch, head resting against the cushions, eyes trailing Viktor as he paced. His cane tapped against the floor in a slow, rhythmic beat, his free hand raking through his messy curls as he mumbled under his breath.

“This is not working,” he muttered, exhaling sharply. “If I adjust the schematics for the stabilizer, it offsets the energy balance entirely—”

“Viktor.”

He didn’t seem to hear you.

“Viktor.”

Finally, he stopped pacing, turning towards you with tired, golden-brown eyes. The soft candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face, the deep crease between his brows evidence of long nights spent battling his own mind.

“You need to take a break,” you said, patting the space beside you.

“I cannot afford a break,” he countered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. “And what if I make it worth your while?”

His lips twitched, curiosity flickering in his gaze. But before he could overanalyze it, you reached for him, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as you pulled him down. His breath hitched, but he didn’t resist—if anything, he melted into you, his hands bracing on either side of you as your lips met in a slow, desperate kiss.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was the kind of kiss that unraveled knots in the soul, the kind that softened the weight of sleepless nights and overworked minds. His hand cupped your jaw, fingers tracing along your skin as if memorizing the feel of you.

Viktor sighed into the kiss, his body finally relaxing as he deepened it, stealing another taste of you like a man starved. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you found yourself tugging him closer, lips parting to let him in—

Without breaking the kiss, you shifted, moving to straddle his lap, careful not to put too much weight on him. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands found your waist, hesitating only for a second before gripping you as if anchoring himself.

“You’re being reckless,” he murmured against your lips, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“I’m being helpful,” you corrected, brushing your nose against his.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips teasing along the curve of your back. You could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt, the way his pulse quickened beneath your touch.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, leaving slow, lazy kisses against your throat. You tilted your head to give him more access, fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently. The way he sighed, almost blissfully, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Much better than schematics,” he murmured against your skin.

“Mhm,” you hummed, tracing slow circles into his shoulders. “And much better than pacing yourself into exhaustion.”

He chuckled, low and warm, before reclaiming your lips in another kiss, his fingers pressing into your waist. You could feel the tension melting from his body, the weight of his thoughts momentarily forgotten—

"Oh—oh my GOD!"

You both jolted apart, breathless and wide-eyed as the unmistakable voice of Jayce Talis rang through the apartment.

Viktor turned his head just in time to see his best friend standing in the doorway, hand over his eyes like he’d walked in on something far more scandalous.

“Jayce—!” Viktor’s voice cracked slightly, his cheeks burning as he scrambled to straighten his shirt.

“I— I was coming to check on you because you haven’t answered in hours and I was worried but clearly I was wrong to do so—” Jayce rambled, still shielding his vision.

You covered your face with both hands, mortified. Viktor, on the other hand, exhaled slowly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “For the love of— Jayce, knock next time.”

Jayce made a sound somewhere between an embarrassed chuckle and a strangled cough. “You never close your door! I figured you were just working!”

“Well, clearly, I was busy.”

Jayce groaned. “I hate this. I’m leaving. I’m pretending I never saw this. Have fun— or don’t, actually. Just— I’m leaving!”

With that, he fled, the door slamming behind him.

Silence stretched between you and Viktor. Then, despite everything, a small laugh bubbled from your lips. Viktor shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him as well.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his nose brushed against yours, “that was unfortunate.”

You smiled, brushing a stray curl from his face. “Maybe next time we should lock the door.”

He hummed in agreement before pressing another quick kiss to your lips.

“Next time,” he whispered, fingers ghosting along your spine, “I will not be so easily interrupted.”

JAYVIK

The apartment was supposed to be a place of solace, a refuge from the chaos of Piltover’s ever-demanding scientific advancements. Instead, it had become an extension of the lab—blueprints scattered over the coffee table, half-finished devices blinking with dim light, and a lingering scent of metal and ozone in the air.

Viktor sat hunched over a set of schematics, fingers curled into his hair, while Jayce paced in front of the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Y/N, squeezed between them on their small shared couch, rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of their collective stress.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Jayce finally muttered, throwing himself onto the couch beside her with a heavy sigh. “We need a break.”

Viktor snorted but didn’t argue. He just leaned back, rolling his stiff shoulders. Y/N looked between them, their exhaustion clear in the droop of their eyes and the tension in their muscles.

“A break,” she echoed, thoughtful. A smirk tugged at her lips before she turned to Viktor first, placing a hand against his cheek to guide him to her. He inhaled sharply, but when she kissed him, his breath softened against her lips.

Jayce chuckled beside them. “Oh, I see what kind of break you mean.”

Y/N barely had time to grin before Jayce tilted her head toward him, catching her lips in a deeper kiss. His hands were warm against her waist, his touch grounding, and when he pulled away, Viktor leaned in, catching Jayce’s mouth in his own.

The stress that had suffocated them melted away between kisses, fingers threading through hair, soft sighs filling the space. Viktor’s hands found Y/N’s hips as she curled into him, and Jayce’s fingers brushed against Viktor’s wrist before cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in again. It was the kind of comfort they all needed, a reminder that despite the frustrations, they had each other. The warmth between them built steadily, deepening with each brush of lips, each squeeze of hands against familiar bodies.

And then the door opened.

“What the—”

All three of them froze.

Caitlyn stood in the doorway, eyes wide, a folder of papers tucked under her arm. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again as she took in the sight of all three of them tangled together on the couch, breathless and undeniably caught.

“Uh,” Jayce started, clearing his throat and trying to shift subtly, but Viktor was still half in his lap, Y/N’s fingers still curled in Viktor’s shirt. “We were, um, taking a break?”

Caitlyn blinked. Then smirked. “I can see that.”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. Jayce just let out a nervous laugh. “You’re, uh… you’re early.”

Caitlyn lifted the folder. “Heimerdinger wanted me to drop these off. But, uh, I’ll just… leave them here.” She set the papers on the counter, giving them all one last amused glance before backing toward the door. “Carry on.”

The door clicked shut, leaving silence in her wake.

Y/N exhaled, pulling away from Viktor’s shoulder to glance between her lovers. “Well. That happened.”

Jayce ran a hand down his face, groaning. “We’re never living this down, are we?”

Viktor, ever the unbothered one, simply chuckled. “I highly doubt this is the most scandalous thing Caitlyn has ever walked in on.”

Y/N smirked, brushing a thumb over Viktor’s cheek. “Guess we’ll just have to get used to locking the door.”

Jayce huffed a laugh and leaned back. “Yeah. Next time, we plan our distractions better.”

“Next time?” Viktor mused, arching a brow.

Y/N grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

Jayce grinned too, leaning his head back against the couch. “You know,” he mused, eyes flicking between the two of them, “I don’t regret it.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Of course you don’t.”

Y/N nudged him. “Neither do you.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh before conceding. “No. I do not.”

Jayce let out a satisfied hum, looping an arm around both of them. “Then I say we finish our break properly… after we actually lock the door.”

Y/N and Viktor exchanged looks before laughing softly, leaning into his embrace as the tension from the day fully melted away. Even with the inevitable teasing from Caitlyn and whoever she told, they had each other—and that was enough.

VANDER

The Last Drop was busier than usual, filled with the usual rowdy crowd, the smell of stale ale, and the low hum of conversation. Vander rubbed his temple, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It had been a long day—dealing with drunken fools who thought they were tougher than they were, extra mouths to feed, and the constant chaos of running the bar.

Y/N was just as exhausted, having spent the day tending to the younger kids and ensuring no one got into trouble. Stress hung between them like a thick cloud, and one knowing glance was all it took before Vander took her by the wrist and led her into the small backroom of The Last Drop.

The moment the door shut behind them, she barely had time to breathe before he was on her, pressing her up against the wooden wall. His large hands gripped her thighs, lifting her with ease as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. His lips were firm and demanding, the taste of whiskey still lingering on his tongue as he kissed her deeply. She sighed into him, letting the tension of the day melt away, fingers threading through the silver streaks of his beard as he growled low in his throat.

He pressed himself closer, his body flush against hers, trapping her against the wall. The heat between them was undeniable, the way his hands kneaded at her thighs making her breath hitch. His kisses grew more intense, hungry, as his mouth trailed along her jaw, down the column of her throat, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. She gasped softly as his teeth grazed her pulse, a smirk tugging at his lips at the sound.

“Vander,” she breathed, gripping his shoulders tighter. He chuckled against her skin, his hands shifting under her thighs, pressing her higher, closer.

“You always sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers before diving back in, this time deeper, more desperate. His fingers dug into her hips, grounding himself in the moment as she tugged at the strands of his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

“You know how to drive me crazy, woman,” he murmured against her lips, his breath warm as he trailed kisses down her neck.

She grinned, tilting her head back to give him better access. “Then maybe I should do it more often.”

She could feel the rumble of his chest as he let out a pleased sigh, savouring her, indulging in her. The tension of the day faded, replaced by something heady, something undeniable—

“Vander?”

The sound sent a jolt through him, and before he could react, his grip on Y/N loosened. With a surprised yelp, she slipped from his hold and landed on the floor with a graceless thud.

Vander winced. “Shit—Y/N, love, you alright?” He knelt quickly, reaching out to help her up, but the glare she shot him had him pausing.

“Do I look alright?” she hissed, rubbing her sore backside. “You dropped me!”

The voice outside knocked again. “Vander?”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “One second, kid!” He turned back to Y/N, his expression sheepish. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered, swatting his hand away and getting up on her own. “You owe me for that.”

Vander sighed, but a small smirk played at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it up to ya later.”

“You better.”

Straightening his clothes, he took one last look at her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and narrowed eyes—and sighed before heading to the door. As soon as he cracked it open, he was met with Vi’s unimpressed face.

“Really?” she deadpanned, arms crossed.

Vander sighed again. “Not a word, Vi.”

She grinned. “Oh, I was gonna say I needed your help with something, but after seeing that? I think I’ll just go tell Enzo instead.”

Vander groaned as she walked off, chuckling to herself, while Y/N simply shook her head behind him.

“We need a better backroom.”

SILCO

The dim glow of Zaun’s skyline filtered through the blinds of Silco’s office, casting jagged shadows across the room. The scent of smoke and whiskey lingered, mixing with the faint metallic tang of ink and gunpowder.

You sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching him. He was tense—his fingers pressed against his temples as he reviewed documents, his ever-present cigar smoldering in the ashtray beside him. The weight of the undercity rested heavy on his shoulders, and tonight, it seemed heavier than usual.

“You need a break,” you murmured.

Silco exhaled sharply, a humourless chuckle leaving his lips. “Zaun doesn’t rest, my dear. And neither do I.”

You pushed off the desk and moved toward him, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. He was stiff beneath your touch, his body coiled like a spring, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale as your fingers trailed along his collar, loosening the tension there.

“Then let me help,” you whispered, sliding into his lap.

His mismatched eyes flickered up to meet yours, a silent challenge in them. “Oh?”

You straddled him, resting your hands against his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as if grounding himself. The shift in power between you was intoxicating, a game you both played so well.

His lips found yours, slow and deliberate at first, teasing, testing. But when you tugged at the collar of his vest, pulling him closer, the dam broke. The kiss deepened, rougher, more desperate. A growl vibrated against your lips as he shifted, his hands gripping you tighter before he stood, turning, laying you across the desk in one swift movement.

Papers fluttered to the floor, his knee nudging between your legs as he braced himself above you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his restraint slipping, his need surfacing.

Your hands roamed over his chest, tugging at the buttons of his vest, eager to feel him without the layers between you. Silco’s breath hitched slightly at your insistence, his fingers tightening on your hips in response. The fabric loosened under your touch, the top buttons slipping free as your nails scraped lightly against his exposed skin. He growled against your lips, his mouth trailing down to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You’re playing with fire, love,” he rasped, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you shot back, your fingers slipping lower, pushing the vest further open.

Silco let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your thighs, “I don’t do half-measures.”

“I know,” you whispered, tilting your head as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just beneath your jaw. “That’s why I’m here.”

He pressed closer, his weight pinning you against the desk, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. “Always so eager,” he mused, his fingers tracing down your sides, slipping beneath your blouse, teasing the skin beneath. “And so damn tempting.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse. “Then stop talking,” you breathed, a smirk curling at your lips. “And do something about it.”

The heat between you was electric, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. Then, the door slammed open.

Silco didn’t stop—didn’t pull away. His weight remained pressed over you, his breath still warm against your throat. But his head snapped up, his sharp mismatched eyes locking onto the intruder with a deadly glare.

His hand slid to the side, fingers wrapping around the pistol resting beside his ashtray. Without shifting an inch from his place above you, he lifted the gun, aiming it directly at the unfortunate soul who had just interrupted.

“Get. The hell. Out.”

A strangled noise left the intruder’s throat—one of shock and perhaps a touch of fear. They stammered something unintelligible, clearly regretting whatever urgent reason had brought them here.

Silco cocked the gun, his grip steady. “I won’t ask again.”

As the intruder stood frozen in place, your hands continued their work, fingers slowly undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. You could feel the slight tension in his muscles, the way his breath hitched as your fingers traced over the newly exposed skin.

His grip on the gun didn’t falter, but the slight twitch of his jaw revealed that he was aware—oh, so aware—of your touch. You smirked against his collarbone, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there, reveling in the contrast between his deadly stillness and the heat rolling between you both.

With a muttered apology, the intruder scrambled backward, slamming the door shut behind them.

Silco exhaled through his nose, his gaze still fixed on the door. Only when the room was silent again did he shift his attention back to you. A slow, dark smirk curled at his lips, his voice low and dangerous.

“Now… where were we?”

MEL

The grand halls of the Piltover Council shimmered under the golden glow of the chandelier lights. Stately, regal, and intimidating as always. But in that moment, they were also completely empty—except for two figures entangled at the grand council table, right at Mel Medarda’s designated seat.

Mel’s fingers traced slow, languid circles against Y/N’s waist, the warmth of her touch seeping through layers of silk and gold-trimmed fabric. Y/N, half-seated, half-pinned against the polished surface, could feel the cool marble beneath her, a stark contrast to the heat between them. She sighed softly as Mel pressed closer, trapping her in place with the gentle yet commanding presence that made it impossible to think of anything else.

“You’re distracted,” Mel murmured against her lips, voice rich like honeyed wine. “You’re always so serious, my love.”

Y/N let out a breathless chuckle. “Says the woman who orchestrates half of Piltover’s political schemes.”

Mel tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. “Exactly. Which is why I know when it’s time to take a break.”

Before Y/N could respond, Mel leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. It was slow, unhurried—an indulgence neither of them could often afford. Y/N melted into it, her hands sliding up to cradle Mel’s face, fingers tracing along the delicate golden ornaments adorning her.

The tension that had been knotting in both their shoulders, the weight of the Council’s never-ending debates, the pressure of expectations—it all faded into the background. For a moment, there was only warmth, only the way Mel sighed into Y/N’s mouth as their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate.

The world outside their little sanctuary ceased to exist.

Until, of course, the sound of a sharply cleared throat shattered the illusion.

They jerked apart, Mel’s regal composure returning in an instant, though her lips were still slightly parted, a single golden brow arched in intrigue. Y/N, on the other hand, felt her face burn as she turned toward the source of their interruption.

Councilor Hoskel stood a few feet away, arms crossed, an expression hovering between scandalized and deeply amused.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “I suppose I should be grateful that at least some of our esteemed members know how to… ‘negotiate’ effectively.”

Mel, utterly unbothered, hummed and tilted her head toward Y/N. “Would you say we reached an agreeable consensus, darling?”

Y/N, still breathless, exhaled a laugh. “I’d say the matter was well settled.”

Hoskel huffed, shaking his head as he turned on his heel. “I saw nothing,” he muttered as he strode off. “And I’ll continue seeing nothing, provided you keep it outside the Council Hall.”

Mel watched him go, then turned back to Y/N with a satisfied smirk. “That’s one way to adjourn a meeting.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face against Mel’s shoulder. “We’re never going to live this down.”

Mel only laughed, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Perhaps. But I promise you, my love—it was well worth it.”

[dragon-curse-au]

Some shadow milk angst? 🥺👉👈

How the mighty have fallen.

[sugoi-and-spice]

perfect, just perfect...

Serial Killer!Dabi x Reader x Serial Killer!Shigaraki

Summary: In which Dabi and Tomura Shigaraki are women-targeting serial killers and do what serial killers do. That’s it. That’s the fic.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Serial Killers/Slashers!AU, Explicit Smut, Non-Con/Rape, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse, Rough Sex, Asphyxiation, Mysoginy, Dead Dove: Do Not FUCKING Eat

A/N: Hey,, remember when I was gonna do a Halloween AU series? Neither do I!! Anyway, here's my first entry in my own event - out of order!! Enjoyyyy. (or not, this one's pretty gnarly ngl lol)

Cross-Posted on AO3

“P-Please… Stop, please…”

A smack. A loud one. Sounded like it was right across the face, and Dabi wouldn’t doubt if it was. Shigaraki really liked to mess up the face.

“Oh come on, you can beg better than that.”

“N-No, I— I…”

“No no — I know you can. You just were begging— begging fucking amazing too. Come on. Do it, you worthless slut.”

Dabi rolled his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette as he stood watch outside the reconstructed Toyota Hiace they made their base of operations. One they’d gutted the seats out of to make room for a full-size mattress and some metal grating dividing the front seats from the back. 

A killing machine.

They parked it outside the city, in an endless valley of nature only ever occupied by a few off the grid campers. Ones that wouldn’t be suspicious of a lone van and two men in the middle of nowhere. They were also ones who typically had very few connections back home.

Who nobody would miss if they saw too much.

“Oi— I’m talking to you, slut! Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Jesus, this must’ve been the thirtieth time that Shigaraki called her a slut this session. How uncreative could one demented incel be? He’d kind of expected more from the bastard…

Truth be told, he didn’t particularly like his partner in crime. They weren’t friends, they were barely even acquaintances. But they were kindred spirits. Two particularly violent young men who’d met on a particularly violent darknet forum about women.

And the inhumane positions they’d love to put them in.

Of course, just because they both lived for the end result, didn’t mean that they agreed on the journey there. 

Shigaraki was a raging misogynist and by-the-book incel. He despised women, wanted to take revenge on them for everything he felt they did wrong to him. He wanted to make them bleed because he wanted to make them hurt. Because he was full of anger and disgust and hate. 

Dabi was the opposite. He loved women. The unique beauty of every single one, the range of emotions they showed in their darkest, most desperate moments. Emotions he himself was never allowed to show. Ugh, the euphoria of it all. He loved women so much he wanted to see every part of them.

Including their insides.

“Come on you ugly fuck!” Shigaraki snapped from inside the van, “Scream! It’s all you’re fucking good for!”

…Truth be told, Dabi wasn’t sure why exactly he’d partnered up with Shigaraki of all people. He’d been looking for a co-pilot for this sick and twisted little endeavor of his for a while, and there had been many others in the forums who probably would’ve been better fits personality-wise, who seemed more agreeable. Guys who weren’t so picky about the girls they picked, who didn’t grumble and gripe when it came time to finally cleaning up their mess, who didn’t use the “standing watch” excuse when it came to carrying the bodies to the disposal spots. 

Who didn’t put their disgusting fucking feet on his dashboard…

That being said, while they both lived almost exclusively on the other’s last nerve, they also had a strange, almost psychic symbiosis. They balanced each other out. Dabi was emotional and passionate, often getting over-excited by the next prospective victim, moved so intensely by his passion upon seeing a new girl walking down the street or sitting at the bar that he wanted to grab them right there and then. Shigaraki on the other hand was meticulous and paranoid, holding him back until he was absolutely sure that they wouldn’t get caught. 

He kept them careful at the beginning of the kill. 

Whereas Dabi, who truly believed that he held a lot of deep respect for the women they abducted, wanted to be careful with their bodies after the fact. Shigaraki grew bored easily and completely. He often wanted to just dump the bodies down a valley or in a back alley and move onto the next one. A broken toy wasn’t worth another second in his mind. But Dabi wanted better for the girls. He wanted them to have a proper burial. Deep, deep in the ground where nobody else could ever find them. 

He kept them careful at the end of the kill.

Dabi exhaled a long stream of smoke as he considered where their latest little sylph would be buried. They had passed a grove of what looked like magnificent spider lilies on the way out of town.

Maybe he was thinking too much into all this, he kind of had to whenever it was Shigaraki’s turn. The brutish way in which he handled and defiled these girls, it always made Dabi contemplate just what redeeming factor he had ever seen in the guy. 

And then he’d hear them, the screams Shigaraki managed to rip out of their victims. Screams that only came from a level of brutality Dabi would never be able to inflict himself. They were so unique, so beautiful, so perfect . And they were sounds that he’d never be able to hear if it weren’t for Shigaraki.

Truthfully, that alone was worth the endless collection of crushed Monster cans that littered the floor of his van.

It had gotten pretty quiet in there now. The screams, the pleading, even the choked little sobs of self-pity, all muted to nothing. There was only the creaking of tired mattress springs, Shigaraki’s heavy breathing and grunting, and the occasional sound of a slap followed by irritated mumbling. Yeah, she was losing all will to fight. Which meant it was just about time for—

“Oi,” Shigaraki snapped as if on cue, throwing the van door open, “She’s no fun anymore. You take her.”

Dabi took a long last drag of his cigarette, watching as Shigaraki climbed out and readjusted himself in his pants. His partner-in-crime gave him a weirded, disgusted look at the way he took his time.

“What’re you fucking staring at me for? You want me to off her or something?”

 Dabi waved him off, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stepping it out, “Nah, nah. I’m on it.”

“Hop to it then,” Shigaraki barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the passenger door of the van, “We’ve been here long enough already.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Dabi retorted as he stepped into the van.

Shigaraki whipped around, “Get bent!”

“I’m trying to,” Dabi threw right back, slamming the van door closed behind him.

He quickly pulled back his cool once he was inside. It really was amazing how quickly and effectively Shigaraki pissed him off. But he knew he needed to simmer it. He didn’t want to let his own anger and hate slip out too much in front of his newest precious angel. He’d hate to scare her off.

Dabi turned back to her with a small, but reassuring smile, “Hello.” 

Of course, she didn’t respond, didn’t even bother to look at him. 

She laid in more or less the same position he’d left her to Shigaraki in. Arms and legs pulled wide, cuffed to the rods mounted on each side of the van. Her once smooth and spotless skin was now swollen and purple, black and yellow in some places even, where Shigaraki had managed to break a rib and an ankle. Dry blood caked her nose and the corner of her mouth while fresh blood seeped onto the mattress out of recent scratches and cuts Shigaraki had inflicted in a last ditch effort to make her wail again.

None of that bothered him though, quite the opposite actually. He loved a roughed up woman, one at her most natural and vulnerable. It was the beauty that got him into this in the first place. No, what Dabi turned his nose up at was Shigaraki’s loads spilling out of her abused pussy, all onto her raw, reddened thighs and the crumpled tear-stained sheets. 

Ugh, see this is why he’d said no when Shigaraki asked if they should get an apartment together. The motherfucker never cleaned up after himself.

“P-Please…”

Dabi turned his attention back to her face, to her eyes, dull and lifeless, staring right through the back wall of the van.

“Just kill me already…”

Oh, this sweet thing, he thought, tilting his head at her sympathetically.

He climbed onto the mattress next to her then, resting a hand gently on her hip, careful not to put any pressure on the bruises littered there. She didn’t even flinch when he did it. She was that far gone.

“Kill you?” he asked, curiosity far from feigned.

“Aren’t you those serial killers that have been on the news lately? The ones that—” she couldn’t even finish. The fate that she knew of being too much to leave her throat.

“Huh. Are we now?” he said, mostly to himself as he had a real epiphany from those words. So they were serial killers, were they? 

Yeah, he could work with that…

She buried her head into the mattress, trying to muffle the dry sobs from ducts that had long gone barren.

“Please, if you’re gonna do it then just do it already! I can’t go on anymore! I can’t take it…”

He ran the back of his hand slowly, whisperingly down her cheek, “Talk to me beautiful. Tell me how I can make this better.”

This finally got something out of her. A snort of sick, stupid amusement, weak and wheezy.

“God, what fucking game are you two playing? Some sick good killer, bad killer shtick?”

Dabi smiled. She sure was spunky. Even now. What a lovely quality.

“No,” he breathed, dusting feather light kisses down her neck, her chest, that sweet, soft tummy… “No games.”

He buried his nose into the crux her thigh, reveling in the heat and tremble of her raw, abused thighs.

“W-What are you doing?!” she gasped, a whole new flavor of fear coating her voice.

“Just relax,” he purred, kissing a path all the way to her center, “I’m not gonna hurt you…”

She cried out as he licked up the length of her cunt, flicking the stud in his tongue against her clit playfully when he got there. She tried to move her hips away from him, still completely baffled and terrified by not knowing what he was going to do to her, but thanks to her restraints, the struggle only ended up pushing her hips closer to Dabi’s lips in a grind motion. A wanting motion. 

It spurred him on to pleasure her further as the delusion of her reciprocation had him falling utterly in love.

Shigarai’s spunk was still slipping out of her, heavy and salty on his tongue as he buried it deeper inside her, but that didn’t matter. Her own sweetness overpowered it, those resistant sobs overpowering all of his senses, sending him into a delirium of pleasure.

Fuck, how much he wanted to throw her legs up over his shoulders, coil his arms tight around her and devour her, but he resisted. He knew how raw and wounded she was, and all he wanted from her now was a fraction of the bliss that she was giving him.

“P-Please! I don’t— nngh! ”

Her sounds were brand new now — constant choked sobs of despair and self-hatred over the way her body reacted against her will. She was so raw and oversensitive from Shigaraki’s brutal treatment, Dabi’s own gentle, devoted ministrations had her ankles straining up painfully against her restraints as she came in mere minutes.

Dabi pulled away, a crooked, love-drunk smile on his face as he watched her trembling chest rise and fall, listened to the sweet serenade of her wheezing breaths.

He hummed happily as he pulled himself back up to her level. He cupped his hand gently along her cheek.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

She snapped back to him, anger tearing violently through her “afterglow”.

“ Fuck you .” she quite literally spat, a newfound fire within her that set his own body ablaze.

Dabi brought a thumb to his cheek, stroking the spit she’d hurled at him to the corner of his own mouth. His tongue reached to meet it, and he shuddered as both of her tastes mingled on his palate.

Fuck, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He quickly back onto his haunches, trying to not let his desperation to be inside her rush or roughen his movements. He still wanted her to enjoy this, but it was taking every bit of self-control he could muster not to blow his load over the sound of her voice alone.

“W-Wait!” she yelped out, as she felt him line himself up at her entrance, “You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”

“I won’t sweetheart,” he breathed, easing his cockhead in slowly, “I promise this won’t hurt.”

“But it does! You doing this now— you’re hurting me!”

He groaned as her heat completely engulfed him. Between the mix of her own arousal and Shigaraki’s, and the desperate pulsing of her insides, post-orgasm, he barely even had to push his hips. 

“There’s no need to lie now, your body’s completely giving you away,” he grinned, dropping his forehead to rest against hers, “Your pussy is sucking me right in.”

She choked out a sob as he rocked out of her just barely, then buried himself again, somehow deeper than before.

“ Fuck —” he groaned, “I couldn’t pull out if I tried. Your body just wants me that bad. Doesn’t it baby?”

She tried to stifle a moan as his soft yet sturdy thrusts hit that perfect angle inside of her. She managed to keep the pleasure of the sound locked in the base of her throat, allowing out only a stilted and very unladylike grunt in its place.

The horrid little sound didn’t put Dabi off in the slightest though. If anything, it endeared him. He smiled, almost giddily, as he watched that strain and struggle coarse through her. She really was perfect no matter what she did, wasn’t she?

They all were, after all.

“How does it feel, sweetheart?” he urged her again between thrusts, “Do you like it like this? Does it feel good?”

“N-No, it doesn’t…” she whimpered out hoarsely, that momentary fire from before quickly extinguishing as she felt her dignity once again slipping away “Just stop…”

Dabi’s brows pinched disappointedly, hips slowing to a near-stop. 

“You don’t like it like this? Soft and sweet?”

She looked back up at him, confusion creasing her own cute little face.

His hand on her hip started to tighten, nails digging deliberately into the meat of her hip, “Maybe then you liked Shigaraki’s way better…”

Her eyes widened.

“Well I can certainly do that too,” he breathed, hip suddenly snapping painfully into her.

“N-No!” she yelped, “No, please I—!” she squeezed her eyes closed tight, trying to hold back her tears, as a particularly rough thrust jostled her broken rib painfully, “I want it soft! It felt so good what you were doing before! Please! ”

“Are you sure?” Dabi tilted his head, pounding hips having yet to slow, “Don’t just say that because you think it’s what I want. This is supposed to be good for the both of us.”

“I-I’m not! Really, I mean it! I want it soft, please!” she cried out, “Please! Fuck me soft, g-gentle! Just—!”

His hips finally eased to a soft roll.

“...yeah?”

She opened her eyes then, and instantly her blood ran cold. His voice was soft and romantic, he’d gotten that part of his act down to a science, but clearly he hadn’t quite figured out how to keep that sadistic fervor from his face. 

His eyes were wide, pupils blown. He was clearly trying to keep his smile even and comforting, but he couldn’t fight the way those corners twitched higher and higher, teeth grinding and showing through harder and clearer. 

Just a horrible face. 

This man was clearly no more a voice of reason than his more blatantly violent partner outside. He too was clearly deranged, a powder keg. Completely unpredictable.

And that made him a thousand times scarier.

Dabi leaned in closer to her, fighting to keep the manic tremble from his voice, “You want me to make love to you?” 

She gulped hard, desperate to keep the absolute terror from her voice, “Y-Yes. Please… M-Make love to me…”

He stared down at her for a long moment, utterly reveling in those words long enough for her to start panicking that maybe she’d said the wrong thing. 

But thankfully — god, she couldn’t believe she was thinking that — they were exactly the words he wanted to hear. He dropped his head down into her chest, groaning unabashedly as he began to hump into her again, slower for sure, but also deeper. With his entire body and being.

“Fuck, yeah… Yeah baby. Anything you want. I’ll do anything you fucking want…”

She choked out a joyless laugh at that. Anything she wanted, huh? What a fucking joke.

“You’re so good, fuck— perfect . And you too— it’s good for you? Come on tell me baby. I wanna hear how good I make you feel—”

“Uh-huh, it’s good…” she said flatly as she slipped into dissociation.

She stared up at the same tear in the headliner she’d tried to focus on by the end of Shigaraki’s torture, thinking about how oddly shaped it was. Those kinds of tears were usually outright holes, maybe with a flap of fabric hanging off of it. Or maybe it’d be just a little tear, a small line practically unnoticeable in the dim light of this van. But this one was different. Long and unnatural, it almost looked like a big Frankenstein surgical stitch. Or like the dermal piercings running up her captor’s cheeks—

Fuck. Her eyes fell back on her captors flushed, blissed out face. The electric blue of his eyes, the babbling growls spilling from his lips. She was having a much harder time tuning the pleasure out with this man than she’d had tuning out the pain with the previous one, and she didn’t know why.

Maybe it was because he was kind of her type. That’s exactly what she’d thought when he leaned out of the car window to ask her for directions after all. Watching him move over her like this, leaning down to catch her lips passionately with his own more frequently as time went on she couldn’t help but picture an alternate universe. 

One where he really had been asking for directions to the beach. Where he’d been alone in his car rather than having a freak friend in the back, lying in wait. And where she’d been standing on the well-trafficked main street just a couple blocks down instead of in front of the empty alleyway she’d been smoking a blunt in when he’d stopped. 

A universe where they’d flirted and hit it off and exchanged phone numbers and eventually he’d taken her on a date rather than just taken her. Where these sweet nothings and pleasurable rolls of his hips were accompanied with champagne and room service rather than rope and broken bones.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pictured it all, what a wonderful life this could’ve been.

“Shhh, shh, shhh,” he cooed, “It’s okay. You’re so perfect, it’s okay…”

But that only caused her to sob harder, face reddening voice straining as she wailed uncontrollably. She didn’t even notice Dabi’s hand slipping up along her body and up to the base of her neck.

His thumb settled snug into that soft, sensitive dip of her throat.

God, she was crying so hard now, she couldn’t breathe.

And then he started to squeeze.

Wait, no, really. She couldn’t fucking breathe —!

She gasped out suddenly, arms instinctually shooting forward to try and force his hand off, but she was once again denied by her restraints. She quickly shifted gears, thrashing her body up and down wildly. And for a moment, she did loosen his grip.

But then he brought his second hand to her throat, pushing her deeper into the mattress.

“Perfect,” he growled through the steady snapping of his hips, “So fucking perfect…”

Her throat bobbed and begged as he constricted his hands tighter, getting lost in the song of her voice getting steadily higher, weaker, until she couldn’t form a word at all, could only gurgle and croak desperately. 

“Oh yeah, just like that. Be good for me baby,” he groaned, “Be good…”

He couldn’t say that this was the best part of these excursions, he savored every moment of it after all. 

…But there was something particularly special about these last few moments. 

It was so rare that anybody actually got to witness them, let alone experience them with their own hands — this perfect feeling of her body both tightening and going pliant around him, stiff and spasming, not to mention the view of it all that sent him barrelling frantically towards his release.

Fuck, she was so pretty! The way her drool spilled out her mouth, all gurgled and frothy. That lovely shade of blue she was starting to turn. The rabid fear that filled those eyes before they started to roll back — fuck even the pink undersides of her eyes were cute. He wondered what the backs of them, the optic nerves, looked like. He was sure they’d be adorable. 

He couldn’t wait to see.

[rexscanonwife]

✨️ The whole Utonium family! ✨️

Today marks one year since I started shipping with Professor Utonium and enjoying the show with my partner!! Occasionally it can get overshadowed by other spinterests (I'm looking at you, star wars > . >) but there's no denying how dear he and the girls are to my heart!! 💖💖

Utonium is simultaneously a genius and an absolute goofball who makes my heart burst with love sometimes with how loving and caring he is with his daughters! A brilliant scientist and a fantastic father, and Jane Doe's true love!

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @flowering-darkness @sunstar-of-the-north @changeling-selfship @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @tropgothships

@little-miss-selfships @starlos-soulmate @limey-self-inserts @candyheartedchy @space-sweetheart @clancykisser @squips-ship @berryshipbasket

@soulnottainted @homevideorentals @severants @tex-treasures @sparkyscissorhands @iwishihadfangs @fictodreamer

[ivorybride]

let her dream

og pic below the cut

[nayykura]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ – burning spice cookie x daughter!reader

You don’t understand with your own father’s mind, he destroyed everything because of boredom?

Your father a promised saviour falling into corruption because of boredom?

BOREDOM?!

“Father please stop…” You hold your father’s arm tightly “you destroy everything because of boredom..?, you throw away all the good thing because of boredom..?” Tears came out of your eyes while staring at your father begging to stop doing all this mess.

“…”

You have tried various ways to get him to change but it doesn't work, no matter how hard you try it still doesn't work. You're tired of all this, you want your old father back, you miss him.

Until the witches realize it, they punish your father and his four friends by sealing them away.

After the incident passed, you chose to leave everything behind, leave your once called home and change your identity.

— part 2 coming soon !!

[whereslynx]

heyyyyy I am new here, but i love all of your fanfics They are amazing and I've been looking for someone who's been writing for spooky from on my block and I love it so much. Can you do a fic where y/n is ovulating like heavily 😩 but Oscar everytime she trys to have sex he tells her no because he's been stressed out from all the gang stuff until one day she just starts yelling at him because she want him so bad but he won't let her touch him then he gets mad and is like 'fine Is this what you wanted' then he like picks he up and throws her on the bed and fucks her roughly and he talks her through it the whole time?

Ik this is a long ask but I feel like you would write this story the best ty sm bye<333

-🪽

a/n: guys, y’all don’t have to apologise about long requests!! i love when you guys are detailed about what you guys want because it helps me feed y’all HAHAHAHAH. BUT YESSS, LOVE THE SPICE AND THANK U POOKIE FOR THE SUPPORT!!!

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The tension in the air was thick, the kind that had been brewing for days now. You could feel it every time you looked at Oscar, every time his broad shoulders seemed weighed down with stress, every time he brushed past your advances with a tired, “Not now, mami.”

But “not now” had stretched into what felt like forever, and you were done being patient.

Oscar sat on the couch, his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. The weight of the world seemed to be on his broad shoulders, the stress of the Santos and Prophets and keeping his loved ones safe taking its toll. He could feel your eyes on him, watching him with a mix of concern and frustration.

You stood in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed, your cheeks flushed a deep pink. The ache between your legs was becoming unbearable, your body crying out for his touch, his love, his seed.

You'd been dropping hints for days, weeks even, but Oscar had brushed you off each time, too consumed by his own thoughts and worries.

It started subtly - a suggestive comment here, a lingering touch there. You'd lean in close when talking to him, letting him catch a whiff of your perfume. You'd wear his favorite outfit, the one you knew made your curves look irresistible. At night, you'd sleep in his t-shirts, the scent of him surrounding you, fueling your desire.

One evening, as you cooked dinner together, you "accidentally" dropped your apron, letting it pool around your feet. You bent over slowly to pick it up, making sure he got a perfect view of your lace panties. He'd cleared his throat, trying to hide his reaction, but you saw the way his pants tightened.

Other times, you'd be a bit more direct. Like when you straddled his lap on the couch, tracing his defined chest with teasing fingers. "I miss you," you'd whispered, rolling your hips against his. He'd gripped your waist, his breath hitching, but still held back.

Or the time in the shower, steam fogging up the glass. You'd let out a loud, needy moan, hoping he'd hear you through the running water. But he just sighed, shaking his head as he washed himself, ignoring your desperate plea.

But nothing worked. No matter how much you tried to seduce him, to make him see how much you needed him, he kept his distance. Until that fateful day when you couldn't take it anymore - the ache in your core, the throbbing between your legs, the constant, gnawing hunger for his touch.

"Oscar," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "We need to talk."

He looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours. He could see the desperation etched on your face, the way your body seemed to be practically vibrating with need. But he was just too drained, too exhausted to give in to your desires.

"Not now, amor," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not in the mood."

Your frustration boiled over, months of pent-up longing and lust threatening to consume you. You stomped over to him, jabbing a finger at his chest.

"No, that's not good enough anymore!" you shouted, your face inches from his. "I need you. I need this. And you can't just keep brushing me off because of the fucking Santos!"

He only sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Mami, I’m not pushing you away. I just… I can’t right now.” he grumbled, his head down as if he refused to face you.

“Can’t or won’t?”

That made him pause. He stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“I’m losing my mind over here!” you burst out, your voice trembling with frustration. “I want you, Oscar. I need you, and you keep shutting me out like I’m some kind of distraction.”

His jaw ticked, but he stayed silent, which only made your frustration grow.

“Do you even want me anymore?” you demanded, your voice breaking just slightly. “Because if you don’t—”

“Stop.” His voice was low, commanding, and it sent a shiver down your spine. He stood slowly, his full height towering over you as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t ever say that.”

You held your ground, even though your heart was pounding. “Then stop treating me like I’m invisible, Oscar.”

Something in his expression shifted—something darker, more intense. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the way your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. “You really wanna do this right now?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, not backing down.

He stared at you for a long moment, his jaw working as if he was trying to decide whether to argue or give in. Finally, he let out a low, humorless laugh.

“Fine,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl. “Is this what you wanted?”

Before you could respond, he reached out, sweeping you up into his strong arms. He carried you to the bed, throwing you down onto the bed with a thud. He crawled over you, pinning your wrists above your head, his hips settling between your thighs.

"I'll give you what you want," he growled, his erection already straining against his jeans. "I'll fuck this needy pussy so hard, you won't be able to walk straight for a week."

"Please..." you whimpered, arching up against him desperately.

"Shh, I got you," he murmured, his hand slid down your body, his calloused fingers skimming over your sensitive skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down your legs in one swift motion. The cool air hit your overheated flesh, making you gasp.

“Look at this pretty little coño," he purred, his thumb brushing against your dripping slit. "So wet and ready for me already."

He circled your clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck off the bed. His other hand slid under your shirt, squeezing the soft weight of your breast, kneading it in his large palm.

"Fuck, I've neglected this pretty pussy for too long, huh?" Oscar growled, tugging your bra down to free your aching nipples. He dipped his head, his hot mouth enveloping one straining peak, sucking hard. His tongue swirled and flicked, teasing the sensitive bud until it throbbed almost painfully.

"Oscar!—" you cried out, fisting your hands in his shirt, holding him close.

He nipped and sucked at your breasts, lavishing them with attention until they glowed red and your skin tingled. All the while, his fingers never stopped their tortuous teasing of your pussy, dipping inside to stroke your slick walls, curling to hit that perfect spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Gonna fuck you so hard," he breathed against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "Fill this pussy up so full of my semen, hm? Is that what you want, mami?"

"Yes, please.." you begged, wrapping your legs around his hips desperately. "I need it inside me. Please, Oscar."

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through your chest. "You’ve been so patient, baby. Gon’ give my good girl everything she needs."

Oscar sat back on his knees, his fingers still pumping in and out of your dripping cunt. He used his other hand to undo his jeans, freeing his massive, throbbing erection. It slapped against his stomach, already leaking precum, the musky scent filling the air.

"Fuck, you've been such a good girl, waiting so long for me," Oscar praised, his voice a low, approving rumble. He looked down at your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Couldn't ignore you any longer, could I? Not with this greedy little pussy begging for my cock."

His hand gripped the base of his thick shaft, aiming it at your entrance. With a swift, powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself inside you to the hilt. A guttural groan tore from his throat at the exquisite sensation of your silky walls gripping him like a vice.

"Dios mío," Oscar gasped, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the feeling of being inside you again. "So fucking tight and wet. You’re sucking me in, baby."

He started to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside before slamming back in, bottoming out with a forceful thrust. He set a hard, fast pace, the bed frame creaking and slamming against the wall with each powerful pump of his hips.

"Yes—yes, yes—" you cried out, your nails digging into his back. "I've missed you so much."

Oscar leaned down to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure. His tongue dominated yours, stroking and twining with your own as he continued to pound into you relentlessly.

"That's it, baby. Take this cock," he growled against your lips. "Wanted this for so long—fuuuck, fuck—Needed to show my pretty girl how much I miss her.."

His hand slid under your ass, tilting your hips to meet his increasingly forceful thrusts. The new angle allowed him to drive even deeper, striking that perfect spot inside you that made you see stars.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing my cock," Oscar panted, his lips brushing against your ear. "This coño was made for my dick. Gonna fill this hungry little hole to the brim, baby."

"Please, please fill me!" you whimpered desperately, your body shaking with pleasure as he chased your orgasm. "I need it, Oscar. I need your cum—"

"Gon’ give it to you then," he promised darkly, his thrusts growing more erratic as he neared his own climax, “You’re doing so good, baby, keep going for me.”

Oscar's hips slammed into yours with brutal force, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “Eyes on me while I fuck you, amor,” His thick cock pistoned in and out of your sopping wet cunt, stretching you deliciously around his throbbing shaft. Each powerful thrust drove you closer to the edge, your body trembling with impending release.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight," Oscar grunted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Gonna ruin this perfect little pussy. Fucking destroy it."

He captured your mouth in a filthy kiss, his tongue plundering and claiming every inch of you. Biting at your bottom lip, he sucked on it hard, pulling it between his teeth with a low groan. His other hand slid up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you lightheaded with lust.

"Doing so good, baby," he snarled against your lips, his hips jackhammering into yours. "You want me to cum in you? Pump this greedy cunt so full of my thick seed, till it be leaking out of you for days? Want everyone to know that this hole belongs to me?"

"Yes, yes, please!" you babbled mindlessly, your eyes rolling back in your head as he fucked you stupid. "Want your cum so bad. Want you to fill me up. Breed me—"

Your pussy clenched and spasmed around his pistoning cock, the slick walls rippling along his shaft. The pleasure built to a fever pitch, your clit throbbing almost painfully with every brush of his pelvis against it. Oscar could feel your body tensing, your breathing growing shallow and fast. He knew you were on the verge of a massive orgasm.

"That's it, cum on this dick," he commanded harshly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass as he pulled you harder against him. "Squeeze the fuck out of my cock, baby. Milk me dry."

With a keening cry, your body seized, your back arching as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. Oscar fucked you through it, grunting with the effort of his thrusts as he chased his own release. He could feel your pussy gushing around him, drenching his cock and balls with your slick arousal.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck.." he roared, his eyes squeezing shut as his cock throbbed and jerked violently, erupting like a volcano deep inside your spasming cunt. "Take it, baby," he grunted, his voice echoing off the walls as he pumped wave after wave of molten hot, thick spunk directly into your fertile womb. "I’m gonna fucking ruin you."

You could only moan in ecstasy, your body shaking and trembling as you felt Oscar's potent cum painting your walls white. Jet after thick jet of jizz pumped into your hungry snatch, the sheer volume of it forcing your belly out slightly. It was pure, unadulterated bliss, being bred like a bitch in heat by your lover.

Your eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out as you moaned in rapture, feeling Oscar's potent cum flooding your insides, claiming your unprotected depths. It was so much, so intense, your flat belly bulging slightly with the sheer volume of his virile release. You could feel the obscene heat of it searing your most intimate places.

"Mnfh—Oscar!—" you mumbled, a moaning mess to the point where you couldn’t even fathom the idea of words other than his name, gripping his strong biceps for all you were worth, pulling him impossibly deeper into your hungry snatch as it milked him for every last drop.

"Gon’ paint your fucking womb white, baby. Knock you up like the cock-crazy slut you are."

Oscar grunted and shuddered above you, sweat dripping down his heaving chest as he rode out the aftershocks. He captured your mouth in a filthy, sloppy kiss, biting at your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "Dios, what a good little cum slut you are," he growled into your mouth. "Milking my cock for everything it's got. This greedy pussy was made to be bred, no?"

You could only whimper and mewl in dazed elation, your mind completely fucked stupid on his seed-soaked cock. Your legs wrapped around his waist, locking your hips together as if afraid he might pull away.

After the storm of emotions had passed, the room was quiet, save for the sound of both your heavy breathing. Oscar didn’t move immediately, his body still pressed against yours as if he needed a moment to regain himself. You both lay there, tangled in the sheets, the heat of the moment still lingering between you, but now, the sharp edges of tension had softened.

Slowly, Oscar shifted, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was intense but different now, filled with something tender you hadn’t expected. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

“Shit, mami,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “I didn’t mean to push you like that. I… I just had to clear my head, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have been shutting you out.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the emotions from before still a little raw. “It’s okay,” you said, your voice quiet but steady, “just… don’t do that again.”

Oscar nodded, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw. “I won’t,” he promised, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I’m sorry for not being there for you when you needed me.”

You didn’t say anything right away, letting the silence stretch between you as you let the weight of everything settle. You could still feel the thrum of the connection you’d shared, but now it was quieter, more intimate.

He shifted again, pulling you closer this time, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, almost possessive way. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, grounding yourself in the rhythm of it.

“You good?” he asked, his voice soft as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. “I’m good.”

Oscar let out a breath, the tension that had been in his body easing as he held you. His hand traced lazy circles on your back, his touch soothing as he waited for your breathing to slow. After a moment, he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a beat longer than usual.

“Next time, we’ll talk about it before I do something stupid,” he said quietly.

You smiled faintly, still feeling the warmth of his arms around you. “Next time,” you agreed.

[hastugorath]

I'm so obsessed with him,,, I have lots of my crk OC lore I need to post that involves him, but I'm hardly past the concept art. (Not my oc in the doodle, just my sona, jeje)

But I'm unsure whether to keep all my stuff in one blog or make one dedicated to cookierun-

[voiddraws2much]

"H-hi sir, uhm, what can I make you..?" - Citrus Soda Cookie

The man pulled up to the cake shop once and ordered the cutest, most well decorated cake I've made during the entire event

[burning-spyce]

bath time for husband...

[aspenmissing]

Arcane men x reader with a voice kink 😳

ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 5869 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏᴋᴀʏ, ɪ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ). ꜱᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ

JAYCE

The first time you realized it, it was completely accidental.

You weren’t even doing anything special—just sitting in the council chambers, watching Jayce give one of his impassioned speeches about Hextech advancements. But the way his voice carried, the way it dipped low and rumbled like a summer storm, made something tighten deep inside you.

He was always charismatic, but when he got lost in his own convictions, speaking with such firm belief and certainty, it was like he wove a spell around the entire room. His voice wasn’t just sound—it was presence, warmth, command.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat, a rush of heat crawling up your neck as you forced yourself to focus on the actual content of his speech. But the damage was already done.

That voice did something to you.

And once you noticed it, you couldn't unnotice it.

It was when he murmured to himself in the lab, lips barely moving as he worked through equations, deep in thought. It was when he spoke in that authoritative, commanding tone, making decisions for the future of Piltover with absolute confidence. And it was most definitely when he let his voice soften just for you—leaning in close, murmuring your name like a secret only he was allowed to know.

You were doomed.

=

Tonight was no different.

The two of you had been working late in his private workshop, going over blueprints and schematics. Well—he was. You were mostly trying not to let your thoughts drift to dangerous places.

The room was warm, illuminated by the soft golden glow of hexlights. The smell of parchment and metal filled the air, mixing with something unmistakably Jayce—cologne and the faintest trace of sweat from a long day. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone.

He was a distraction. A beautiful, terrible distraction.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Jayce noted, glancing up from his work. “Everything okay?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?” He smirked, leaning back against the workbench, arms crossing over his chest. His voice had that casual, teasing lilt—the kind that always made your stomach flutter.

Your voice, you thought. I want to hear you say my name again. Want to hear what you sound like when you—

Nope. Nope. Not going there.

Jayce tilted his head, watching you with curiosity, and you cursed his stupidly perceptive nature.

“You sure?” His voice dipped lower now, smoother, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You bit your lip. “It’s… it’s stupid.”

His grin widened. “Now I have to know.”

You inhaled sharply, debating whether or not you could actually say it. But Jayce was nothing if not patient, and damn it, you trusted him.

“I just…” You hesitated, then finally admitted, “I really like your voice.”

Jayce blinked. “My… voice?”

Oh god. Abort. Abort.

“Forget it,” you rushed, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s nothing, really—”

But then he chuckled.

A deep, rich, amused sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“You like my voice,” he mused, like he was testing the weight of the words. Then, in a tone so sinfully low it practically vibrated through you, he murmured, “You like when I talk to you, sweetheart?”

Oh. Oh, hell.

Your breath hitched. Your entire body felt like it was made of molten want, tingling from your fingertips to the base of your spine.

You clenched your hands into fists, trying not to visibly tremble. “Jayce—”

“Say my name again,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was pure velvet now, smooth and teasing, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Your lips parted, but you hesitated. That only made his smirk deepen.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice dipping even lower, almost hypnotic. “If you like my voice so much… let me use it for you.”

You exhaled sharply, pulse thrumming in your ears.

He was enjoying this. The realization sent another sharp thrill through you—Jayce was smart, he was confident, and he wasn’t above using every weapon at his disposal. And right now? That weapon was you, unraveling in front of him.

“Jayce,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And god, the way he reacted.

His pupils darkened, his fingers flexed at his sides, and that smirk turned into something dangerous.

“There it is,” he murmured. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the faint scent of cologne mixed with something deeper.

Your thighs squeezed together involuntarily, and his eyes flickered downward for the barest second—enough to see. Enough to know.

His voice dropped to a devastating whisper.

“You really do like it, don’t you?”

You bit your lip so hard you nearly drew blood.

He reached out, tracing his fingers along your wrist, barely touching, but enough to make you shiver. His lips tilted into something more intimate, more possessive.

“What if I keep talking?” he mused.

You nearly whimpered.

“I could say anything.” His thumb brushed your pulse point, feeling how fast it raced. “Talk about Hextech. About politics. About you, sitting here, looking at me like you want to hear something very specific.”

Your breathing was shallow now, your skin burning under his touch.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continued, his voice dropping to something wickedly deep, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. “If I just… kept talking to you. Told you exactly what I want to do to you.”

Oh. Oh.

You were completely ruined. Jayce grinned, watching the way you melted, the way your body responded to nothing but his voice. Then, with the cruellest, most devastating smirk you’d ever seen, he murmured—

“Say my name again.”

VIKTOR

Viktor had always been an enigma to you, a man of sharp intellect and sharper wit, with a voice that could command a room or whisper secrets into the dim glow of the Hexcore. You had spent countless evenings watching him work, enthralled by the way his lips formed words, by the careful cadence of his speech.

But tonight… tonight was different.

You were seated on the edge of his cluttered worktable, swinging your legs lightly as he moved around the lab, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the floor. The sound was familiar, grounding, just like everything else about him.

But then—his voice.

“Pass me the spanner, would you?” His accent curled around the words, the softness of his tone almost affectionate despite the request being so mundane.

You swallowed, fingers gripping the tool tightly before handing it to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at you through tousled auburn hair. The way his voice dropped ever so slightly on the last syllable made heat curl in your stomach.

Gods, he had no idea what he was doing to you.

Or maybe he did.

Viktor cocked his head, observant as ever, his sharp gaze flicking from your face to the way you shifted against the table. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he set the spanner down, leaning on his cane as he moved closer.

“Something wrong, milý?” The pet name rolled off his tongue like silk. (Dear)

Your breath hitched.

He caught it—of course he did.

Viktor was nothing if not brilliant, and as soon as realization dawned on him, his expression shifted. Amusement. Interest. And something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver racing down your spine.

“My voice,” he mused, tilting his head. “You like it, don’t you?”

You averted your gaze, but that only made him chuckle.

“Fascinating,” he purred, dragging out the word, letting the syllables sink into your skin. “And here I thought you only indulged me for my mind.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but the way your thighs pressed together betrayed you.

Viktor exhaled a quiet laugh, moving impossibly closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin.

“Ah, but if I am insufferable, then why are you trembling?”

Your breath hitched again, and he smirked, slow and knowing.

His cane thudded against the floor as he lifted his hand, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice dipping into something velvet and sinful, “what is it that you love so much? The way I speak your name? The way my voice—” he dragged out the last word, savouring it, “—sounds when I’m thinking? Or is it… something else?”

You shivered, nails digging into the edge of the table. “Viktor—” He hummed. A simple sound, but it sent a wave of heat straight through you.

“Mm. I see.” He traced his thumb along your lower lip, his own lips curling into a grin. “You truly are something else.” His voice alone had you unravelling, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it.

And, judging by the glint in his eyes, he was far from finished.

=

The air in the lab had changed.

It was charged, humming with something electric, something that made the fine hairs on your skin prickle in anticipation. Or maybe that was just him. Viktor, standing so close, his cane pressing lightly against your knee as he studied you, as if unraveling some great scientific discovery.

Except this wasn’t an experiment.

This was you. And the way his voice made your pulse stutter.

"Ah," he mused, voice low and knowing, "so this is what makes you tremble."

You opened your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but words failed you. How could they not, when he was watching you like that, with sharp, burning curiosity?

His fingers, dexterous from years of precise work, trailed from your jaw down the side of your neck, pausing just over your pulse. It was racing, and he exhaled a quiet laugh.

"I wonder," he murmured, his voice a mere thread of sound, "how far this goes?"

The rasp of his accent, the deliberate way he spoke—it sent another shiver coursing through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. He noticed, of course. Viktor noticed everything.

His smirk deepened.

"Would you like a demonstration, Y/N?"

Your breath caught. He was teasing you, testing you. And yet, beneath the amusement, there was something else. A hunger.

"Viktor," you started, voice unsteady.

"Yes?" He drew out the syllable, savouring it. His thumb grazed your chin, tilting your head up further. "Do you like the way I say your name, milý?"

You bit your lip.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest, before leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Perhaps," he purred, "I should keep speaking, then?"

His voice dipped into something even more intoxicating, a deliberate whisper of sin against your skin. He wasn’t just speaking anymore—he was using his voice. A weapon, a lure, pulling you in, unravelling you piece by piece.

"Would you like that?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. "For me to talk you through all the ways I could ruin you?"

You let out a shaky breath, thighs pressing together involuntarily.

He laughed. Soft and knowing.

His cane shifted as he moved between your legs, his free hand finding your waist. His grip was firm, grounding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"I could tell you, step by step," he murmured, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your hip. "How I would take my time, how I would make you fall apart with just my words."

He leaned in, lips grazing your jaw—so close, so deliberate. "Would you like that, můj drahý?" (My Dear)

Your fingers dug into his shirt, desperate, needing something to hold onto as his words set you alight.

"I—"

His lips ghosted over your pulse, and you gasped.

"You do like it," he mused, wicked amusement dripping from every syllable.

He tilted his head, dragging the bridge of his nose along the line of your throat, inhaling as if memorizing the way you smelled, the way you reacted. His fingers tightened on your waist, his cane shifting as he steadied himself.

"Then," he whispered, voice dark, velvet-soft, "perhaps I should see just how much you can take?"

And with the way your body responded to just his voice, to just the promise of his words—

You knew you were completely, utterly doomed.

JAYVIK

Piltover at night was something of a wonder. The city of progress never truly slept, its golden lights reflecting against the rivers and illuminating the towering spires of Hextech advancement. But inside a candle-lit penthouse, away from the hum of the bustling streets, you were being tormented in a very particular way.

By them.

Viktor and Jayce had long since figured out your little… proclivity. You weren’t sure exactly when or how—perhaps it was the way your thighs had pressed together the first time Viktor murmured something low and slow while working on an invention, or the way your breath hitched whenever Jayce let his voice drop into that rich baritone during council meetings.

Whatever the case, they knew. And they were merciless.

Wrapped up in one of their oversized hoodies—Jayce’s, judging by the scent of metal, parchment, and the faint hint of cologne—you were curled up on the couch, trying desperately to appear unaffected. But it was a losing battle.

Jayce had been reading out loud from one of his research papers, voice slow, deliberate. Each word was carefully spoken, the deep timbre vibrating through his chest as he sat back in the chair across from you. You knew damn well he was exaggerating it, just to make you squirm.

“…The integration of Hextech stabilizers has resulted in a remarkable increase in mana conductivity,” Jayce mused, flipping a page, his voice dropping an octave as he let the sentence roll off his tongue. “Perhaps we should conduct… further tests.”

Viktor, lounging beside you, tapped his cane idly against the floor—a slow, methodical rhythm, as if measuring the seconds between your breathing. He wasn’t reading, nor was he pretending to be occupied. No, Viktor was simply watching you. Observing, calculating, taking in every little twitch of your fingers against the hoodie’s sleeves.

“Oh, I agree, Jayce. Further testing is always important,” Viktor mused, his accent curling around the words like silk, wrapping them into something intoxicating. His golden eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. “Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”

Your fingers twitched, gripping at the hoodie’s fabric as your throat went dry. “I—I mean, research is important, obviously.”

Jayce chuckled, finally setting the papers aside. He stretched with a dramatic sigh, letting his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a glimpse of his toned stomach. You hated that they were both so effortlessly attractive.

“You’re cute when you try to pretend,” Jayce murmured, voice heavy with amusement. His gaze darkened as he leaned in, resting his chin on one broad hand. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart… you’ve been real quiet ever since I started reading. Why is that?”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting with a familiar warmth.

Viktor shifted beside you, his cane sliding along the floor before resting against the couch. His voice dipped lower, softer—lethal.

“She’s always so reactive to sound, Jayce,” he mused, drawing out each syllable in that dangerous slow cadence. “It’s quite… fascinating.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct.

Jayce caught it immediately. His grin widened. “Oh, what’s this?” His hand, warm and too confident, found your knee, squeezing lightly—just enough to send heat flooding through your body. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You clenched your fists. “I hate you both.”

Jayce laughed, shaking his head as he ran his thumb in slow, idle circles over your knee. “Oh, do you?” His voice was all velvet and amusement, all taunting warmth.

Viktor hummed, leaning in. His voice was barely above a whisper, golden eyes locked onto yours as if he could see straight through you. “It’s endearing, really,” he murmured, his words slow, drawn-out, teasing. Torturous. “How just a few words can make you so—hmm, what is the word?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting in the dim light. You knew he already had the answer. He just wanted to hear you squirm.

Then he smirked.

“Flustered.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated how much they noticed it.

You yanked the hoodie’s collar up over your face, your entire body curling inward. “You two are insufferable.”

Jayce chuckled, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “And yet…” His lips lingered for a moment, warm against your skin before he finally pulled away. “…you’re still here.”

Viktor exhaled a soft laugh, reaching out with his fingers—light, barely-there, ghosting along your wrist, teasing. The kind of touch that made heat coil in your stomach. His golden gaze softened just enough, but the teasing edge in his tone remained.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, lips dangerously close to your ear, “you secretly enjoy being teased, hmm?”

The shudder that wracked your body was humiliating.

You clenched your thighs together, burying your face deeper into the hoodie’s collar, desperate to escape their knowing gazes.

Damn them both.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight. The usual rowdy patrons had filtered out, leaving only a few stragglers nursing the dregs of their drinks. You leaned against the bar, fingers lazily tracing the rim of your glass as Vander wiped down the counter. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the strength in his scarred muscles as he worked.

“Long night?” he rumbled, voice thick with the gravel of exhaustion.

You hummed, tilting your head to look up at him. “Could say the same to you.”

A chuckle rolled through his chest, deep and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way it made heat coil in your stomach, but you weren’t very good at hiding things from Vander.

He gave you a knowing smirk, resting his weight against the counter. “What’s got you smilin’ like that?”

You hesitated for a moment, swirling the liquid in your glass before deciding that, screw it, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was just Vander looking too damn good under the low lantern light, but you felt bold.

“I like your voice.” The words came out softer than you intended, a confession tucked between the hum of the empty bar.

Vander raised a brow, but the smirk never left his face. “That so?”

Your cheeks burned, but you held his gaze, something challenging in your eyes. “Mhm. Deep, rich… kinda feels like it wraps around you.” You shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant, but the way his expression darkened ever so slightly made your breath hitch.

He leaned in, just close enough that his scent—whiskey, leather, and the faintest trace of smoke—clouded your senses. “Didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you,” he murmured, voice dipping into something even deeper, raspier, like he was testing you.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze. “You do.”

That was all the invitation he needed. Vander smirked, slow and lazy, before brushing his knuckles along your jaw, tilting your chin just enough so you had no choice but to look up at him.

“Hmm… what is it, then?” His voice was nothing short of sinful, dragging out the words, teasing you. “The way I talk to you? Or the way I say your name?”

You exhaled, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Both.”

Vander chuckled again, but this time, it was deliberate—low, intimate. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “That’s a dangerous thing to tell me, sweetheart.”

His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and he felt it, the way your body reacted to just his voice alone. He pulled back just enough to watch you, eyes dark with amusement and something else—something possessive.

“Gonna be real hard not to take advantage of that,” he mused, tracing a slow line down your arm, his rough fingertips setting your nerves alight.

You bit your lip, breath uneven. “Who says I don’t want you to?”

Vander let out a quiet groan, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His mouth hovered just over yours, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet. “Then you best be ready, love,” he whispered, voice thick and dripping with promise.

Before you knew what was happening, he was gripping your wrist and pulling you toward the back room, his steps purposeful. He didn’t rush, didn’t say a word—just led you through the dimly lit hallway with the kind of confidence that sent heat pooling in your core.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click, the hum of the bar fading into the background. Vander turned to face you, arms folding across his broad chest as he leaned against the wooden desk, watching you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with something hungry.

“So,” he drawled, his voice dipping even lower. “You like the way I sound, huh?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah.”

His tongue flicked across his bottom lip, a quiet tsk leaving him. “Gonna need more than that, sweetheart.”

Your throat went dry, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I love your voice,” you admitted, your own voice softer now, almost breathless. “It’s deep, rough—makes my whole body feel like it’s burning up.”

That earned you a dark chuckle, low and rumbling. “That so?” His head tilted slightly. “Could’ve fooled me. You seem real shy about it now.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “I—”

“Shh.” He brought a finger up, barely grazing your chin. “I think I like this little confession of yours, love. And I think I wanna see just how much you really like it.”

His voice alone had your thighs pressing together, your breath uneven as he traced slow circles over your hip. He leaned in, lips just brushing the shell of your ear.

“Bet I could have you falling apart just from my voice,” he murmured, each word slow, deliberate. “Bet I could make you squirm just whisperin’ in your ear.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, breath coming in shallow pants. “Vander—”

“There it is,” he praised, voice nothing but gravel and heat. “Knew you’d sound real pretty sayin’ my name like that.”

A quiet whimper left you, and Vander groaned, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your hips. “You really are dangerous, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Damn near impossible to say no to.”

His lips barely ghosted over yours before he pulled back, his expression shifting into something dark, something unreadable.

“But you ain’t getting everything you want just yet.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, your mind fogged with desire. “What—”

Vander smirked, reaching down to give your backside a firm, playful tap—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark of heat up your spine. “Upstairs. Now,” he ordered, his voice dropping into something dangerously low.

Your breath caught, your thighs pressing together at the sheer authority in his tone.

“Gonna finish closing up,” he continued, stepping back and eyeing you like he was already imagining what he was gonna do once he followed. “By the time I get up there, you better be waitin’ for me.”

His fingers traced one last slow path down your arm before he turned toward the door, leaving you standing there, still trying to catch your breath.

“Don’t keep me waitin’, love,” he called over his shoulder.

And just like that, Vander strode back out into the bar, his voice carrying through the walls as he barked at the last stragglers to clear out.

You barely had the strength to move, your body humming with anticipation. But you knew one thing for certain—

You weren’t about to disobey that voice.

SILCO

Zaun’s underbelly was no place for soft things, no place for delicate affections or whispered promises. But somehow, you had carved out a place for yourself in his world—woven into the very fabric of his life like the slow burn of a cigar, curling around him, lingering.

No one would ever know.

Silco was a man who kept his power close and his weaknesses closer. He didn't parade you through The Last Drop or allow idle hands to pry into what was his. You were a secret. A well-guarded one.

And yet, even in the quiet, he ruined you.

=

Tonight, you were in his office—again.

The dim glow of lanterns cast long shadows across the room, flickering against the mahogany desk he had pinned you against. His body was close—too close—yet still, he hadn’t truly touched you.

That was always the game.

His patience was infuriating. He knew exactly how to play you, how to leave you wanting, how to drive you to madness without so much as lifting a finger.

"Tell me," his voice came low, a purr of dark amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Do you enjoy being kept in the dark like this, my darling?"

Your breath hitched. Gods, you hated him. Not because of what he was saying—but because of what it did to you.

His voice slithered under your skin like silk, threading into every nerve ending, sending heat coiling deep in your stomach. It was the way he spoke—so precise, so controlled, every syllable laced with dark promise.

"Silco—" You tried to turn your head, to get even the slightest bit of control, but his gloved fingers caught your chin, forcing you to face forward.

Not yet.

He let his lips hover just beside your pulse, never quite touching, just letting his breath tease the sensitive skin.

"Shhh." The whisper was soft, almost intimate—but the effect was devastating. You shivered, the warmth of his breath sending a sharp pulse of heat between your thighs. "We wouldn’t want someone overhearing us, would we?"

Your fingers curled into the edge of his desk, knuckles white. He was such an ass—deliberate, cruel in his attentions. Always testing your restraint.

"You’re the one whispering in my ear like you want me to lose my mind," you bit out. A chuckle—dark, rich, sinful—slipped from his lips, and you felt it in your bones.

"Am I?" His voice dropped, becoming rougher, raspier—worse.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he let his lips graze the delicate skin beneath your jaw, his breath leaving a searing trail.

"I think you’re the one who likes being talked to like this."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His fingers skated down your waist, slow, teasing. Too slow. The way he dragged out every single movement was torture.

"You always respond so beautifully," he murmured, words rolling off his tongue like velvet, deep and indulgent. "A little breathless. A little desperate."

Your thighs clenched together before you could stop yourself, and he felt it. Of course, he did.

Silco was far too perceptive, and even in the dim candlelight, you knew he was watching you with that sharp, knowing gaze—taking you apart, piece by piece, with nothing but his voice.

His gloved hand slid lower, curling possessively around your hip as his other pressed into the desk beside you, trapping you against him.

And still—still—he hadn’t touched you properly.

"Tell me," he drawled, his lips brushing your ear, "how much do you want me right now?"

The heat between your legs had turned to an ache—one that his voice alone had created.

Your fingers dug into the wood. "You already know."

"Mmm." His hum of approval sent a shiver down your spine. "But I do love hearing you say it."

He shifted, pressing his knee between your thighs, adding just the faintest pressure. Not enough. Never enough.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you, arching closer without thinking. Silco hummed in satisfaction. He had you.

"You drive me insane," you admitted, voice hushed, breathless.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his mismatched gaze—blue and ember, sharp as a knife.

"And yet," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours, "you keep coming back for more."

His kiss was slow, deliberate—a calculated torment. Lips firm but patient, moving against yours with a control that had you shaking. His voice had already undone you, but this? This was the final blow.

And he knew it.

His whispers continued between kisses, words melting into your skin like poison and honey all at once.

"You’re mine." His lips drifted down, pressing against your jaw, your throat. "And I do so love making you weak."

His voice alone was ruining you. And the worst part?

You wanted him to.

CLAGGOR

The flickering candlelight cast long, shifting shadows along the stone walls of your shared hideout. The others had long since retired for the night, leaving only you and Claggor lingering in the quiet, the remnants of your latest heist strewn across the worn wooden table between you. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and adrenaline from a long day’s work.

You let out a slow breath, fingers idly toying with a small trinket from the pile, but your focus was elsewhere—entirely on the man across from you.

“Alright,” Claggor murmured, leaning forward, his large hands sifting through the items. His voice was rich and low, the kind of sound that settled in your chest and refused to leave. “Looks like we got some decent supplies this time. Food, parts, and—oh, check this out.”

He lifted a small, well-worn book, its spine cracked from age and use. He flipped it open, his thick fingers carefully turning the delicate pages, his eyes scanning over the text with quiet curiosity. But you barely registered what he was saying.

Gods, his voice.

It wasn’t just deep—it was steady. Assured. The kind of voice that made you feel safe, even when the world outside was anything but. And the way he spoke? Each word deliberate, unhurried, carrying a weight that made even the simplest statements feel important.

You swallowed hard, warmth curling low in your stomach, creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. Not here. Not with him so close.

Claggor’s voice softened slightly. “Y/N?”

You blinked, caught off guard, realizing too late that you had been staring.

“Hmm?” you managed, shifting in your seat.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression amused but not unkind. “You listening?”

“Uh—yeah. Totally.” You forced yourself to focus, nodding toward the book. “Food, parts, and… a book?”

Claggor chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Yeah,” he said, thumbing over the edge of the pages. “Figured Powder might like it. Or maybe you. You still like bedtime stories?”

There was a teasing lilt to his words, but the joke barely registered over the sheer effect of hearing him speak. You shifted, pressing your thighs together as subtly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your breath had hitched.

Depends, you wanted to say. Depends on who’s reading.

Instead, you tilted your head, smirking to cover your nerves. “Depends. Who’s reading?”

Claggor huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What, you want me to read to you?”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Yes.

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in your ears. “Maybe. I just like the sound of your voice.”

The words left your lips before you could think better of them.

For a moment, Claggor said nothing, his dark eyes studying you with quiet curiosity. Then, he set the book down on the table with slow deliberation, his movements easy, unhurried.

“You like my voice?” His words came slower this time, more thoughtful. Testing.

Your breath caught.

He was too perceptive. He always had been. Claggor wasn’t just brawn—he noticed things, even when you tried to be subtle. And right now? You were not being subtle.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah. I do.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare sight. Claggor wasn’t usually one for teasing, but there was something different in his expression now—something amused. Interested.

“That so?” he murmured, leaning back slightly. He let the silence stretch between you, as if weighing his next words. Then, deliberately, he let his voice drop even lower, his tone thick with quiet amusement. “What if I talked to you like this all the time?”

A shiver ran through you, sharp and electric.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice even. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Claggor exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was something else beneath it now—a quiet satisfaction. He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table, his presence filling the space between you with an undeniable weight.

Then, as if testing you further, he reached for the book, flipping it open once more.

“Alright,” he mused, voice slow, deliberate. “Let’s see… ‘Once upon a time…’”

The words were meaningless. What mattered was how he said them. Each syllable rolled from his lips like honey, smooth and unhurried, carrying a warmth that settled deep in your chest. His voice wrapped around the words, made them something more than just ink on paper.

You barely noticed the story. You barely noticed anything except him.

Claggor glanced up, watching you. His voice remained steady, unshaken, but there was something in his gaze—something knowing.

You didn’t even realize you’d been leaning in until he paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You swallowed, pulse quickening. “Maybe,” you murmured, voice slightly uneven.

His smirk widened, his expression both amused and intrigued. He turned the page slowly, dragging out the moment, letting the silence settle before speaking again.

“…Should I keep going?”

You hated how easily he was getting to you, but you also loved it.

“Depends,” you said, your voice lower this time. “You gonna make a habit of this?”

Claggor chuckled, deep and warm, shaking his head. “Oh, I definitely am now.”

He closed the book with a quiet thump, resting his palm on the cover as he regarded you. His expression was unreadable for a long moment—then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop to a near whisper.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for voices,” he murmured. “But I think I just found my new favourite way to get a reaction out of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Claggor wasn’t usually one to tease, but the way he was looking at you now? Like he’d just uncovered a secret he fully intended to use against you?

Yeah. You were so in trouble.

And you loved it.

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡Cinnamon Smoke 🚬

You've ordered: a slice of spiced cinnamon cake! enjoy!

"I wanna be high all the time, would you come with me?"

paul atreides x Freman! reader | word count: 1,661 words

Summary: in which you teach paul how to smoke spice 🚬 (based on this post i made)

Warnings: (MDNI) mentions of smoking, spice being used as a drug/ hallucinogen, making out/ heated kissing

Note: i am in no way glorifying or promoting smoking or any drug usage! i don't smoke, never have, never will. just decided to test out this plot. also, i made up my own interpretation of how i think the freman smoke spice

From making things like paper and clothing, to being used to enhance the flavor of traditional dishes, spice (a.k.a Melange) was a very important commodity for the Freman people. they almost couldn't live without it.

It was odd to Paul Atreides that the Freman would put such a thing in their food, his body reacting rather negatively the first time he tried it. But soon, he got used to it, his body slowly adapting to its cinnamon like flavor. But what really got him was the fact that you guys would smoke spice. He'd never done it himself, only hearing from Stilgar and other Freman that it was mainly done for ritualistic purposes. But sometimes, they'd just take a puff or two to lighten the load.

The first time Paul witnessed spice being smoked was when he went to go ask Stilgar about the progression of his mother becoming the new fremen reverend mother. Stilgar was sat on the floor of the seitch, a small pipe between his fingers. Connected to the pipe, was a small chamber filled with spice, something at the bottom heating it up. Sand colored smoke curled at his chapped lips, his expression rather lazy and relaxed.

"Muad'dib, what seems to be the matter?" he asked, his accent thick on his tongue.

Paul's previous questions had left him as his eyes followed the flow of the smoke as it felt Stilgar's mouth and floated up to the ceiling, disappearing into the air. It also had a pretty strong smell, almost like a sweet and sour scent.

"Would you show me how to smoke spice?" Paul blurted, his mouth moving faster than his brain.

At first, Stilgar was silent, pausing as he was about to take another puff. He looked Paul dead in the eyes, and then...he laughed. He laughed for a good while, his eyes landing back on Paul whose expression hadn't changed.

"Oh, you're serious-" Stilgar mumbled as he calmed down from his bout of laughter.

"Ahort answer: no. Long answer: you're not used to such."

"But I eat the food of the Freman-"

Stilgar cut Paul of with an amused snort. "Just because your stomach is used to spice, doesn't mean that your lungs are. Sure, you breathe in a few mouthfuls of spice when we go on sandworm rides and such, but this-" Stilgar tapped on the small glass spice chamber, the sound echoing in the small room.

"With a high enough dose, this can kill a man. That's why we smoke it in moderation."

"Then I'll just-"

"No! And I mean it, Muad'dib." Stilgar waved Paul off, the brown haired boy letting out a huff.

As he walked out, he felt a presence watching him. All of a sudden, someone grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a corner. In a moment of panic, Paul pinned the person against the wall, holding his crysknife to their throat.

"Whoa, whoa! Calm down! Paul, it's me. Y/n..." you said, your eyes wide and muscles tense as the blade was mere inches away from slitting your throat.

Once he realized it was you, Paul relaxed, loosening his grip and sheathing his crysknife.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he asked, letting out a breath of relief. "Just how long have you been standing here?"

"Long enough to know that I can give you the experience you're trying to have." you quipped, paul giving you a tense look.

"You won't get in trouble?" he asked as you pulled him down the hallway of the seitch.

"Don't worry. I'll handle Stilgar. Now come on."

You managed to successfully distract Stilgar for long enough to "borrow" one of the "spice smokers." you and Paul were now sat in your tent, his gray-green eyes watching you as you pulled a small sachet of spice out of your pocket. Opening the lid, you poured it into the small chamber and clamped it shut. With the press of a button, the chamber started to heat up, the strong scent passing through.

You took the honor of going first, lifting the pipe to your lips and taking a quick puff. Paul watched in amazement as you parted your lips, the beige colored smoke filling the air in front of you.

"Your turn." you said, passing the pipe to Paul.

His fingers brushed against your own as he took the pipe from you, a strange shiver running down your spine. You sat back on your hands, watching as paul brought the pipe to his lips.

"Just inhale it." you told him, the dark haired boy nodding. He placed the pipe between his lips, taking a big breath. He held it in his mouth for not even two seconds before he started coughing uncontrollably.

"What the hell?" paul croaked, feeling a burning sensation in his chest.

You had to bite back a laugh, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "It's okay, that's how it is for everyone their first time. Here..."

You took the pipe from him, looking at him as you walked him through it. "You're not trying to swallow the spice, alright? Take your time inhaling...do it slowly. Don't hold it in, it won't do anything. Then slowly exhale. Like this-"

You brought the pipe to your lips, slowly inhaling the sand like substance. Almost immediately, you let out a puff, the smoke curling at your lips.

"I think I get it now." Paul insisted, reaching for the pipe. He did just as you had, coughing a bit less and successfully letting out a small plume of smoke.

"There you go. You're a natural! How do you feel?" you asked him, already starting to feel loopy yourself.

"...Good, but in a strange way..." he mumbled, taking another puff. "I kinda...I kinda like it."

It wasn't long before you two were as high as spacecrafts. You two sat there, talking about the mysteries of the universe, Paul's latest visions and dreams, and anything else really.

"Have you ever thought about just how huge the universe is? It's...crazy to think about..." you drawled, your eyes tinted a bit more blue than usual.

"I mean...yeah. With being "Lisan al Ghaib" I kinda...have to." Paul responded, lifting a finger to touch the smoke that just left your mouth.

"Do you really believe in all that...prophecy?" you asked, your bodies feeling light and tingly. It felt nice, like you were wrapped in a big blanket.

"If I'm being honest...no. Doesn't help that my mother's shoving her propaganda down everyone's throats or that Stilgar still believes it." Paul answered, his tone low and mellow. the spice was kicking in real nice now.

"Just want this shit to be over....all this stupid war and stuff. I want to enjoy living with my people and not have to fear for their safety..." you muttered, resting your head on paul's shoulder.

"Stupid houses and their stupid war...stupid prophecy..." you grumbled, your head moving a little as a laugh vibrated through Paul. You could feel his hand come up to brush some of your hair out of your eyes, your eyes fluttering shut.

"I'd rather sit here and get high with you than go fight some stupid war." Paul said and now it was your turn to laugh.

You took another puff, peering over at Paul for a moment. "Open your mouth. I wanna try something."

Yoi inhaled once more, leaning over to face Paul as he parted his lips. You exhaled, letting the smoke escape your mouth and enter into Paul's, a slight shiver running down his spine.

"Do it again." he whispered, the pipe already between your lips once again. You leaned in a bit closer, your lips hovering over his. Paul's lips parted and once again, you let the smoke trail from your lips to his, a lazy smile forming on yours.

"Again-" Yoir lips were on Paul's in no time, the leftover smoke and cinnamon-like taste of the spice on your tongues mingling. Yoi hands were immediately in his hair, Paul cupping your face in his hands as your bodies melded together.

The soft sigh of satisfaction that left Paul's lips made your stomach fill with butterflies. Your heightened senses made the whole experience that much more enjoyable for the both of you. You could practically hear each other's heartbeats, feel each other through your clothes.

When you two parted for air, you took a moment to look at each other, your eyes half lidded and full of unsaid thoughts of one another.

"You're so good at this..." Paul breathed, moving one of his hands to fiddle with the hem of your shawl.

"So good at what? Smoking spice or kissing you?" you questioned, goosebumps forming along your skin.

"Both." Paul muttered as he leaned in to steal another kiss from you.

Right when things were about to take a rather...steamy turn, you heard someone calling your name from outside the tent. You poked your head out to see Chani, dressed in her stillsuit.

"Stilgar, needs u-! Y/n, have you been smoking spice again? You know Stilgar'll be pissed if he catches you." Chani warned, your blue eyes rolling at her nagging.

"Yeah, yeah. We'll be out in a minute."

"We?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. As if right on time, Paul poked his head out as well, giving chani a slight nod. You could see the slight disappointment in her eyes.

"You...you two were...! Just go get your stillsuits!" the girl grumbled before starting to walk back through the tents. You stood up, pulling paul to his feet and tucking the smoke chamber into your shawl.

"We should do this more often." you breathed, taking in the slightly dazed look in Paul's eyes as you two began your descent down the sand dunes.

"I just might take you up on that..." Paul answered, his fingers brushing against yours. Oh, what he would do to taste the spice on your tongue once more. 🚬

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[teacakeezz]

Hello cookie runners I come bearing my burning spice self ship,,,

[sugoi-and-spice]

For the first time in his life, Tomura Shigaraki has full control of his quirk. With this newfound freedom, there is so much that he wants to do. And it just so happens that you are at the very top of that list.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x GN!Reader

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Contains: GN!Pronouns, Smut, Soft Shigaraki, Penetrative Sex (Reader Receiving), Oral Sex (Reader Recieving), Pre-Paranormal Liberation War, Post-PLF Manga Spoilers tho, Established Relationship, Alcohol, Massage, League Shenanigans. (Honestly, no crazy CW's with this one lol. It's just fluff and smut and angst lol)

Notes: I tried to write something wholesome to try and heal our mourning Shig-simp hearts... It had mixed results lol.

AO3 Link

Like my work? Please consider commissioning me or contributing to my Ko-Fi!

That seemed a little too easy.

It’s the first thought that crossed Shigaraki’s mind when he came to on the Doctor’s operating table. Don’t get him wrong, the time Ujiko had spent vivisecting him from finger to finger had been hell on earth, but it seemed to go by a little too quickly for four months. 

“That’s because it’s only been a week,” Ujiko explained as he approached Shigaraki with a paper cup of water — an absolutely pathetic offering considering the world of pain the man had just mercilessly put him through.

But Shigaraki took it anyway.

“Didn’t realize that there were going to be breaks,” he said before knocking back the cup in one gulp.

“Once we begin the transference of All for One, there won’t be,” Ujiko explained, “What I was working on this time, was completing your quirk.”

Shigaraki’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

Ujiko chuckled, gesturing to the paper cup in the new leader’s hands, “Why don’t you try putting your pinky down?”

He shot the doctor a confused look, not sure what exactly that would accomplish other than sparing him a trip to the trash can. But upon Ujiko’s nod of reassurance, he looked back down at the cup, bringing his raised finger down on its crease experimentally.

Shigaraki’s eyes widened immediately.

The cup was still in his hand.

It didn’t turn to dust. Didn’t even crumble or sport a single crack. He touched it with all five fingers and yet it stood with as much integrity as the steel IV pole next to him. 

He snapped to the doctor, something unreadable in his voice, “Is… Is decay gone?”

“No, no of course not. I’d never purge you of such a powerful quirk,” Ujiko assured, “You just have control over it now.”

Shigaraki willed decay to activate, testing Ujiko’s explanation, and in an instant, the cup dissolved under his touch, just like he was used to. 

He stared at his hand in disbelief, the dust falling through his fingers. He couldn’t believe this…

“And it’s not just turning it on or off, all or nothing,” Ujiko continued, “You can stop the spread of decay at certain points, activate it with just one finger — you have full control.”

Shigaraki snapped to Ujiko, intensely. Desperate. Maybe he should’ve been doing a better job of maintaining his poker face like Sensei would’ve, to try and hide the way this was affecting him. But he just couldn’t. Not now. Not when something he’d longed for so badly, so primally was so close to his grasp.

“Are you sure?”

Ujiko didn’t seem to take notice of this lapse of control however. Or at least, he didn’t care. His bushy mustache just raised with a small smile and pride in his work.

“Quite sure.”

 Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed. He was not fucking around here, “ How sure?”

Ujiko’s smile shifted slightly, a challenging smirk pulling at the corners as he offered his own hand as fodder.

Shigaraki slapped his fingers fully atop the back of Daruma’s fat hand, letting the full extent of his anger and emotions drive him. He wanted to test this fully, test that even in fits of passion, he wouldn’t lose control.

And he didn’t.

Daruma Ujiko stood just as whole and living in front of him as the moments before. The only change was the chuckle of satisfaction that Shigaraki’s dumbfounded expression brought him.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Daruma said, turning back to start pulling out equipment for the next phase of experimentation, large hulking tubes and wires that looked more akin to HVAC parts than real medical equipment.

Neat wasn’t exactly the phrase Shigaraki would use. But he didn’t really care anymore. 

He had shit to do.

“Now, regarding the next steps in your transformation—”

The EKG machine behind him beeped loudly and suddenly, signaling that it had been disconnected. Ujiko turned back to Shigaraki curiously, watching as he pulled off the various electrode pads scattered across his chest and back.

“You don’t want to get started?”

“Tomorrow,” Shigaraki answered, ripping the IV from his wrist as he hopped off the table.

“But what about the power? Your dreams?” Ujiko pressed, something strained, irritated starting to form in his voice, “I would think that these are all things you’d want without delay.”

“I do. But achieving them one day later won’t kill me. And I have some shit to take care of before I grind for four months.”

Ujiko clicked his tongue, clearly unsatisfied with this new development. 

He knew exactly what Shigaraki had to go take care of. And he didn’t like it. Didn’t like you . He’d never liked you in fact. You asked too many questions. Had too many suspicions…

But Shigaraki didn’t care about the doctor’s disapproval, simply turned to him after slapping a bandage over his free-flowing wrist and commanded, “Warp me back to the villa.”

This clearly wasn’t up for discussion. Ujiko could’ve protested, sure, but at the end of the day it wouldn’t have mattered. Shigaraki wasn’t a kid anymore, far from it. He’d taken the mantle of true leader by force, and held his head high with the confidence that accomplishment deserved. If he wanted to do something, he was going to do it. The risk of upsetting the doctor or even his master was not a concern anymore. It barely ever had been.

So in the end Ujiko just sighed and turned to his obedient servant sitting patiently in the corner, “Johnny.”

Shigaraki didn’t so much as flinch as the warp came spewing out of his mouth. In fact, a rare sheen of childlike joy took over his features instead. Daruma noted this with a shaking head as he warped away. Oh well. If Shigaraki wanted one last night with his companions, with his little distraction , who was Ujiko to get in the way?

This was the last night he’d have control over his own body after all. Might as well let him enjoy it.

“Robber!” you cheered victoriously, pumping your fist over the seven you rolled.

“Noooo, not again!!” Toga cried out.

You grabbed the little gray token off the board, twirling it around tauntingly as you hum, “Hmmm, and where should I put him? I wonder…”

Spinner glared at you from across the board, “If you put it on my wheat field one more time—”

“Great idea Spinner!” you mock-gasped, already well aware of where you were planning to put it, and slap the Robber down in the center of Spinner’s monopolized wheat hex. 

“Great move! Cheap shot! ” Twice, the last player of the group, piped in.

“ Damn it !” Spinner punched his fist down on the table, shaking the drinks surrounding the board precariously.

“Oi, oi careful there!” you said, grabbing your glass of wine protectively, “If you party foul, you lose a turn.”

Spinner just grumbled irritably, grabbing his own beer and knocking it back to try and quell some of his frustration. You giggled at the sight. It would be easy to assume that Shigaraki was the most competitive and aggressive game player out of the League, but he actually managed to keep his cool during sessions most of the time. No, it was undeniably Spinner that was the most uncontrollably competitive, and it never failed to make you smile.

Even as the thought of Shigaraki threatened your demeanor with a frown.

You shook out the thought, because of course, you had another certain player to focus on. And you turned to her pointedly.

“Alright Toga, half your hand, let’s go.”

She gasped, “Whaaaat? What are you talking about!? I only have six cards!”

“That’s because two of them are sticking out of your sweater.”

Toga looked down to her sleeve, where indeed the corners of two resource cards were poking out rebelliously.

She snapped back to Compress in offense, who sat on the couch behind her, observing the game amusedly with his own glass of wine in hand, “Atsuhiro! You said that trick would work!”

“I’m sorry my dear,” he shrugged his hands tragically, “But it seems your sleight of hand needs a bit more work.”

Toga groaned, pulling her cards out of her sleeve and looking over which ones she wanted to discard with a pout.

Crushing his finished beer in his hand, Spinner turned back to Dabi who sat across the room, as far from the game as possible, and pretending not to watch it all, like he wsn’t invested in a single thing in this room. Not at all.

“Oi Dabi, can you grab me a beer?”

“You’ve got legs, get it yourself.”

“But the fridge is right freaking next to you!” Spinner shouted, pointing at the minifridge that actually, was not only right next to Dabi, but that he was currently resting his feet on top of.

But Dabi was a son of a bitch. So rather than even giving him an answer, he just crossed his feet over the fridge, making himself more comfortable.

“God, seriously ?!”

Shigaraki watched this all from the doorway with a whisper of a smile on his face. He’d stopped by his bedroom at the villa to grab a button down and even considered grabbing a quick shower while he was at it before coming here — the griminess of a week of experimentation sticking to him thickly. But ultimately he’d been too eager to see his comrades.

Yet, once he got to the doorway that the familiar rowdy laughter of his League led him to, he couldn’t help but just stop and take in the moment. It was nice to see them all so comfortable and content after months of chaos and vagrancy. And it was a look that especially suited you.

While you’d never been particularly materialistic or image-obsessed (if your decision to be with him didn’t make that obvious), you certainly also weren’t one to turn down the finer things in life when offered. And clearly here, you’d been offered, given the cashmere sweater and expensive bottle of wine you were currently enjoying. The regular access to showers and brand name moisturizers and cosmetics certainly weren’t hurting you either. Your skin was clearer and more glowing than he’d seen in months. You’d even seemed to have some time to style your hair today.

And of course there was your laugh. That big, uninhibited laugh that you only let out when you were truly comfortable. In general you were a pretty pragmatic person. It’s one of the things he’d always appreciated about you, particularly when surrounded by this circus that he calls a villain group. 

You approached new situations skeptically and took most things seriously. It’s not like you had no sense of humor, quite the opposite actually. But you also were very aware that there was a time and place for everything. When the pressure was high, laughter was nowhere to be found. And it had certainly been nowhere to be found for a while now.

So it went without saying that seeing you like this now, laughing over a game board, cheeks tinged slightly-red from the wine, completely taken care of and without a care in the world…

It was quite the sight for sore eyes.

“Shigaraki?”

He blinked and looked back to Spinner who, in standing to go grab a beer from the fridge, had turned and spotted him in the doorway.

“Tomura!” Toga squealed excitedly, jumping up out of her seat with Twice to join Spinner in barraging him in the doorway.

“What’re you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be leveling up with the Doc?” Spinner asked.

“Got a night off,” he answered simply.

“That’s awesome boss! Who needs ya?! ”

He turned to look past the three as you approached behind them, much calmer than the others, as usual. But that didn’t mean you weren’t just as thrilled to have him here. The adoration in your eyes was clear from across the room and it warmed him up in a way that he’d learned to really enjoy.

“It’s good to see you,” you said, simple and sweet. There was clearly so much more behind those words, but you knew how Shigaraki felt about doing shit like that in front of people, so you kept it subtle.

Apparently the caution was unnecessary though, as Shigaraki seemed to have lost his own patience for pretense. Even if it made his next words the spark that set off a firework show of “ooo’s” and teasing from resident forever teenagers, Toga and Twice.

“Yeah…” he breathed, “...Can we talk? Alone?”

It was all you could do to sit down on his bed when he told you.

“Full control?” you repeated in disbelief.

“Full control.”

You smiled, so genuinely, eyes starting to shine. You weren't even thinking about what this meant for the two of you yet, you were just happy for him, for the peace he could now live with. The burden that had eased.

“That… That’s amazing Tomura…”

Shigaraki stared down at you, a lump of nerves settling in his gut. He wasn’t affected by things like nerves or apprehension very much anymore — barely ever was in the first place, and especially not now that he had all the confidence and authority of a “Supreme Leader”. But he couldn’t keep those feelings from surfacing in that moment, couldn’t shake the image in his mind of things going terribly wrong. 

Of you crumbling into a pile of dust and viscera in front of him.

He swallowed down those fears though, and started to reach out a shaky hand, “Can… Can I…?”

Whatever apprehension he felt, you obviously didn’t share. You shot out a hand immediately, without hesitation. With complete trust in his word. In him.

His trembling palm pressed against your own firm one, fingers still raised taught and high on instinct, careful not to make contact. You slotted your fingers through his own, bringing them down to hold his hand with none of that same carefulness. His knee-jerk reaction was to scold you for being so reckless around his hands, just like he always did, but he held the words back, knowing he didn’t need to anymore. But the subconscious anxiety buzzing within him was just the same. 

You didn’t rush him either. Just gave him a squeeze of reassurance, and that was enough to finally encourage him to put a finger down. And then another. Tip by tip resting firmly and fully against your knuckles, until only his pinky remained raised.

He stared down at the horrid appendage, the one that had betrayed him so many times. That he could remember the horrible, gruesome ways in which it had destroyed in full, vivid detail now. Of the damage it could do to not only the world, but had done to his world. To Mon-chan, his mother, his sister…

The League was his world now — you were his world. And the idea of destroying that all with his own hands. It was too much. 

No, he decided, starting to pull away. This wasn’t fucking worth the risk.

But you leaned forward then, pressing your lips gently against his, locking him in place. You didn’t deepen it, nor did you pull away. You just held yourself against him, willing him to understand that this would all be okay. That he was a “Grand Commander” now, and with that came taking risks. Risks that you’d stand behind him through to the bitter end.

How you managed to communicate that all in just a kiss — how you always managed to communicate so much with so little — should’ve been a quirk of its own honestly. But regardless of how, the comfort of those unspoken words was enough to spur him forward. Shigaraki brought down his pinky.

And you didn’t turn to dust. 

You pulled away in fact, just a little, your eyes fluttering open as a soft, tearful smile spread across your face.

“Tomura—”

He surged forward, all of that hesitation and fear from before vanished in an instant. He shoved your hands together forward, pressing you to the bed as he kissed you with new fervor. His free hand came to hold your face, full and tight, all five fingers scrambling up the length of your cheek, your temple, tangling tight into your hair.

You sobbed happily into his mouth as he pulled his other hand free from yours, running it all across your body, disintegrating your clothes on contact, and then bringing those fingers back up the same route of bare skin, fully in control.

He was just as quick to decay his own clothes as you reached forward to try and tear at the top button of his shirt, which, while haphazardly done, was still too secure for either of your patience. He needed to feel you, all of you. Every inch against every pad of his fingers for the very first time.

And possibly even the last.

He didn’t want to think about that now though. He just wanted to shove you up higher onto the center of the bed, shoving your legs open wide as he kissed down the expanse of your chest and stomach. As he buried himself into your center, the pads of his fingers squeezing painfully tight into the pudge of your thighs.

But you didn’t mind the pain. Not only because it surged the pleasure just that much further, but because it grounded you. Reminded you that this was real. It promised a world — no matter how distant or near-impossible it was in reality — where Tomura Shigaraki could be whole and happy. 

Where he could fully be with you.

Your legs strained against his grip, instinctually trying to close as his working tongue pushed you closer and closer to climax. It wasn’t going to take you long at all to reach that peak. After all, the intensity and emotion of the moment aside, it had been a long while since your last coupling. The weeks of recovering from his fight with Re-Destro, the full month you all spent fighting Gigantomachia. And of course, even before that, with the close quarters and stress that came from living on the run and in complete squalor, your escapades had become pretty few and far between. (It was hard to get in the mood when you hadn’t eaten or showered properly in over a week).

So yeah, suffice it to say you were pretty touch-starved at this point, the work of your fingers on lonely nights at the villa having absolutely nothing on Shigaraki’s skillful tongue. And the voraciousness with which he assaulted your sex certainly wasn’t slowing things down for you either.

He didn’t even need to slip his long, knowing fingers into you to have you coming undone — he wouldn’t want to right now anyway, completely losing himself in the way your thighs felt squeezed between his fingers, but that feel of his nails digging into you spurred you on in their own way, ripping a cry from your throat as you came hard under his lips.

Shigaraki smirked up at you, wiping the excess slick from his chin with the meat of his palm, “Missed that.”

You smiled back at him, your own tinged with a bit of sadness as he climbed up over you, hands running up your ribcage. Because you didn’t just miss this. You missed him. And you knew that feeling wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. In fact, it was just getting started.

His brows furrowed at your expression. He’d always been good at reading you, and it’s not like you were being particularly subtle, “You good?”

You chased the melancholy from your smile quickly, planting a happy peck at the corner of his mouth before showing him teeth, “I’m great.”

He hummed, a gentleness overtaking his own features as he stared down at you. Adoration, pure and whole and unrestrained, particularly as he brought a hand back up to cup your face. His fingers spread across the expanse of your skin greedily, his thumb dipping down into your mouth. 

They were small gestures, little things that he seemed the most eager to do with his newly-attained range of touch. But it was obvious that they were huge to him. They were a freedom and a comfort that he’d been chasing his entire life. Even if he didn’t know it.

He groaned as you wrapped your own fingers around his cock, guiding him eagerly to your entrance. You had to. As much as he obviously wanted to fuck you, he couldn’t bare to take his fingers off of you for a second. He’d settle for fucking the plush of your thighs if it meant that he could hold you fully in his hands for just a second longer.

You, of course, were not so willing to settle.

“God—fuuck yes,” he growled, low in his throat, as he sank slowly into you, eternally grateful that for once your patience was even more lacking than his.

You grinned up at him`, shifting your hands to settle on the hard curves of his hips, “That’s good, huh?”

It was all he could do to nod shakily, lip biting back a breathy whine and brows knitting hard, as he tried desperately not to blow his load immediately.

You hummed happily at the sight, bringing one of your hands up to run across his cheek and through his hair. You remembered thinking a few months ago just how much those fights with Gigantomachia and Redestro had hardened him, aged him. Foolishly, it had even had you questioning briefly if this would be the end of your relationship. If maybe the shift that occurred during his awakening would chasm too big a valley for you two to bridge.

Of course, in the privacy of the League’s quarters, off of the stages and away from all the new adoring fans (bandwagoners, you and Spinner sometimes like to joke), he had been the same old Tomura Shigaraki, if not a little more confident and level-headed. He still complained about how everyone sitting on his bed eating dinner while he was on strict bed rest was too loud, still invested himself fully and kicking ass at every little game – from video games to cards – they challenged him to in order to pass the time with a cocky little smirk on his face.

And right now, with his face flushed and mouth agape with pleasure, he still looked just as young and ready to take on the world as the day you met him.

Finally he started to rock into you, slow and deep. One of his hands slipped down to the crux of your neck, fingertips biting tight into that smooth skin as he pulled you closer and closer into him. The other found a tight, desperate purchase on the handle of your hip. He used the grip of both to pump harder and deeper into you with every snapping thrust.

Minus the dry spell the two of you had endured over the last couple of months, you and Shigaraki had, overall, had a lot of sex over the last year that you’d known him.

Like, a lot of sex.

Rough sex, soft sex, angry, and fun. And while the man who claimed to hate everything would of course be remiss to admit it, there had indeed been quite a lot of genuine, intense lovemaking mixed in there too. But this right now, with all of the feelings and newness and longing that came with every stroke and whisper?

If Tomura Shigaraki was in fact capable of love, you were positive that this was the representation of that.

His lips dropped hot against the shell of your ear, peppering desperate bites and kisses along the skin as a string of breathy babble spilled out between.

“God fuck, you’re so perfect. Feel so good. Every part of you, so good. So fucking perfect…”

Overwhelmed with emotion and pleasure, it was all you could do to just mewl out his name, “Tomura, Tomura, Tomura—!”

His hips rolled against you with every hard buck, stimulating your aching sex in the way he knew you loved. That would have you clenching and spilling around him over and over again in the way that he loved. You weren’t even sure if it was intentional at this point, or if you had memorized each other’s bodies so well that it just became an instinctual part of his movement. You certainly didn’t have the forethought to drag your nails up the curve of his spine in the way that had him cursing and speeding up immediately.

“F-Fuck, I’m not gonna last like that—” he growled out, rutting desperately into you in spite of his own warning.

“G-Good,” you breathed back, rolling your hips right back into his, “Don’t.”

“B-But—”

He couldn’t get the rest of the words out, his mouth overtaken by a deliciously loud moan instead as he hit that deep, spongy spot inside of you that was heaven for the both of you. You got the message anyway.

But he wanted to keep fucking you. But he wanted this to last.

But he never wanted this to end.

You tangled your hand through his locks, reveling in the fact that there was so much more to hold now, and yanked his head back hard so he’d look at you.

“But nothing,” you smiled through hot, huffing breaths, “You’re fucking crazy if you think this is our only round.”

He stared at you in complete awe for a moment, hips almost coming to a stop as he took in this moment, took in you and the way that you always seemed to know what he was thinking and what he needed, even when he didn’t. 

Even if he hadn’t had his own dreams for the future, looking at you now, reveling in all that you’d been through together and all that you’d done for him, thinking about all that you deserved… If he could destroy this rotten society just so that you could have the freedom to be half as happy as you looked in this moment for the rest of your life, he’d gladly fucking do it.

Shigaraki’s face mirrored yours quickly after, a wide lascivious grin spreading across his face. It was all teeth and joy and feral desire to absolutely fucking wreck you. And let himself pound into you with the most reckless abandon he could muster.

You cried out at the new punishing pace, nails pushing hard into his skin, and heels locking sharp around his waist, spurred by the desperate need to have him pound into you harder, deeper, faster. Until you were completely coming apart around him, with his own violent release following close behind.

About two hours later, when you’re lying blissed out, sticky, and half-asleep on Shigaraki’s bare chest, he told you to roll over onto your stomach.

You groaned in protest — while your spirit was eager to roll around the sheets with him as much as possible before the sunrise, your body was sore and spent.

“Not for that,” he said, nudging your shoulder, “Just trust me.”

There was still some visible exasperation as you finally gave in, joints and back aching as you moved them before they were ready. You rolled over onto your stomach, dropping your cheek into the mountain of pillows that awaited you.

Shigaraki followed, moving his body over yours and straddling your hips. You were about to scold him for tricking you when, rather than grinding himself into the curve of your ass or thighs, he simply sat down on your butt and brought his hands to the base of your back. Then he started to knead and you knew exactly what he was doing.

Many a time during your months on the run did you take it upon yourself to try and alleviate some of his stress. Of course one of his favorite ways (and yours too) of doing so was to fuck each other’s brains out. But there were also many times when that wasn’t exactly an option. Whether because there were others around or because he was elbow deep in work for their next operation.

At times like those, when he was hunched over a shitty, half-dead laptop he’d manage to scrounge up from a dumpster, or held his fingers to the bridge of his nose, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to fight off an impending headache from the constant pressures of responsibility — you’d usually come up behind him and rub his neck. 

It wasn’t like you made a big show of it or anything. Most of the time you’d just reach a single hand over to him and start to stroke his neck without a word. Not expecting him to say or do anything, not even expecting a thank you. You just wanted to do whatever you could. When it was just the two of you around whatever sorry excuse for a base you’d managed to find, or when you’d been lucky enough to be settled in a safehouse with private rooms, you’d manage to talk him into laying down on his stomach, much like this, and work knots that he could’ve sworn had been there since birth, right out of his back. 

He never said anything about it, never thanked you nor told you to stop, but in retrospect he did realize that it was one of the few things that managed to bring him even a smidgeon of peace over those many stressful months, that actually got him through it all. Particularly in the fights against Gigantomachia, where, the second the beast was asleep, you’d insist he lay his head down in your lap while you rubbed softly at his temples, lulling him near instantly to do the same.

It truly meant the world to him, even if he’d never admit it. A deep, foolishly sentimental part of him always wished that he could return the favor. 

And now he could. 

Of course… That didn’t mean he was any good at it.

“Pinching, you’re pinching,” you winced as his thumbs pressed together, unoiled, on a patch of your back awkwardly.

“Oh shit,” he released his grip, settling to just rub his fingers up and down your back slowly, “Sorry…”

“It’s fine. You just can’t do it that hard if you don’t have any oil or lotion, you know?”

His brows furrowed, “You always did it that hard without any of that crap and it felt fine.

You smirked back at him playfully, “That’s because I’m really good.”

He shot you a look, completely unimpressed.

“I liked what you were doing before,” you conceded. 

This was clearly something he wanted to do, and who were you to complain or judge when he was being so unabashedly giving? 

“When you were using your palms. Just pressing and kneading with your whole hands rather than trying to do any pressure point stuff is really nice.”

“Yeah, okay…” he nodded, concentration settling over his features as he followed instructions.

You sighed, burying your face back into the pillows as he ran those hot, calloused hands purposefully up and down your back. 

This was nice. 

Again, while he wasn’t hurting you anymore, the massage itself wasn’t particularly skillful. It did put you at ease though, the way his smell and presence, the way those hands — even when you could never feel them fully against you — always managed to put you at ease.

After at least thirty minutes passed and Shigaraki showed no sign of stopping his ministrations, you peaked back up at him.

“You don’t have to keep this up you know.”

He snorted, “Yeah I know.” 

And you should’ve expected that response. Because of course he knew. He wasn’t doing this out of obligation or anything. Tomura Shigaraki didn’t do anything he didn’t want to after all.

You rolled your eyes, “I just mean that you must be tired after all that. Don’t you want to sleep?”

“I’m gonna be asleep for the next four months. I think I’ll be good missing one night.”

The message behind those words was clear. He only had so much time to spend with you, he wasn’t going to waste even a second of it with something as stupid as sleeping.

You should’ve been flattered by that. And of course you were. And truth be told, you had the same mindset as him. You had no plans to sleep that night either, even if he had. But the reminder of his fate for the next four months brought a bitterness to your mouth that overpowered the sweetness of this opportunity.

“Sleep, huh?” you said doubtfully, “Is that what the Doctor is calling it?”

“I guess suspended animation,” he corrected himself, “Or whatever the fuck.”

Amongst other things. Hellish agony he believed was the way the Doctor so eloquently put it. But he’d chosen to spare you (and the rest of the League) those particular details.

Even without that knowledge though, you still weren’t thrilled by the prospect. Of course because you were going to miss him, but mostly because you trusted that fucking doctor about as far as he could throw you. Which, for that portly little creep, you were pretty sure wasn’t far.

Particularly, because now that the excitement and happiness you’d had for Tomura’s newfound quirk control (as well as the fog from your repeated orgasms) was starting to fade into something more grounded, a sneaky little question managed to worm its way into your head.

Had the Doctor been capable of “fixing” his quirk this entire time?

A loud pounding on the door suddenly broke the silence, at least two fists rapping. And then Twice’s muffled call of, “Alright you two, you’ve had your fun! Now come out and play with the rest of us! Take your time! Make babies if ya want!”

You snorted at the call. Shigaraki was substantially less entertained.

“Jiiiin!” Toga whined from the other side of the door, “Leave them alone! They want some privacy!”

Ah, so the two fists knocking must’ve both been Twice.

“But you missed Shigaraki too, Toga!”

“I know, but…” 

A stretch of silence. And then apparently Toga’s support for love was outweighed by how much she missed her friend. Because then two more fists started knocking on the door.

“Tomuraaaa, come ooouuuut!!” Toga cried, Twice starting up his own pounding on the door right along with them.

“Yeah, yeah— come out! Stay away !”

“I’ll kill them…” Shigaraki growled, glaring at the door heatedly.

You just giggled as you rolled over under him, dropping him to sit on your waist.

“Oh don’t be like that Tomura,” you cooed, reaching up to cup his cheek in your palm and turning him to look at you, “We should all go hang out. I’m not the only one who’s gonna miss you these next four months, you know.”

He sneered at the suggestion at first, wanting nothing more than to spend the entirety of these next twelve or so hours with his hands holding on to you as tight as possible.

But then he really got thinking about it. About them. 

Spinner, Toga, Twice, Compress, hell, even Dabi. There wasn’t going to be time to fuck around with them all once he woke up. They’d be going straight into action, into war. Into the future, wherever that may lead. This wasn’t just going to be his last guaranteed chance to enjoy time with you. It was his last chance to spend time with any of them, until they achieved their goals. And by the end of all that, who even knew how many of them would still be alive?

It was a weight he’d carried around with ease as they planned out their attack over the last couple of months, a weight he’d been carrying for the past year if he was being honest. But it never felt as heavy on his soul at this very moment.

You were right. Absolutely right.

How annoying, he thought with a grumble.

You smiled as you saw that shift on his face, the slight softness that always fell over him when he thought about the League, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

“Alright?” you pressed.

He sighed, “Yeah, yeah. Alright…” 

And then let the corner of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly as he looked down at you, so splayed and fucked out and pretty. He leaned down to press a long, but surprisingly chaste kiss on you, for someone that was still sitting atop your naked form with his own.

Because just because he was going to get up, didn’t mean he was going to be in any rush.

Caught up in the feel of each other, neither of you noticed the click of the door and Spinner’s voice announcing, startlingly clear, “Guys, the door is unlocked.”

“Ack— SPINNER!! ”

“Okay, you’ve got that all memorized?” Toga chirped, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor.

“Yeah, I guess.” Shigaraki, across from her, shrugged, strongly resisting the urge to tell her about how stupid this all was (again). 

“Great! So then we start in that first position, crossed arms,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest by example.

Shigaraki sighed and mirrored her.

“Alright! One, two, three!” she sounded off excitedly, before fluttering her hands eagerly and singing, “Misssss Maaaaaryyyyy Mack, Mack, Mack! All dressed in black, black, black…”

You grinned from your position on the couch, glass of wine in hand, as you watched the two. Shigaraki was pointedly not singing along with Toga, but he was matching her claps with impeccable accuracy.

The League had been just as stunned and excited to hear about Shigaraki’s new upgrade. Not to the point of immediately jumping on his dick, but that was obviously more than okay with him.

No, they were more interested in giving him a speedrun through all of the things he’d missed out on in life from not being able to grab it with all five fingers. Playground clap games that Shigaraki, as a boy, couldn’t say he ever played even before his quirk awakened, were apparently of the highest priority to Toga.

“With silver buttons, buttons buttons— Tomura, you’re not singing!”

“And I’m not gonna,” he grumbled back, but not stopping his hands, “Take the W as it is, or don’t take it at all.”

You laughed at the sight, a new glass of wine that you were sure Shigaraki would want by the end of this.

Mr. Compress read Shigaraki’s palms next. 

They supposed that this was technically something they could’ve done even before Shigaraki’s upgrade, but with how careful and particular he’d been with anybody getting anywhere near his hands, it definitely wasn’t something they had ever thought to give a go before now.

He decided to read the palm that hadn’t been marred by the fight with Redestro, for more “accuracy” (a reasoning that Shigaraki had openly scoffed at).

“Your love line is quite straight and short,” Compress explained, “Which indicates that you don’t have a lot of interest in love.”

“Booooo,” a red-faced Toga whined from her place on the floor between your legs, shooting Shigaraki an aggressive thumbs down.

You promptly grabbed the half-empty can of chuhai next to her foot, and moved it up to the side table out of her sight. Underage drinking was officially done for the night.

Unbothered, Mr. Compress continued his reading, running his mechanical finger along the top line of Shigaraki’s palm, “Since your love line begins below your middle finger though, it also means that when you do love, you’re quite selfish about it.”

You chuckled, “Hammer? Meet nail.”

“Oh shut up,” he waved you off with his free hand.

“Next is your head line, which represents the way you learn and communicate, as well as your overall intellectualism and thirst for knowledge.” Compress turned to the rest of the group, finger raised as he lectured.

Dabi, from his place leaning judgmentally against the wall across from them, huffed, “Alright, I agree with the Boss on this one. This is really stupid.”

Toga grinned at him, pointing teasingly, “You’re just saying that because you don’t have any more lines in your palm to read! Jelly!”

“I’m not—”

“Jelly!” Twice backed Toga up with a chant, “Jelly, jelly, jelly! Peanut butter !”

Dabi just sighed and returned to his nth beer of the night.

“You have a deep and long head line, that runs separate from your heart line,” Compress continued, “That means that you’re clear and focussed, with a great sense of adventure and enthusiasm for life.”

Shigaraki snorted, “Alright, now I know this is bullshit.”

You flicked his cheek scoldingly, “Just keep going.”

“I also see a singular cross in your heart line, which suggests that you carry some emotional crisis.”

Compress didn’t linger on that point. After all, everyone in this room was dealing with the same thing in one way or another.

“The lifeline is the most interesting in my opinion,” Compress explained, “As opposed to what you might think, it doesn’t have to do with the length of your life, but the quality of it. Yours runs close to the thumb and forks downwards, which means you’re often tired and a pessimist.”

Toga snickered a bit at that, “Still think it’s BS, Tomura?”

“I’m getting the distinct feeling you guys are doing this just as an excuse to insult me to my face.”

You gave his freehand a squeeze, “Oh we don’t need the pretense to do that.”

“ Oi. ”

“There’s a circle in the line too, which predicts great injury or hospitalization.”

The League looked at him pointedly, and he just rolled his eyes.

“The last detail about your life line is a curious one. It’s short and shallow,” Compress said, cocking his head in a way that clearly indicated that he didn’t exactly agree with it, “Which indicates that you’re easily manipulated by others.”

Your frowned. 

The rest of the League members pulled faces that clearly showed their similar disagreement with the reading. But you, thinking back to all his interactions with All for One and the Doctor, everything in his life that he’d described to you…

Well, you weren’t so sure.

“Pffft, like I said,” Shigaraki scoffed, gesturing for you to hand him his wine, “It’s all bullshit.”

Deliberately, Mr. Compress did not read Shigaraki’s fate line.

You weren’t sure when the night turned into the League taking turns with choosing tasks for Shigaraki to complete, but you weren’t going to complain. You were already looking forward to Toga’s next round after she’d screamed up into the security camera you all knew Skeptic was watching irritatedly through to get her some string for cat’s cradle.

Spinner’s turn was pretty simple though, and at first, not especially different then before. You thought at first that maybe that was by design, that Spinner just wanted to spend some time with Shigaraki the way he always had.

He wanted to play video games.

Of course, there was a twist.

“Fingers down.” Spinner scolded him for what had to be the fifth time in the last ten minutes, “Toga, I need chicken.”

“Yes, chef!” she chirped back happily.

“God, fucking—” Shigaraki growled, forcing his pinkies back down onto the controller against every instinct in his body.

Years of having to hold things in a particular way had caused him to develop a very particular controller grip. One that, once, back at the bar — god, that felt like it was so long ago now — several of you had tried to mimic, just for the hell of it. (Or more accurately, just to get his goat). And it had been hard . The general consensus had been that no normal human should be able to hold a controller like this, let alone hold a controller like this and be as good at video games as Tomura Shigaraki was. 

Now though, the shoe was on the other foot — or more accurately the controller was in the other hands — as you all forced Shigaraki to go a couple rounds of Overcooked while holding the pro controller like a normal fucking person. And it was not going well. 

“Stop dropping shit!” you yelled hysterically next to Shigaraki, “Do you see how many burritos we still need to make?!”

“Do you think I’m doing it on purpose?!” he shouted right back, possibly more worked up than you’d ever seen him.

Toga on the other side of him giggled. She and Spinner were having absolutely no trouble at all on their side of the kitchen, “Tomura, I thought you were supposed to be good at video games.”

“I am! I’m just not used to this grip— FUCK! ” he screamed out as his character once again fell off the map, throwing his controller down onto the carpet.

The room erupted in doubled over laughter and “woah woah woah’s”, over the tantrum the sorts of which none of you had seen since the early days back at the bar.

Maybe he wasn’t such a good sport after all.

With Twice’s request, even you had to admit that things were getting a bit ridiculous.

Twice slammed his elbow down onto the table, holding his palm open for Shigaraki to take, “Gimme all you got, boss! Go easy on me, please!”

Shigaraki, on the other hand, seemed the most enthusiastic about this one, placing his own elbow on the table and grabbing Twice’s hand tight in his own with a cocky grin. 

You suspected that the many beers he’d knocked back (not to mention the entire bottle of wine the two of you had killed together) played a decent role in that, but it was also impossible to deny that their dear leader was fiercely competitive, no matter the game.

“Ready?” you asked, looking between the two. They nodded, and you begrudgingly stepped further into your role as referee, clapping as you counted down, “Three, two, one— arm wrestle!”

The room blew up in a (small) chorus of screams and cheers.  Actually, even that was generous. As referee you were expressly forbidden from picking sides (Twice was very serious about that), and Compress and Dabi were too composed and too uninterested respectively to participate. It was just Spinner and Toga going wild and slamming their hands on the table as Shigaraki’s and Twice’s muscles strained against each other — although they were more than loud enough for the whole group.

“Go, Jin go!” Toga cheered rhythmically, “Go, Jin go!”

“Kick his ass, Shigaraki!” 

The match lasted a respectable amount of time, both sides putting up a pretty damn good fight. And while Twice was built like a tank and was no slouch either — he probably would’ve won this by a moderate margin a couple of months ago — Shigaraki’s month-long escapade with Gigantomachia had given him a strength and will that surpassed Twice’s own.

“Arrrrgh— damn it !!” Twice shouted as Shigaraki slammed his fist down into the table definitively, “Great game Shigaraki! Die!”

You chuckled as Twice got up from his seat, head dropped in defeat, then turned to Spinner, who was already rolling out his dominant shoulder.

“Next challenger,” you gestured to the seat, “You’re up.”

Dabi didn’t have any requests throughout the night (surprise, surprise), just a lot of eyerolls and snippy commentary. But he also didn’t ever split off from any of you, which made you consider that he may not have thought this was all as stupid as he claimed.

The part of the night he seemed to enjoy (or at least, not vocalize his annoyance or the group’s childishness over), the most, was when around 4 am rolled around. 

Out of ideas and exhausted, but absolutely refusing to go to bed, the League decided to take a particularly noisy and drunken nightwalk around the property (much to the dread of whichever resident’s window they passed). This quickly turned into an equally harebrained climb up onto the roof so that you could all watch the sun come up.

That sunrise was still a good hour or so away though by the time you all got settled up there, and as chatty, adrenaline-filled, and drunk as most of you were, the late hour and comforting breeze was starting to get to you all. 

Twice and Toga had long fallen asleep, heads resting together. Compress, with his hands folded over his stomach and Spinner, curling up tighter into a ball with every minute, were not far behind. Dabi’s eyes were closed, but he might’ve still been conscious. He didn’t make a sound either way.

Only Shigaraki seemed to be wide awake, staring up at the waning moon with a complex expression on his face. He looked like he was thinking hard, but also somewhat at peace. Grateful for this moment, but already mourning its inevitable end. Exhilarated by the future that began for him tomorrow.

Wondering just what exactly he’d be leaving behind in the past.

You watched this all cross his face, not shifting between expressions, but clearly feeling it all at once. Overwhelmed, and unprepared to process it all. The one thing that seemed to keep him grounded was the hand that held yours, tight and warm. Anytime tonight that his hands weren’t occupied with whatever silly ringer the rest of the League was putting through, he was threading those fingers right back with yours, savoring the one new experience that he truly wanted to indulge the most in. 

And you were more than happy to let him.

He shifted a bit in surprise as you nuzzled into his shoulder, squeezing his hand just a bit tighter in your own.

“You’re still awake,” he commented, voice horse with the sleep his body clearly wanted.

“So are you,” you mumbled against the fabric of his shirt, just breathing him in.

“Yeah, but you need sleep,” he chuckled, “Like I said, I’ll be having more than enough of it for the next four months.”

You stilled against him, frowning. 

Right. The next four months.

Shigaraki seemed to sense your shift in mood, and kicked himself. That was a stupid thing to mention again when you’d finally managed to put it out of your mind for a few hours, and when that fate itself was even fewer hours away.

He ran his thumb with a restlessness that was once reserved for his nails against his neck. Even with that itch seemingly gone for good from his life, Shigaraki was still a fidgety person by nature. Especially when uncomfortable.

“You guys will be busy,” he grumbled, “Planning the attacks, organizing your regiments, training… You’ll barely even notice I’m gone.”

You didn’t comment on the stupidity of that statement, even though it was a really, really stupid and patently untrue thing for him to say. Because frankly, it wasn’t what was on your mind at the moment, not the front of it anyway. Of course the fact that you were going to miss him and these days together was a constant parasite, gnawing and suckling in the back of your brain. But truly, your current concern was a bit less melancholy. Less abstract.

Shigaraki had full control over his quirk now. And it was great and beautiful and nothing short of a miracle of course, you wouldn’t trade this night and all the memories opened up by that particular door for anything in the world. And yet you could not fight that question that had first struck your mind the first moment you had to actually think about it.

Why now?

That question wrenched through you painfully, no matter how much you loved the feel and sight of his hand in your own. Because sure, Shigaraki had been out of touch with the Doctor ever since All for One’s arrest. But what about the last sixteen some years that he’d been at the personal beck and call of All for One and his ward? Why hadn’t he ever adjusted Shigaraki’s quirk then? Was it a matter of technology, a breakthrough in quirk alteration he only recently was able to make? Or was it something else? Was there something bigger going on here? 

What was he not telling you all?

Shigaraki looked down at you, giving that flat expression of his that you knew translated to concern. You looked up from your locked hands to meet his gaze. He stared into you, those deep pools of carmine that stood so hard against the rest of the world, now soft and imploring. Even more than they were for the League. This look was for you.

“Tomura—”

“It’s gonna be worth it.”

You paused, that newfound calm confidence in his voice silencing you in an instant.

“I know these next four months are gonna be hard for all of us. This war is gonna be hard for all of us,” he said, turning to stare back up at the stars, “But it’s all going to be worth it in the end. We’re gonna make a new world where you’re all able to live as you want to. To be free. And this power that the Doctor is giving me... That’s going to assure that it all happens.”

“And… You don’t think that you can do all that now?” you breathed, “You’ve gotten so strong already, Tomura. Maybe you don’t even need that power.”

He turned back to you with a small but sincere smile. The one that betrayed that deep down tenderness he always tried so earnestly to hide. That called his bluff, revealing that there were feelings other than hate in that cursed body of his.

The one that made your heart skip a beat.

“I don’t want to take any chances,” he said, bringing his free hand — all five fingers — to rest on your cheek, “Not when it comes to my comrades’ dreams.”

Not when it comes to you .

Those unspoken words were loud and clear.

You swallowed something tight in your throat, fighting the burn that threatened to overflow from your eyes, the worry that brawled to burst out from your chest and ruin everything. But you had no choice but to shove it all down.

Forcing a smile onto your face, you squeezed his hand tight.

“I understand.”

His own smile remained the same, although a bit of relief did seem to fall over his eyes. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple and stayed there, breathing as much of you in as he possibly could.

Shigaraki had made up his mind. He was going to go through with this. And there was nothing you could say, no concern you could voice or ultimatum you could give that would change his mind. This decision was beyond his own wants and dreams at this point. It was for something far more important to him, even if he’d never admit it.

This was for all of you.

And who were you to stand in the way of that?

The fears wouldn’t ease with time, the nagging in the back of your head wouldn’t be forgotten through training or planning or anything else that you could do in the next four months to try and drown it out. But you just had to suck it up. You had to support him.

You could talk about your fears and the Doctor and any secret ambitions he may have after this ordeal. After the war even. You could talk about anything then, really. It was only four months after all. 

And the two of you would soon have all the time in the world.

[hypocriticalspicewrites]

That feminine urge to walk around in a cave that's also the ruins of a hotel with your four mates while wearing one of these gowns like a sweet little vampire housewife who spends her time getting the little nest all nice and pretty, dusting cobwebs, lighting candles and fires, sweeping off dust on the fountain, cleaning up blood and such stained on clothes and fabrics.

Or answering the door at a home to some random person who decided to give the doorbell a ring at the wrong time and I'd answer the door all oblivious and elegant, inviting them in for a bite.

You know, normal thoughts.🙃