#there was nothing. except maybe someone trying to count the tiles on the wall while driving.

[relto]

sometimes i look at the traffic map and can just immediately tell its only congested bc people are driving like shit

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 7

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[18+ rating for language, sex, violence, alcohol consumption, abuse, and general Hellaverse-ness]

[CW: mention of nonconsent, self harm, alcohol abuse]

[Part 7/?? Word count 3178]

—————

The shower being the best place to think is universal across species and realities. Which was unfortunate for Blitzø. He didn’t want to think about anything at the moment. He rested his forehead against the tile wall and just let the water run down him.

The thought of Stolas marrying Stella made his stomach twist. The idea of that girl being around constantly was sickening. Maybe if Stolas would try to find another Goetia this whole thing wouldn’t be so bad.

Except that idea didn’t make him feel any better. Anyone marrying Stolas was an awful prospect. Someone not actively hostile joining the palace at least didn’t terrify him, but the anxiety over the wedding didn’t abate.

Satan’s taint, fuck this! Blitzø punched the wall, irritating his bruised knuckles. No way, I fucking can’t, shitshitshit. He couldn’t have feelings for… He couldn’t. Prince Stolas was demon royalty. He was Blitzø’s master. Despite everything they’d tried to subvert the bond Paimon had forced on them, it didn’t change the fact that Blitzø was Stolas’ slave. The prince had his life in his hands.

He couldn’t have feelings beyond this strange friendship they maintained. Stolas had his life. He shouldn’t have his heart too. And if it was too late for that, Blitzø could never let on that he did.

He stood in the shower long enough to get the worst grime off without scrubbing. The fact that he’d cried almost the whole time and only got out once he couldn’t anymore was incidental. He had enough energy to dry off and fall onto the twin bed in the nude.

back lte, see u wen I wak oop Blitzø texted to Stolas on his flip phone just before passing out.

It was just before noon when Blitzø woke up. He ached from horn tip to hoof. At some point in the night his tail had gotten tangled up in the blanket. He found Waffle Iron, the horse plushie Stolas gave him, in his arms. There was a text from Stolas, sent not too long after Blitzø sent his.

Welcome back. You don’t have to worry about being on time for anything tomorrow. I am up late myself after all. I found a document on creating portals and it gave me some insight on making them for travel between realms. I’ve been practicing most of the night and I’m eager to share what I’ve discovered if you’re interested. In any case, I’ll be getting some rest now as well. Goodnight Blitzø.

How Stolas was able to type these walls of text so fast was still a mystery. Whatever, at least he had some leeway this morning. As they had gotten older, Blitzø had been entrusted with more of Stolas’ personal care. That was generally in the morning, acting as a valet. Throughout the day he was something of a dogsbody, something of a bodyguard depending on the situation.

First up after getting dressed was to check if Stolas was up yet. He could hear hooting snores as he cracked open the prince’s bedroom door. Sounded like he’d stayed up even after sending that text. Blitzø grabbed food from the kitchen (hot dogs, cheese, and crackers) before heading back to Stolas’ chambers.

The prince was still asleep. With nothing else to do at the moment, he grabbed a novel from the book alcove. Blitzø had been expressly forbidden from doing any cleaning anywhere in the palace. Not that the staff hadn’t tried. But Blitzø’s version of cleaning was not up standard and often meant more work for the maid staff in the end. So while he wasn’t much of a reader, it was better than being alone with his thoughts.

Stolas finally woke up about an hour later. “Bout time.”

“Good morning to you too Blitzø.”

“It’s after one.”

“Oh. Good afternoon then?”

“There you go, Floof. You want food or clean up first?”

“If we could have lunch prepared while I’m dressing, that would be preferable. Have you eaten anything yet?” Stolas extracted himself from the pile of blankets and pillows as Blitzø pressed a buzzer to request food from the servants.

“I had something earlier.” He pulled an outfit out of Stolas’ wardrobe; shirt, trousers, and vest that could work with or without the long capes the owl demon liked. He joined Stolas in front of the mirrored vanity.

Stolas lifted an elegant eyebrow as he finished washing his face. “By ‘something’ do you mean a slice of cold lunch meat?” Now that he was so much taller than Blitzø (and essentially everyone in the palace) his friend handed him garments and helped with adjustments instead of actively dressing him.

“No,” Blitzø replied, sounding offended. “It was cold hot dogs and cheese. Some crackers too.” He stuck his tongue out at Stolas while buttoning up the vest.

Stolas didn’t miss the bruising on the imp’s knuckles or his split lip. Looks like some sort of altercation occurred overnight. He thought the protection from the bond was equally effective wherever Blitzø was. Evidently not. “Well that is an improvement.” He sat down so Blitzø could stand on a stool to fix his head feathers. Best to bring up the subject of injuries after food.

“Looks like you had an exciting time last night,” Stolas said as they finished lunch. He grasped Blitzø by the hand, examining the knuckles. “I thought my protection would be at the same strength everywhere. Are you hurt elsewhere?”

Oh shit. Blitzø paled and yanked his hand away. “Wasn’t on purpose. Some punkass Sinners wanted to make trouble. I got banged up a bit but it’s fine.” His shoulders hunched as he tried to pull away without leaving his seat.

Stolas blinked, confused. Blitzø was more agitated than he’d expected over a fist fight. “Did anything else happen? We can talk if you need to.”

Ohhhhhh nooooo that was the last thing Blitzø wanted. Deflect, deflect! “Crashed a party, had a good time. If it wasn’t for this fuckers on my way back it’d have been a great night. Thanks for letting me blow off some steam.”

“Ah, of course. I only wish I could do so more often.” Stolas was flustered. The imp kept insisting things were fine despite looking worn out and upset. He didn’t want to push too hard though. Maybe Blitzø just needed space. He didn’t get too much in general and Stolas didn’t want to take away the little privacy his friend had left.

Indeed after about a day, Blitzø seemed back to normal. Their routine went back to normal for a few days. Blitzø was mostly sleeping on the lounge or in his room but that wasn’t abnormal.

Stolas was relieved it wasn’t anything serious. At least until he had another “date” with Stella. This time they went to her family’s estate, so her older brother was in attendance as well.

Again, afterwards Blitzø asked to leave for the evening and although he wasn’t injured like before, he was just as prickly and closed off. He insisted he had fun, meeting other teenage imps and going to parties or occasionally clubs. Then all would be back to normal by the day after.

This cycle repeated for a few months, with Blitzø becoming increasingly closed off. He was spending as little time as possible in Stolas’ presence and not engaging in their normal conversations. Some mornings he’d obviously been fighting and others he’d overindulged with whatever drinks were available.

The owl demon realized how upsetting the whole situation was for him when he noticed he’d overpreened while Blitzø was out in the evening. The bald patch wouldn’t show when he wore long sleeves but he had to fight to not make it bigger. It was hard however. His best friend was becoming more miserable by the day. His fiancé made little effort to connect with him. Stolas just wanted to keep his mind off it by constantly adjusting and cleaning his feathers; at least that would relieve the emotional stress for a while.

After three months Stolas couldn’t take it anymore. He’d attended an afternoon tea party with Stella. Blitzø had remained at the palace. He couldn’t exactly mingle with the servants and following Stolas as he escorted Stella was nauseating.

Stolas let himself collapse into a chair in his sitting room. Normally he enjoyed his well fitted clothing (he never claimed to be modest about his appearance). Today it all felt claustrophobic and he stripped off everything except for his shirt and boxers. Not a dignified look for a prince of Hell. Dignity be damned, he had enough of dignity at that tea party.

Blitzø picked up the shed clothes. The cape would need wrinkles pressed out but the rest of the clothes needed a wash. He did minor tasks around the chambers to avoid conversation. As the light faded he asked, “Mind if I leave for the evening?” It was something of a routine now, for him to have a night out after a Stella related day. He had to get permission each time though.

Stolas sat upright suddenly. He’d hoped that without having to be around Stella, Blitzø wouldn’t feel the need to get out tonight. Apparently not. Stolas almost gave permission on reflex but managed to stop himself. He didn’t want Blitzø to come back miserable again.

“Actually I’d like your company tonight Blitzø.” He winced as the binding glowed faintly.

Blitzø felt the pressure on his neck. Satan’s asscrack! Stolas might not have intended the order but it was too late now. “Sure,” Blitzø managed to croak. “What did you have in mind, master?” Fuuuuuck why did he say that?

Stolas stumbled over his words. Blitzø had called him master before, but either in a teasing tone or flat and formal when among other Goetia. He’d never heard Blitzø’s voice with that much venom. “We could…watch a movie? Or talk? Or maybe…” he trailed off, not wanting to admit he wanted to cuddle up.

Blitzø took some time to respond. “A movie would be fun.” With the added benefit of preventing conversation. Especially if they picked something they hadn’t watched before. “Wanna use the theater?”

The palace had a private screening room on the first floor. It had half a dozen overstuffed recliners set up in front of a projection screen. There was a fully stocked candy and soda bar, along with a popcorn machine. With the kitchen on the same floor it wasn’t hard to request something more substantial as well.

The two had been known to fall asleep in there as kids, after eating too much junk food and marathoning movies (or as close as nine year olds can manage a movie marathon). They had also broken two chairs, as they made excellent springboards until collapsing.

When Paimon handed over ownership of the palace to Stolas, he opened up use of the theater to the house staff and security. Until then it had been restricted to only the family but Stolas felt it was silly for it to be unused most days. Staff could use it during their time off and they had to clean up after. Evidently it had become a popular spot for dates, since they didn’t have to leave the grounds and spend money to squeeze into a crowded cinema. It was a good thing the recliners were leather.

It seemed gatherings of friends enjoyed it too. A group of five imps and three Hellhounds was cleaning up as the credits rolled when Stolas and Blitzø arrived. “Your Highness!” The Hounds all snapped to attention, one dropped a wastebasket as he did so. “Apologies sir, we will be gone as soon as possible.”

“No rush, we’re still deciding on what to watch after all,” Stolas tried to reassure them.

“Heeeey Bliiiiitzø,” one of the imps called out. Scarlet, a maid about his age and one that was not only civil but very friendly with him. “Blitzø, hey man, haven’t seen you much lately!” That was Vex, one of the footmen a couple years older than him.

“Now that I can go all over Pride, I gotta get the full experience.” He put some sugary temptation in his voice. There were a few hotties working here and these two were at the top of the list. He slipped behind the bar to get his and Stolas’ favorite sodas and buckets of popcorn.

Vex leaned over the counter. “Well, so long as you don’t completely forget all the fun experiences here.” The other imp’s tail was swishing around, eventually the tip lifted high enough to brush Blitzø’s cheek.

Scarlet hopped up on the counter and looked back at him over her shoulder, her own tail wrapping around her coworkers. “We should have a movie night together, just the three of us.” Her tail moved to swirl around Blitzø’s arm. “Or just two of us.”

Jackpot! “For sure, can’t forget old friends.”

The group finished cleaning and left Stolas and Blitzø alone. Watching Blitzø flirt… Stolas felt a stab to the gut. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “There’s quite a few we haven’t watched yet, is there anything you’d like to see?”

“Nothin sappy.” Blitzø settled into a chair with his pile of goodies as Stolas started the film and dimmed the lights. The prince had selected an action comedy; nothing heart wrenching, enough humor to lighten the mood and a satisfying level of blood and explosions. They followed up with the less impressive sequel and the trilogy redeeming third movie. Between the second and third they had an intermission to order dinner from the kitchen. After the last movie it was almost midnight.

The clean up rule applied to them as well so they made sure to leave the theater in a fresh state for the next viewers. Blitzø was excitedly talking about the explosions and blood sprays as they headed back upstairs. Stolas for the most part was listening, laughing along with him. He hadn’t seen Blitzø this cheerful in months. I missed this.

When they reached Stolas’ chambers, Blitzø attempted to head to his own room. Stolas grabbed his hand, saying “I’d like to talk, please?” The imp followed. He was trying to figure out some way to get out of this conversation. He’d been avoiding Stolas just to get away from discussing…anything at all.

Blitzø sat in one of the chairs in the drawing room. Shoulders hunched, feet dangling (it was sized for a Goetia), and tail wrapped around himself, he hoped he made it clear he didn’t want to do this. Stolas sat across from him, twisting his fingers nervously. They both were silent, not sure how to start. After a few false starts from Stolas, Blitzø hopped out of his chair.

“Great, good talk, see you in the morning!”

“No! Blitzø! I … we can’t keep this up!”

“Keep what up?” The imp twitched in place, his back to Stolas. “Everything is fucking fine.”

“No it’s fucking not!” Blitzø jerked up. Stolas almost never cursed, much less raised his voice. “You’re miserable, becoming more so by the day and I can’t stand it! Please, talk to me Blitzø.” He didn’t respond. Instead he stayed rooted in place. “Blitzø I don’t want to order you to talk but-“

“Oh, you’re gonna pull that card prick?” Blitzø knew he was toeing the line, insulting Stolas, but he couldn’t help it.

“No! No, I’m sorry Blitzø, I don- I didn’t- I’ve never-“

“But you can Stolas.” Blitzø finally turned to face him. “Even if you never order me around, you can and I can’t say no, and I… I probably wouldn’t even try. To say no…” Dammitall, he did have feelings for the other demon.

Stolas’ pinprick pupils emerged, something that only rarely happened when he was feeling emotional. “What-“

“How am I supposed to talk to someone who can just drag everything they want out of me?! And what does it matter if I’m miserable? I fuck up everything anyway! So I might as well just be miserable and you can live your perfect prince life!”

“How is my life perfect?!” Stolas’ voice cracked on the last word. “My father hates me so much he made my only friend a slave, I’ve got to marry a vapid harpy who already hates my only friend, who is slowly destroying himself and I can’t do anything to fix any of it!”

Stolas had risen to his feet but now he slumped on the floor, roughly at eye level with Blitzø now. “I don’t know if I can ever break the chain my sadistic father put on you. And it’s grinding you into pieces and me with you because you really are my friend and I like you and I’ll never be able to make you happy…” his words lost their usual deliberate cadence, turning into a babbling flow.

“I know you like me, that’s why your dad was such an asshat.”

“I mean… I think I like you Blitzø. More than friends, as they say. Except you’re bound to me. Trying to be anything other than friends is… You can’t say yes if you can’t say no. I have to settle for making you comfortable.”

Every thought vanished from Blitzø’s head like Sinners during Extermination Day. “You’re fucking with me,” he said with that growling hiss.

Stolas shook his head; it hung down as if he couldn’t support it. “Why else would I be trying so hard with Stella? She despises both of us. But we’re all going to be stuck together and getting her to be civil is all I can think of to do.”

That’s why he keeps bringing me? Blitzø dropped to the floor, near Stolas but facing away. “I…Floof, I don’t want you to marry anyone,” he mumbled. Stolas’ hearing was excellent; he could whisper and the prince would hear him. “I thought it was just because she sucks, but anyone marrying you… it fucking sucks.” He looked over his shoulder, barely peeking out. “I think I like you too, Stolas. How messed up is that?”

“As messed up as a Goetia liking an imp. At the very least. I think the only thing more messed up is an angel liking the first woman.”

Blitzø finally looked straight at Stolas. “You did not just compare us to the King and Queen of Hell.”

“Did I? It was just a hypothetical scenario.”

“Yeah right punk. I know you better than that,” Blitzø shoved Stolas’ shoulder. He was rewarded with Stolas’ hooting chuckles. “I’ve had one too many emotions for today. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

“Of course. Logistics are best sorted in daylight.” The two hesitated, not sure where to go from here. Blitzø finally asked. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Please do,” came the instant reply.

Neither of them were up for more than sleep. Even when they started getting physical they both went at a slow pace, to ensure they could both say yes. But the next morning Blitzø was wrapped around Stolas’ back, with Stolas’ arms clinging to his.

A/N : I realize this is probably a more mature conversation than two teenagers would have but I haven’t been a teen in [redacted for old] and I don’t feel like attempting it. We got plot to move people!

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[goodboyriddler]

CAUGHT YOU PT2 (end)

Part 1 He goes back to visit you to claim his reward. Whether you're aware of it or not. warnings: 18+, dom!riddler, dubcon, fsub!reader, kidnapping, light somnophilia, predator/pray, knifes, choking, restrains, rough oral f sex, fingering, facefucking, breeding kink, degradation/objectification. word count: 4.2k

He doesn't even need to break in. Your window is already unlocked. 

Stupid girl, looks you forgot to close it for the night.

He knows how to do this, enter without being noticed, he's done it countless times. But he can't get over the adrenaline as his boots finally land from the window sill to the inside of your apartment. He waits a moment, maybe to hear a scream. Nothing. He lets his eyes roam the dark place. Interesting. No sign of you. He extends one gloved hand, letting his fingers graze the wall as he slowly moves through the room. He forces himself not to start humming.

Where are you, beautiful? Are you hiding from him? Managed to scramble to hide in a closet while trying to stifle your moans with your palm pressed against your mouth, telling yourself not to cry? Waiting for him to find you. That he's come back for you? 

He came all the way just to visit you, the least you could do is be a good host.

No sound of you except for the TV news playing in your living room. Empty couch. No one behind the curtains. He breathes in, now a little impatient, where are you? He needs to touch you, he couldn't think of anything but how you would taste while breathing and mouthing your panties he took as a trophy from you. Remembering how you felt. Devine, just sitting waiting for him to come back, untouched. He crouches to check underneath your dinner table, no sign of you here either.

He has waited enough. This is the only and last time he can do anything he wants, because people hear him, fear him, idolize him. This city, those lives, and you. He'll do whatever he wants, he can do anything he wants after all those years of silence. This power coursing through his veins, addictive, only he can weld. Judge, jury and executioner. They all were murdered by his hand with a single click of a button. He's a God.

He just needs you to make you comply, and that's the fun part. 

Soundlessly he makes his way into the last place he needs to check. He can see your bedroom door open just ahead of him, and his leather gloves slide through the wood as he enters the room.

Oh. 

There you are.

He let's an exhale. His heavy boots slowly step in as he walks towards the bed, his gloved hands flexing in anticipation.

Found you.

He can see your chest softly moving as you breathe, up… and down. Too calm for his liking. You look so beautiful like this. Pliant and obedient. Peacefully unaware what someone is going to do to you.

He wonders what you are dreaming of. Him coming back? Dragging you through your floor as your nails try uselessly to hold onto the tiles? He shivers at the memory of you screaming, closing his eyes. Maybe his hands around your pretty throat? He can do that just for you. You don't even need to ask. He'll give you a nice thing to wake up to.

He looms over the figure sleeping in the bed.

You're staying still for him. Such a good look on you, such a good obedient little girl. Like you have a choice to refuse. Look at you laying on your back in the mattress presented for him, and it's that- oh yes, you're only wearing underwear. Pretty and laced, wrapped perfectly around your soft body. Presented to find. For him? Of course it's only for him, you're only his. What a nice gift to arrive home to.

You were waiting for him to do this for you, why should you ask what he already knows?

He can't believe you're the same person who was running from him back then. Please don't hurt me, get away from me, please stop I'll do anything. He remembers the fond memory, smiling, feeling his cock twitch in his pants. Please fuck me Riddler, sir.

Such a pretty toy.

He just needs to use it.

The mattress sinks as he carefully dips into the bed, the bedsheets rubbing against his clothes. His legs in between your hips, straddling you.

You move at that, giving a sleepy moan.

"Shh, go back to sleep." He whispers in a soft, mocking voice, and he sees you smiling, settling back down again to unconsciousness. "I'm going to take care of you."

He palms himself in his already tight pants for some relief. He bites his tongue so he doesn't groan. Watches how your chest softly moves and how pretty your lips are, begging for something to suck on.

He slides his gloved hands through the inside of your legs, opening them further, slowing down the more he goes up, and up, and he closes his eyes, savouring it. Pretty and unmarked skin. All for him trapped underneath him. The lace doesn't hide anything, he can see you already wet. His thumbs tease the waistband of your panties, seeing how you hitch your breath slightly and give sleepy moans. 

Not yet. 

He removes his hands off you and brings them inside his jacket to his belt.

And you hear it before you see it.

The sound of what sounds like duct tape being unrolled, harsh breathing, and you sluggishly wake up trying to remember where you are. Blinking in the dark room, an uncomfortable pressure in your chest makes you gasp.

You tense when you see a silhouette above you, the green mask, the sound of breathing.

"Rise and shine."

The Riddler.

He's above you, holding duct tape in his hands before he rips it, and he leans forward. You're about to start to cry out terrified before feeling the sticky strip being wrapped around your mouth, tapping it shut.

Your arms are forcefully being pinned down to your sides to the mattress by your wrists almost painfully. You feel his entire weight hold you down, and you try to kick your legs to fight him off you, but he has you straddled. 

He can't deny he loves when they struggle like this, when you struggle, and that terrified look in your eyes- wide in panic and furrowed eyebrows. Scream for him, yes just like that. Or at least try to. It makes this whole thing more fun. He's taking your control from you. Did you ever have one to begin with?

"I saw your window unlocked for me." He says inches from your face. You can see his eyes through those clear glasses, his irises are dilated in ecstasy. "No need to act like this any more."

You cry out, shaking your head, no it's not true as you try to scream through the duct tape in your mouth. You couldn't be more obvious at the invitation.

The Riddler manhandles just like before, forceful and careless with power. Like a doll. You cry as you feel him grip your wrists behind your back before taping them together. He has you. Yes. He's in your bed, and you choke a panicked sob, he actually came back. He wants you again. You test the strength of your bonds with no avail. He knows you're guilty of waiting for him. 

He flickers his pocket knife at your face, and you freeze completely terrified.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" The Riddler asks, laying you gently down on your back again. He caresses your face with the blade. You try not to breathe, not to move. It's cold in your skin making you flinch for a moy. 

You nod, chest heaving as you look at him pleading. You can be anything he wants, you'll be good for him, so he doesn't hurt you. Anything so he doesn't cut the tender flesh.

"You're not going to scream if I take this off?" His hand lowers to the tape on your mouth.

You shake your head, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks.

"P-please." You manage to choke out as soon as he rips the tape off, throat moving as you bite down your sobs. “Don't hurt me."

How wrong you are. He's here because you wanted to. He made a promise to use you, because you had begged him to.

"I'm here because you need me." He breathes out angry, the sound making you flinch.

"I-I don't- please-" You protest when you feel his hand tease the front of your panties.

Slow rubbing motions against you, up and down, the fabric is already soaking against your skin. You moan, trying to jerk away and close your legs. More, please, it feels so good to be touched by him. He can't see you this desperate for him. He took the duct tape off, to hear you like this.

"Who else is going to take care of you like this?" 

He's making you a favour fucking someone so desperate like you, don't you fucking see?

When he lets his hand off you, you have to fight the urge not to whine. The leather of his gloves is already staining wet and it takes him all his willpower not to suck them clean.

His hand goes back to his belt where he keeps his tools. He needs to get you ready, so he can play with you.

Properly this time.

You tense as you see him fumbling for something on his heavy jacket, but he just takes- a piece of cloth. He's always prepared, he always knows what to do. This is just for you. In what better hands can you be? He is wrapping it around your face, tying your eyes firmly with it and you're now surrounded by darkness.

His hands go to the back of his head, taking off his glasses, he can almost taste it, pulling his mask, finally he'll have you, unwrapping the cling wrap from his hottening skin.

He takes a breath of fresh air.

There. Nothing separates him from what he wants. Nothing any more. 

He can finally use his mouth on you.

He touches you with leather gloves, the texture making you squirm. You hear him shift, the heavy clothes he wears grazing against your skin. You can only feel and hear him, as you blink against the darkness covering your eyes.

His hands descend to your chest and you feel something cold in your skin. You tense when you realize what it is.

The blade of his knife slides down your sternum to your bra. You hear him laugh before he's cutting it off, and your breasts spill free just to feel his hands on them a second later.

He kneads them roughly in his palms, making you squirm, his fingers pinch your nipples and you cry. Watching you struggle, watching you want more. Finally he has his prize to enjoy.

"Tell me what you want." His mouth descends into your chest, and his mouth sucks and bites the flesh and you jerk in surprise, whining in pain. 

So beautiful, underneath him, looking like this squirming. He needs to mark you with his mouth, bruise you with his fingers. Graze your nipple with his teeth, sink deep his hands and mouth your tits. He feels his cock already leaking in his boxers. He groans against your flesh, so soft and tender. He needs to mark you, he needs for you to remember what he did to you, who he is while he's away. Blue and black and yellow all over your body, what a beautiful sight he'll leave you with. When are you going to start thanking him for doing this to you?

He lets his mouth go further down, his tongue trailing down your stomach, lower. So soft. He moans, feeling your breath hitch, you will look beautiful when he's done with you, and you're going to thank him. He can't wait. Tell him what he already knows, he wants you to hear you. 

"P-lease." You whine, not wanting to say it out loud. Your throat moves, swallowing. You want to, you need to say it, you need him. You move your tied hands uselessly behind you. His hot wet mouth is just inches from you, waiting to taste you.

His fingers slowly start to lower down your panties down your legs. He can see how wet you're already, you can't even deny it now.

You're going to beg him to stay and do it over again because he can only make you squirm like this. He bites your hips, his fingers tease the inside of your thighs. Beg him to do this to you.

"P-please!" You finally cry as you feel him breathe against your cunt. "Please, I- I can't. Please- fuck me with your mouth."

There, good girl, wasn't so hard, was it?

His tongue lays flat against your folds, gathering the slick already dripping down you.

You jerk when you feel his mouth. His wet, hot tongue explores you and you moan, your legs closing instinctively. He pins them down with two strong hands, the leather burning in your skin as he grips harder. Your hips shake as you try not to fuck yourself into his mouth.

God yes. He tightens the hold in your thighs, biting them, rubbing himself against the edge of the mattress. You taste divine. He can't get enough. More. He shoves his tongue inside your folds, buries his face between your thighs groaning. Yes, yes, yes.

It's messy. He's treating you like his personal entertainment for the night. Watching you react, watching you thrash underneath him. Learning where you whine more when you say there, right there please, more, and doing it again. He laughs, deep and cruel, when you squirm when he finds a place you sob and tell him there please and just grazes it to tease you. 

His nose rubs against your clit as his tongue fucks you, his mouth sucking at you, tasting you. He feels so good, his mouth, his tongue. Surrendering to only feel his hot wet tongue not knowing where it will be next until you're jolting at the feel. He watches as he slowly sinks two fingers inside you, twitching and whimpering. So willingly, so perfect. Your taste, just how he had remembered from fucking you with his fingers. He slurps and moans loudly and you cry a choke in embarrassment, trying to close your legs but he opens them harder. You sob, ashamed of how much you're enjoying this.

"I'm- I- please I need to-" 

"Stupid girl wants to cum already?" He mocks, biting your already red thighs. "From only this?"

“Yes, please let me cum.” He sees you nod desperately. Throwing your head to the pillows. He feels so good, his mouth, who cares you admit it you need it now, you want it now “Please, please, I'll do anything, please.”

You can feel his saliva dripping down you. The blindfold on you starts to stain with tears.

He breathes again just so he can feel you tightening against his leather fingers. You like that? He'll do it just for you. Tease your cunt with his tongue while he pumps in and out his fingers inside you. 

"Riddler, yes, Riddler." You cry out his name trying to move his hips deeper into him as you cum, whole body shaking. Your back arching off the bed.

He groans, gripping his cock through his pants so he doesn't cum too. Not yet. He continues to suck through your orgasm and you're grateful for it until he doesn't stop.

"It's- it's too sensitive, please-" You sob as you feel his lips still oversensitive.

You're going to cum again. He wants it again, you're going to do it again. He brings you forward to him with a strong hand and sucks, mouthing you, remembering what you like, tasting you. And god your fucking taste. His gloved fingers flex inside you as he holds you thrashing down.

"Please, please, too much- I'm-" You kick your legs against his back but he doesn't move and you're suddenly crying out again.

He hears you sob while your body twitches and he sighs satisfied. Rubbing himself in the mattress, hard and leaking and ready. He gathers the slick staining his chin with his fingers and licks it clean. He doesn't want it to go to waste.

He is mercifully enough to let you rest, your body still twitching from the aftershocks, as he drags you through the mattress. You moan in pleasure, closing your legs and clenching around nothing, wishing you could be full. You're ready, you need to be filled. You're vaguely aware of him moving your limp body until your head is on the edge of the bed. 

He grabs his mask again, snaps it back. His glasses gently placed again. No need for him to reveal himself before the time is right, you'll see him with the rest of the city.

He's getting the blindfold off you. 

"Up here." You blink up to the new light, and he gives you low, mocking little slaps in your cheeks to grab your attention. "Look up here."

Your head hangs down the mattress, your vision upturned as you lazily look at his looming figure above you.

You whimper when you hear the sound of a belt being undone, a zipper lowering. A sigh of relief. You see him stroking himself, groaning loudly, already hard and aching and you can't stop from your mouth watering.

"Such a pretty mouth." He circles his thumb around your lips. Red and glistening with saliva. "Open up." 

You let your mouth fall open for him. He's letting you taste him, finally, of course you'll obey him. You try to relax your throat. Whine when he grips your jaw to hold you steady.

He hits your tongue with the head of his cock., testing. Smearing precum some in your lips.

And he starts to slowly trust up to your throat.

“Just a little more." He watches you struggle protesting with low moans as he pushes deeper. Almost there. "Good girl.”

He wraps his gloved hands around your throat to support himself. Your mouth is wet and tight, you are spluttering all over trying to accommodate him, and he waits for a moment, savoring the feeling of your throat muscles flexing around him.

You feel the corners of your mouth drip with saliva. His cock stretches your mouth, hitting the back of your throat as he finally starts to move, and you cry as you try your best not to choke. It sends shivers down your body when you gag, swallowing around him and the Riddler moans, the grip in your neck hardening.

You're for him to use. You're for him to ruin. No need to think, you just need to take his cock like. That's what wet warm, wet holes are for.

He can see how your throat bulges every time he fucks into your mouth. You feel how his fingers tease your throat, trying to feel his cock fucking your throat. Your eyes roll in the back of your head. You feel so good, he's panting as he thrust in your throat, groaning as he plays with your tits. Your tongue moving around him, sucking and slurping,  what a fucking slut, he knew you were like this. You close your eyes, moaning around his cock.

You look up at him with tear stained eyes, and he caresses your face with the back of his fingers. It feels so good to serve him, to let him fuck you like this. The burning of your throat, the struggle not to gag as spit spills in the corners of your mouth, exhaling the best you can through your nose. Your pretty eyes water while choking around him.

No he can't cum, not yet.

He buries himself as deep as he can one last time until you're kicking your legs and your eyes are begging to breathe. He laughs at your struggle before he pulls off completely, a stripe of saliva connecting his cock with your mouth.

He feels how heavy he is. He needs to fill you up, he needs to mark you and see his seed in you. For you to remember him. This is the last night as a free man, he needs to make it count.

The Riddler grabs you by your throat and throws you face down to the mattress.

You feel as he puts you into all fours. He kneads your skin, your thighs. Fondling like he wants, watching for his entertainment as you move underneath him. Your face pressed against the bedsheets as you try not to press yourself against him in order to keep some of your dignity.

He lifts his mask for a moment just enough so he can spit down your already wet pussy, just to make you squirm. Rubs his cock against your folds, groaning as the head gently teases dipping inside of you.

"Please, Please.m-" You silently beg, and clench around nothing ,he already made you so ready with his tongue. "I-I need it-"

You whine when you feel him slowly slide into you, your face buried in the bed sheets while your tied hands move in your back. He gives a grunt, fuck you're so wet from your orgasms around his sensitive leaking head. He grabs your waist as his other one guides his cock deeper, watching it go into you.

The Riddler groans when he finally slides completely in, gripping the base of his cock while he pinches his eyes close trying to control himself. You're clenching desperately around him, wanting to move, begging with little whimpers for him to move. What a fucking slut. He slides his gloves through your skin, watches goosebumps rise as the leader passes, gropes your ass before gripping your waist again and finally starting to move.

He grabs your hips, guiding them harder towards him, his leather gloves sinking into your skin borderline painful as he quickens his pace, panting beneath that mask, closing his eyes and just enjoying the feeling. He grips harder your skin, kneading your ass, slapping it, yes that's a good girl, more, his cock twitches and leaks inside you. You clench and squirm, how thick he is inside you, slide in and out of you, and he goes faster. He needs more. 

The Riddler groans, quickly taking his gloves off, letting them at the mattress, before he flexes his hands and sinks his nails in your skin and you groan in pain.

“I should had fucked you while you were asleep.” He spits out, sliding his fingers through your hair, your scalp is being scraped by his fingernails, before gripping it. "Can't stop fucking moving."

You close your eyes too embarrassed by the sound of skin hitting skin in the room with your moans. His pace is too fast and unforgiving, making you thrash against him beneath you, choking as you try to breathe, trying to blink off the tears in your eyes. and he tells you stop fighting it, just enjoy this. 

You moan as you feel him drag you up until his chest is pressing against your naked back.

"Make it tighter for me." He says to your ear, before you feel his other hand snake down you. And you sob, tears running down your cheeks, obeying him, clenching around him as he moves his fingers into you. "That's it, just like that."

He grips your hair, making you gasp. He breathes through his mask in your neck and you close your eyes terrified as he watches you with those dilated green eyes. He thrusts harder and deeper, almost hurting and you try not to moan. So beautiful, he thinks, just for him to fuck, your skin already blooming with the teeth-shape bruises.

“I haven't cummed since last time." He says frustratingly, remembering how he had stopped when he was too close every time he had jerked off to the smell of your panties. "I didn't want it to go to waste.”

Not when you're here to use.

Not when you're here to fill.

You cry, your throat moving as you sob. You're close again as you can see he's too, starting to thrust into you in sloppy desperate motions.

"Please, please, I need it please." You clench around him. Your face rubbing against the bedsheets. "Please fill me up."

The grip in your hips is almost painful as he digs his fingers into your skin, making sure his cock is shoved as deep as he can while he groans. He empties himself in you with one final trust. You feel the warmness spread into you and then spill down your thighs and you sob, fuck he's still going, you whine as he still fills you.

He stays for a moment there, not moving, before he starts to pull out and you whimper. He watches as his seed spills off you, kneading your ass to get a better view, laughing. He would take you with you like his personal entertainment to fuck every time he needs release, but he can't. 

He tucks himself in his pants before slowly pulls off the binds of your arms, letting you fall from the mattress carelessly. You sigh against the sheets, watching him watch you.

"Leave Gotham a couple days, it will not be safe." He says after a while when you're sure about to daze off in exhaustion. He is starting to leave, you can hear those boots. "I need you to be in prime condition."

You can always visit him at Arkham, after all.

[mrs-gucci]

Mr. Handsy {Clyde Logan x wife!Reader}

@icarusinthesea :

Okay, okay. I think I've thought of something. Eh, it's a mediocre idea, but it does it for me. Fighting with Clyde followed by sweet, hot, nasty make up sex. I can not think of anything else. But whatever you write I'll love. 🥰

author’s notes: hello, hello! writers block has been hitting HARDCORE as of late, which is kind of a bummer, but luckily I’m feeling a bit better now! @icarusinthesea​ thank you for this request!! I hope it was worth the (very long) wait, and I send love to you, friend <3 <3

warnings: fluff. smut. club brawls. violence against an asshole. protectiveness. dom!Clyde. oral sex (m receiving). rough sex. unprotected sex/creampie.

(possible) tw’s: non-con touching (not by Clyde). physical conflict. sex in a public restroom.

word count: 1.9k

my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman @dirtytissuebox @thepalaceofmelanie @einmal-im-traum @charliesahottie​ @gotham-city-uber-driver​ @gildedstarlight​ @slytheriin2002 clyde’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings​ @icarusinthesea​ @lumdelacour​ @readingreaver​ @eagerforhoney​ @trubluepensfan​ @beachwoodmonet​ if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, the sign up is linked here and can also be found in my description :)

You had a bad feeling about this place from the very beginning, from the moment you stepped into this stupid sleazy club for your co-worker’s birthday.

Clyde decided to tag along, mainly to hang out with the other poor guys whose wives dragged them along tonight.

The bass pulses your eardrums as you make your way over to the booth that they’d claimed, saying some very loud ‘hi’s’ and ‘hello’s’ to everyone before taking a seat on Clyde’s lap.

Your outfit certainly matches the locale of tonight’s party, sexy and risqué while maintaining at least some coverage and dignity for your larger areas. Clyde’s been having some trouble keeping his eyes, and now that he can, his hands, off you.

His calloused flesh hand runs over your thigh and hip in a soothing manner, mindless in its movements over your exposed skin.

Soon, a good dancing song comes on and no matter how much you try to beg Clyde to join you on the crowded floor, he refuses, insisting that you go have some fun with your friends.

His eyes keep a close watch on you, knowing that unfortunately, it’s highly likely that some bonehead Joe will come along and think he can touch without permission.

He finds himself in a sort of entranced state, watching the way your hips move when you dance, watches your skin bounce and jiggle with each motion, sees the way the multicolored lights bounce off the sequins on your dress…

Sure enough, said bonehead Joe dances his way over to you, not-so-subtly checking you out from a bit of a distance before making his approach.

Clyde almost instantly leaps into action when his hand touches your hip and he slides in behind you. Thinking that the man behind you is Clyde, you start grinding against him a bit more, smirking.

But, only after a second or two, his motions and touch begin to feel awfully foreign. You’ve just truly begun to doubt your dancing partner’s identity when he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Keep dancing like this and I’ll just have to take you home, babygirl.”

Goosebumps form on your skin in disgust the moment you hear an unfamiliar voice, yanking away from his grubby grip.

“How dar—“

“Hey, you!”

Your eyes widen and you look around the man to see a very angry-looking Clyde storming his way over to where you’re standing.

He turns the handsy man around with a hand on his shoulder, then gives him a shove. “Can’t ya see she’s married, asshole? Don’t you ever think ya can just go ‘round here, touchin’ what ain’t yours.”

“Cly—“

“Don’t ya even start with me right now, Y/N. I can’t believe ya didn’t stop ‘im, can’t believe ye kept grindin’ against ‘im.”

Your eyes widen. “Clyde, p-please, it’s not like tha—“

“I thought I told ya t’ can it, Y/N.”

You shudder at his commanding and harsh tone, immediately backing down and biting your lip as the tears swell in your eyes.

The man wears a small smirk, giving Clyde an equally rough shove backwards. “And what, you’re telling me she’s yours? Bullshit she is. Who’d ever wanna marry a one-armed redneck like you?”

Big mistake. Clyde used to just stand down and shut off whenever someone made fun of his disability, but usually now, he just gets fucking pissed.

Sure enough, his jaw clenches and he quickly lunges at Mr. Handsy, forcefully knocking him to the scuffed dance floor. Often times, mostly due to his kind and gentle demeanor, you forget that Clyde’s a veteran. A special ops veteran, at that.

You can’t deny that bearing witness to his unbridled anger and dominance isn’t at least a little bit sexy, even if you do feel incredibly guilty about not realizing sooner that it wasn’t Clyde.

Like the coward he truly is, and that many men like him are, he flees the scene quickly when he looks up and sees the anger in Clyde’s eyes.

Meanwhile, you instantly rush up to him, apologizing repeatedly. “Clyde, I’m so sorry, I thought it was you and I didn’t mean to—“

He snatches your wrist, bending down so that his hot, slightly strained breath wafts across your face. “You’d better yer slutty ass into the restroom right fuckin’ now.” He growls, letting you go.

You nod, whimpering under your breath as you scurry off into the bathroom.

He follows after you, pushing you into the single stall before reaching around to lock the door.

“Clyde, please, I’m so sorry. I promise that I didn’t know it wasn’t you until he spoke and I pulled away right after that. I would never…”

He holds a hand up and you trail off, then crosses it back over his chest along with the other. When you look up at him, ready to apologize further, he gives you a subtle head shake and a faint smile.

“Get m’ cock out.”

You know, then, that he’s not mad, and you know exactly what he wants from you. You step up to him with a small smirk and pop the button on his Levi’s, pulling the zipper down before reaching in to fish out his half-hard length.

“Now stroke it. You know how I like it.”

Your hand holds a steady grip around the protrusion, starting off slow but quickening randomly, just as he likes it.

His head tilts back onto the cheap tiled wall, nostrils flaring as he exhales shakily. “Thaaaaat’s m’ girl, just like that.”

You speed up just a bit, focusing your pressure and ministrations on the upper half of his shaft, moving the little bit of excess skin up and down his shiny pink head.

“Mmmmffhhh.” He groans through pursed lips, hips rutting forward into your touch.

Suddenly, he pushes your hand away, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to cope with the sudden loss of stimulation on his pulsing arousal.

“Knees.”

You get onto your knees, using his shoes as cushioning.

“Mouth open.”

Your jaw falls open and he wastes no time in moving himself into proper position, sheathing himself fully in your mouth.

“Ghhhohhh, s-shit.”

You’re choking right off the bat, shoulders shaking with each violent cough.

“Yeah, take it. Gon’ make ye choke on me, shove m’ cock down yer lil throat ‘till ya can’t breathe no more.”

You somehow manage to moan around him in between your gags and coughs, lungs panicked for the rough cutoff of airflow by Clyde’s length. Tears begin to swell in your eyes, soon running down your cheeks.

His eyebrows are tightly knitted in the center of his forehead, skin glistening with the beginnings of sweat as his hips rut into your cavern even quicker and rougher now.

Clyde has to physically pull himself away from your mouth, shuddering as his cock bobs and throbs angrily at the loss of friction. His hand splays out on the wall, chest heaving as he takes a moment to re-gain composure.

Then, he looks down at you, gaze sizzling your very skin.

“Up. Turn yerself ‘round n’ bend over, ass out n’ legs spread nicely.”

You put yourself into the position, wiggling your ass just a bit for play after pushing your jean shorts down, earning you a harsh smack across your newly-exposed skin. He smirks when you squeal softly, giving himself a few lazy strokes as he steps up behind you, lips instantly attacking your neck.

“Yer gon’ walk outta ‘ere with all o’ my marks on your neck, hickeys n’ bite marks. Maybe then everyone’ll understand who it is ya belong t’."

His chin digs into your shoulder, then he’s thrusting forward, filling you up and stretching you out to the max. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

“Ohhhhh.”

He groans into your ear, chin digging into your shoulder as he begins fucking you fast and hard. There’s nothing gentle or romantic about this union; it’s hunger and wanting, it’s pure carnal lust.

Tears quickly swell up in your eyes at the sweet pleasure currently surging through your body, tickling every nerve ending and igniting every pleasure center. 

It’s humid in the club, the bathroom no exception and already, a sheen of sweat has formed on the surface of your skin. Clyde’s good hand takes an even firmer hold on the meat of your hips, hips thrusting at an impossibly fast pace.

“G’damnit, wrapped ‘round m-me so tight, fffuck Y/N. Such a lil’ cccunt, love shovin’ m’ b-big cock in ya, ssssplittin’ ya right in half--christ.”

You love how his accent gets thicker and thicker at times like this, so much so that sometimes you can’t even make sense of what he’s saying. It’s adorable.

“Mmm, C-Clyde! Please baby, please mmmake me cum!”

His lips latch onto the side of your neck, sucking as hard as they possibly can while he reaches around to rub your clit with the cool metal digits of his prosthetic. 

Your hips instantly grind down on him, a shaky gasp leaving your lips. “Ohh god, mmmmmfffuck--right there! Yes, yes, Clyde!”

“Say y-yer mine.” He growls into your ear, panting. “Tell everyone who ya bbbelong to. Scream ma name w-when ya cum.”

“Y-Yours, all yours, Clyde. I’m yours!” You whimper. 

Clyde fucks you with everything he’s got, biting into your skin and sucking more of the flesh until you’re littered with marks. It’s not long before you’re tumbling over the edge, body trembling as you release all over his shaft with a shout of his name.

“Clyde! C-Clyde, fuck!”

Not long after you, Clyde falls over the edge, desperately rutting and fucking each drop of his hot load deep into your spasming cunt.

“Y/N, g’damnit...fuuuckin’ s-shit!”

Both of you are rendered breathless as you come down from your respective highs. His lips and tongue gently soothe the harsh bites and bruises that have been left behind in his wake. 

He sighs softly when he pulls out, helping you pull your shorts back up before tucking himself back into his pants. When you turn around, he crashes his lips into yours, hands resting gently on your hips. 

“‘m real sorry fer that, Y/N; dunno what got int’ me. I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

You smile, cradling his face in your hands. “Clyde, there is no need to apologize or feel bad for that. You know if I was uncomfortable, I would’ve stopped you or said something. I loved it, more than I probably should have, and I love you.”

His lips tug up into a soft, lopsided smile, relief flooding across his expression.

“I love ya too, Y/N, so, so much. Thank ya fer puttin’ up with me n’ bein’ mine.”

“No ‘thank you’ necessary, baby. I’m yours, always yours.”

Clyde grins, pulling you in for a hug as he repeats your words out loud.

“All mine.”

[bontenten]

Efficiency

Pairing: Daishou x f!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings/Tags: smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, light degredation, aftercare, established relationship

Thank you so much @/bakatenshii and @/thirstyforthem2dmen for beta-reading. This is a repost from my main after it went fully sfw. Originally for the hqhq (now Anilysium) hard at work collab.

Pen scrawls and keyboard taps sound throughout the conference room as your boss goes over current client projects. Daishou is sitting across the table and you notice he's wearing the tie you gave him for his birthday last year. Looks good, you think to yourself. It's not just the tie, it's his entire outfit, and him.

Daishou notices your lingering stare and makes eye contact, granting you a cheeky grin and a head tilt. Pompous bastard. In response, you send back an expression of mock disgust before turning your attention back to your laptop.

For any newcomer at the firm, it might seem like the office is split down the middle into either your camp or Daishou's, with opinions and jabs on completely opposite ends of the spectrum. Why else is there so much spite being tossed around between the two of you, if not due to a deeply entrenched layer of grievances?

It might leave the newbie confused as to why Daishou affectionately calls you his "most significant problem". Or why you preface notes to him with, "to whom this may piss off, my royal pain-in-the-ass".

Then there comes a revelation to the newbie that you and Daishou are not mortal enemies, but rather the most wretchedly in-love couple in this skyrise building. It's a bad decision to cross either you or Daishou for any matter. Not only are the both of you perfectly vindictive, crossing one means submitting an application to be on the blacklist of the other. There's no doubt, in your humblest opinion, that Daishou, even if he'll never outright admit it, absolutely worships the dirt under your heels. And when you are in remotely a good mood, fine, you don't mind his coffee breath either.

It's heartwarming, that in this tower of cold, hard stainless steel and immaculate glass panels, there's love floating around the disinfected air of money, money, and more money. When it counts, you can be sure that Daishou will stand on the same side of the fence as you.

While the meeting goes on and you multitask with the spreadsheet open on your screen, you think you hear your name being tossed around. To your knowledge, everything is lined up already and unless there is some sort of overnight emergency, there's absolutely nothing left on your plate to take care of.

At the same time, there is also the off-chance that someone decides to drag you into hell with them and include you in a project. Now, who could possibly have the audacity to put you into the wringer with them?

"Daishou! Excellent, I'll leave this to you," the boss exclaims. "This pitchbook needs to be done by tomorrow. It's high urgency and the client just sent the numbers in."

A sinking feeling begins to churn in your stomach. You pause your frenzy across the keyboard and pay attention to the meeting to hear the rest of what Daishou has to say.

"If I may," Daishou curtly asks with a smile that's a tad too wide, "I'd like to work with Y/N on this. As you know, we work best together. It'll be done before the meeting tomorrow."

You can feel everyone's eyes turn to you in the meeting room, begging you to please say yes to the man holding titles such as your boyfriend, co-worker, and also 'royal pain-in-the-ass'. You force a smile and match Daishou's client-ready, saccharine expression. "Of course, we'll have it done tonight."

Suddenly, the atmosphere of the entire meeting room relaxes by ten notches. Bastards, all of you.

"Our firm's best duo!" the boss praises, "We'll leave it to you two then. Meeting adjourned."

It's the two words everyone has been waiting for. The moment the syllable falls, the conference room is filled with the sounds of shifting seats and scuffling feet eager to leave work for the day. With a huff, you shut your laptop and see Daishou coming around the conference table with his laptop and files tucked under his arm. He adjusts and tugs on his tie.

"Guess it's you and me again tonight," Daishou comments.

"And here I wanted to leave work early for once."

"Hey, just a special date night. It's called 'overtime', sounds pretty sexy don't you think?"

You snort and walk past him, going towards the direction of the elevator. Daishou eyes your figure strutting down the hall. The lines of your ironed shirt and the pencil skirt that hugs your figure perfectly match the echoing clack of your heels striking shiny tiles.

Even if you don't remember, Daishou's impeccable memory absolutely remembers how the last time you paired that shirt and that skirt together, it was an overtime situation very much similar to tonight. And the cock that's starting to grow hard in his slacks certainly remembers a lot more. He can feel it twitching just trying to conjure up the sensation of your gummy walls milking him in the breakroom a month ago.

"You coming or what?"

Daishou sees you holding the elevator door open and waiting for him. Daishou won't ever admit to this, maybe to you in privacy, but Daishou will rather be dead than admit to anyone else how lucky he feels to have someone as incredible as you in his life.

He takes a few quick steps and enters the elevator.

"How sweet," he coos. "I knew you wouldn't just leave me hanging and working in this dismal place all alone."

"Shut-up, Suguru," you snap, but you lean your head against his shoulder anyway. It's been such a long day already, and the night is only going to be longer.

"Stay the night at my place later? I'll order your favorite."

"Let's get this project over with first."

"I caught you staring at me during the meeting."

"Huh, is that so."

"Practically stripped me naked with your eyes. Ooh, I felt tingles all over."

You lift your head from his shoulder. "You're so full of yourself Suguru," you remark before tugging on his tie to pull his face closer to yours. "If anything, I think you're the one getting hard at work."

Daishou leans in even closer. A hand encircles your wrist and his thumb brushes your inner-wrist across the bump of the vein. Your pulse is throbbing against his fingertips. You feel your adrenaline and anticipation rushing through your body as your heart pounds harder and faster.

"Then do something to help poor lil' me out?"

"At your place later, we—"

"But I want you so badly right now," Daishou breathes out, body tight against you so you can feel his straining desires through the layers of fabric. "I want—

Ding.

The elevator opens up to the floor the two of you work at. The co-workers waiting for the lift can only see two pristine and exemplary office workers without any semblance of dishevelment walk out. Daishou even says a polite "see you tomorrow" to them.

"If only the elevator stopped working," you joke after taking a deep breath to swallow the fire building in your core. "Sly snake, no one here in the office knows your true colors."

Sometimes, you wonder just how Daishou can switch his persona so quickly. Or maybe he just likes the precarious edge of being horny at work.

"Love you too dear," he sneers.

A couple workers are still at their desks scrambling for their deadlines. You and Daishou take a seat at your work stations and begin to chip away at the urgent, overtime project. Every now and then, you'll say good-night to the other remaining co-workers finally able to go home. It doesn't take long before the halls are completely vacated and empty except for the two of you still slaving away in front of the bright monitors for hours into the night.

"Where are you going?" you ask Daishou who is returning to his seat after disappearing down the hall again. "This is the third time in the last hour. Are you shitting in the toilets or dumping all the work on me?"

Daishou comes by your desk and leans on the back of your chair. "Just making some phone calls. Want to go home now? It's getting late."

"Uh...work's not done yet."

"It's fine, let's have dinner first, we can just work remotely at my place. The bulk is done anyway."

You glance at the clock and ponder Daishou's offer. It doesn't hurt to leave a little early and continue the work later in a more comfortable setting. "Okay, let me pack."

After cleaning up the workstation and packing everything the two of you will need, you and Daishou are back in the hallway waiting for the descending elevator.

Daishou takes the heavy tote bag from your shoulders. “I’ll hold onto this,” he explains.

“Why so nice today, Suguru? First luring me over with food, the compliments, and suggestions to leave early…” You trace a finger along the line of his spine and observe, pleased with the nervous grin spreading on his face. “Someone’s losing patience, hm?”

Daishou gives you an ingratiating smile. “Princess, as fancy as our work is, we still work in client-services. What can I say, I live to serve and please.”

“Cheeky.”

The elevator arrives and the two of you enter the space.

"How long do you think we still need?" you ask Daishou.

"Must we talk about work, right now?"

"You're just horny, Suguru."

"Oh, so it's 'just' me, is that what it is?"

You shrug and admit, "Nah, I was wondering why you didn't suggest anything earlier when the office was empty."

"Baby, if you wanted me that bad, you should've just climbed on my lap."

You laugh at Daishou's retort and prepare a comeback. "I think—"

A loud screech sounds through the elevator and the lights flicker briefly before a jolt causes you to stumble. Your hand automatically flies to the handrail. Daishou also wraps an arm around you tightly to steady your balance.

"Is the..."

"Seems like we're stuck," Daishou comments.

You rapidly press the service bell button, but it's no use. "No one's picking up, it's like the signal got cut. Should've just taken the stairs!"

The cell signal is also terribly weak in the elevator space. There's nothing else to do but wait and see how things play out.

Daishou laughs dryly and smooths his hair back. "We work on the 18th floor, since when do we take the stairs?"

"There's that one evacuation drill..." you reply weakly.

Daishou raises an eyebrow, giving you a look that says, really now?

"You're right, we're doomed. Last moments and—"

"With the love of your life, isn't that pleasant a way to go?" Daishou tightens his arms around you. "Don't worry, it's all going to be okay."

You reciprocate and respond to his hug, while your brain searches for a solution. "I once saw on the internet that if the elevator drops, you have to time your jump right before the elevator hits the ground floor. Otherwise—"

"Shhh," Daishou shushes you quietly with a quick kiss. He rocks you from side to side and reassures you again that everything is okay.

"Trust me, it'll be okay. Let's just have a little fun while we're waiting," he suggests one hand already tracing up your thigh. "Maybe it'll relax all those nerves you've been holding onto."

Daishou wants to laugh. Whose nerves exactly? Do you have any idea how he’s been counting the minutes and seconds for this moment while you innocently worked on the project like the good, model worker that you are?

It took everything in him to somehow put down a few excel formulas and not shove the monitors onto the floor to fuck you senseless across the worktables. Not to mention, the pleasure of having those witty remarks that spurt out from that little mouth of yours replaced with incomprehensible whines and begs for your precious Suguru to fill you to the brim. And now that you also admit to thinking along the same lines earlier, Daishou knows the dirty little thoughts clouding into your mind already.

Some slut that you are, acting proper and put-together at work, basking in the praise from co-workers and the boss; they just don’t know how ten minutes after those morning touchpoint meetings, you are bouncing on Daishou’s cock in a hidden corner while the financial markets open for the day. It’s an art, really, the number of quicks you two manage to fit into the crevices of a busy office schedule. But that’s why Daishou is one of the best employees of the firm. Daishou Suguru works quickly. He works efficiently.

The patterns Daishou's fingers trace tickle and send shivers up the skin. His low voice and hot breath across your ear elicits a soft gasp as you press your thighs together in the tight, figure-hugging skirt, seeking some hidden relief for the needy throb inside. The scrap of fabric down there is barely able to soak up the wetness beginning to pool. You are pressed up against him for comfort and security, your breasts plush against his chest. Each inhale and exhale you take is a test of patience.

"T-there's a camera," you remind him through shaky breaths, eyes flickering to the black mechanism in the corner. This is your final thread.

Daishou eyes the camera that is staring expectantly at the tryst about to happen in the cramped space with a wicked grin. Like that has ever bothered you, but if you want to play coy, he’ll humor you. He pinches the soft flesh on your thighs. "But we both know you're an attention whore. Always wanting to be the center of attention?"

You bite your lip to stop a whimper and look away, unwilling to admit that Daishou is completely right. You're already squirming in anticipation and delight. How cute, Daishou savors before deftly undoing the first two buttons of your crisp blouse. He has all of your clothes memorized, and how to take them off in the least amount of steps. At this point, it's completely second nature, and even if it isn't, the particular outfit you are wearing today has a special pedestal in Daishou's memory of interests. He pulls the tucked fabric apart to expose your delicate neckline and the soft curves of your breasts in the bra.

Oh, this one? What a coincidence then. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and deeply inhales the scent of your lingering fragrance. His hot breath and tantalizing lips drag across your collarbone, brushing your sensitive skin.

"So fucking sexy. Let's put on a show shall we?"

The thread snaps.

You harshly tug on the Daishou’s tie and capture his lips with yours. Daishou presses his body even closer, resting a forearm right above your head to cage you against the elevator wall. You wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair, as you meld into the searing kiss. The zipper of your skirt is tugged and the fabric is pushed up to your waist. His hand snakes up your thigh and a thumb hooks the side of your panties, pulling the soaked scrap down.

"Step," he instructs, pulling your panties down all the way and guiding your heeled feet out. "Don't want them dropping on the floor," he says, tucking the bunched fabric into his shirt pocket.

"Touch me, please," you beg, pulling Daishou back to you. You grab his hand and lead him to between your legs, grinding yourself against his thick fingers for some relief.

“No need to rush, the elevator isn't getting fixed anytime soon," he coos, "We're not going to get distracted this time."

Daishou spreads your lips apart and rubs along your sensitive bud, coating his digits with your slick. "Fuck, you're so wet already," he marvels before slipping a finger in and then another.

Daishou pumps his fingers in and out of your sopping pussy, occasionally dragging over to circle your clit. "That's it, isn't it?" he groans, feeling your walls clench around his fingers when he finds the spot that has you falling apart into streams of whines and mewls.

Daishou withdraws his fingers and brings the glistening digits up for you to see. "How much are you enjoying this? Wanting to be fucked in an elevator, watched by who knows who behind that camera."

You whimper and watch Daishou take the coated fingers in his mouth, licking off every drop of you. "You taste so good," he breathes, before pulling you into a kiss and letting you have a taste of your own arousal.

You break out of the kiss and turn around, resting your hands on the handrail. "S-Suguru, want you in me," you beg. You bend over just enough for your Daishou to see how much more wet you've gotten from tasting yourself on him. Your glistening hole is dripping and desperately clenching around nothing.

"Patience, princess." Daishou quickly unbuckles his belt and lets the cock pressing against his tight slacks spring free. He prepares to give himself a few more strokes but you reach behind and slap his hand away, replacing the hand on his cock with your own.

"Fuck," he groans, bucking his hips into your hands. "Always the impatient one."

"Hurry...please."

The building anticipation is making your knees weak and head dizzy already. You keep both hands on the handrails for support and squirm over trying to better line yourself for that thickness you need to fill your hole.

"Shit, stop teasing me!"

Beep.

The emergency intercom you pressed when the elevator first malfunctioned finally lights up. The line connects after a moment of static and radio noise and temporarily shocks a thread of rationality into your thoughts.

"Hello? Hello? Are we connected now, finally? Hello? Can you hear me?" the voice urges from the other end.

"Ah-" you gasp out, feeling Daishou fingers draw out slow circles on your clit. You press your lips tightly together to muffle a moan.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Daishou leans next to your ear. "Answer them, sweetheart." The tip of his cock teases the entrance of your pussy, running along the wet lips. "Do well and I'll give it to you."

You manage, with difficulty, squeak out, "Y-yes!"

"Good girl."

Your legs buckle slightly when you feel Daishou's thick cock being pushed into you, finally giving you the gratification you have been craving during Daishou's ministrations.

"Oh, careful now, don't want you falling over," Daishou's grip on your hips tightens and he groans at how warm, wet and tight you are around him. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he mutters under his breath.

The speaker buzzes again. "Great, finally connected. Ma'am are you doing okay still?"

"Yes!" you cry out as Daishou gives a firm and deep thrust; a wave of pleasure shoots through you.

"Don't panic, our team is already coming—" The line disconnects as abruptly.

Daishou revels at how your soft walls hug and clench around him. By all means, he didn't expect the interruption happening at all. It seems like you are not the only impatient person, he wonders, before flashing a nasty look at the camera in the corner and flipping said object off.

"Come on, princess,” he encourages and pats the side of your ass lightly. “Let me hear how pretty you sound."

"Sugu—" you gasp out, feeling the tip of his cock rocking into you. "R-right there right, ah—"

"Yea, you like that?" Daishou groans, pushing into you again feeling your walls clamp around him so tightly. So perfectly. It's addicting and all he can do is thrust in and out, over and over again. Each time seeking out the sounds of your pretty moans when you are completely filled and stuffed with him.

Lewd squelches and the slaps of skin meeting flesh fill the elevator space, along with Daishou’s grunts and your pants. Your hips meet each of Daishou’s thrusts in perfect rhythm, taking his entire length until the base. You can feel each stroke dragging along your walls, the size and length of his cock pushing against your tightness and prodding your cervix.

Neither of you can bother with any other distractions now that bliss is just teetering on the edge. Daishou pulls out and turns you around so you face him. He then scoops you up from under your ass with your legs spread over his forearms and hoists you up against the elevator wall. You feel the stinging cold from the cylindrical edge of the handrail as a dubious support against your heated skin.

"Suguru!" you squeal out, "I'll fall! I'll—"

"I got you, don't worry," Daishou reassures, "You're okay, I won't let you fall."

Once he feels your arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, Daishou slides into you again with a loud squelch.

"We're right outside now! Won't be long before we get you two out." A loud voice calls out from beyond the shut elevator doors.

"Smile for the camera, princess," Daishou encourages before picking up the pace, chasing the high that's just around the corner. His thrusts become faster and rougher, hitting your sweet spot deep inside you over and over again making your mind spin. The countless reflected images of Daishou's unrelenting pursuit and speed, and the expression of your fucked out face collide together in a blurry, infinite kaleidoscope.

“Gonna cum! Gonna-”

All thoughts leave your mind with each ragged breath as you near your own edge. You can only cling onto Daishou tightly, nails digging into his shoulder and back. You don't hear the sounds of mechanical whirring outside the elevator. Whatever it is that the people are shouting outside does not matter. The bright lights don't make any sense to you anymore. You don't even remember what Daishou Suguru looks like.

The blank stare from the camera is the last thing you see before you squeeze your eyes shut, face tucked in the crook of Daishou’s neck, and body feeling like putty in his arms. All that's left is the euphoria sparking through and broken syllabylic babbles you struggle to utter out.

With a few final thrusts, Daishou grunts and pulls you completely flush against his hips, finally spilling himself into you. Release after a long day never feels this sweet, Daishou muses as he holds your languid body close. Each deep breath you take only pushes your soft breast against his chest, and Daishou can feel your spasming walls still hugging him. He peppers a few kisses on your sweat covered brow. So good, so fucking good.

The voices and mechanical whirs outside interrupt Daishou’s moment.

That’s right, we’re still in this damn elevator. Daishou carefully pulls out his softened and twitching cock and lowers your wobbly form down from your make-shift seat. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the drool from your face then lightly dab away the trail of mixed fluids seeping out of your puffy cunt. The overly saturated handkerchief does a poor job soaking away the mess the two of you made.

Daishou reaches for the crumpled panties he shoved into the shirt pocket, but decides against letting you wear it. In your current state, your legs are like a newborn deer, barely able to support you let alone try to maneuver into underwear.

"Once we get back to my place, I'll draw us a bath.”

The increasingly loud mechanical clamor and sounds of the elevator workers pull you out of your daze for a moment too. You try to fumble around and haphazardly button your shirt, but the buttons miss their proper buttonhole by one. You pout and look at Daishou who just buckled his belt and tucked in the edges of his crumpled shirt. He looks ready for a client meeting already, if not for the obvious smell of sex clinging into him.

Daishou chuckles at your state and helps you slip into his long coat. He kisses your brow again in apology. "Sorry baby, just bear with it for a moment."

"Hungry."

"Yes, yes. I'll order your favorite too, like I promised."

You nod, pleased with his answer.

Ding.

The doors of the elevator open, to the relief of the elevator workers outside. They were in the process of getting ready to pry the doors open, but it seems like the elevator is back to normal already.

"Sir, Ma'am, we apologize for our tardiness."

Daishou waves a hand. "Not at all, it was fine. My girlfriend," he nods to your hidden form in the coat, "a bit frazzled, that's all."

Daishou's coat is like a bathrobe and hides absolutely everything. Turn up the collar, hide your face in Daishou's neck, and no one can see the mess that you are still underneath the thick layer. If they don't look, they won't know about the cum that's already dripping out and trailing down the curves of your legs into your scuffed heels.

"Is she okay? If there are any problems, we can direct you to-"

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of her. Thanks for helping fix the elevator." Not that there was anything wrong with it to begin with.

"We'll be inspecting all the elevators in the building as well. We assure you this will never happen again."

The musty smell of sweat and sex is all that lingers in the elevator, but it'll dissipate soon enough. Maybe there are tiny puddles of your juices on the tiles but the 5 A.M. cleaning workers will wipe it all away. By tomorrow, the elevator and rest of the building will be just the way it always is again. The stainless steel is cold, and the glass panels are pristine. In the early hours of the morning, leather shoes and heels will be strutting around on the marbled floors. Phone calls. Printers. Clients. Meetings. And more overtime.

Daishou smirks to himself, supporting just about your entire weight. His phone rings in his coat pocket. He reaches for the device and answers the call. Those bastards.

"Heh, glad you enjoyed the show you fucker. And tell Kenma, 'that was a dick move he pulled back there.'"

He listens to the response from the other line.

"Yea sure, thanks for hacking the system...uh huh, tell him to cum in your dirty sock-rag then...yea whatever, go eat shit."

Daishou ends the call and shoves the phone into his pocket.

"Su-gu-ru..." you mumble.

"Yes princess?"

"...Pitchbook..."

Daishou presses a light kiss to your forehead. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart."

Even all fucked out, you still manage to not forget about corporate responsibilities, some overachieving show-off you are. After getting you cleaned up and warm, he'll finish up any remaining work. Daishou Suguru works quickly. He works efficiently.

[shirophantomvox]

First Date with Chrollo (Human Diary)

Hello everyone! I am back with another “First Date” post featuring the Prince of Darkness. This was an anon post but I can't find the ask anywhere! I have been watching JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures lately and it is a very interesting show. Dio turned into a zombie and he’s so mean to Joseph. Anyway, let’s get into the post. The end is a bit angst-y but I did that to take a slight turn from all Fluff. I hope you enjoy! Part 2 coming sometime this week.m

It is common knowledge that Chrollo loves to read many books. When he was a child, he had time to read and that provided a great source of comfort. Although he seems to be ruthless, every human has the ability to seek compatibility and compassion. Both Hisoka and Chrollo enjoy the romance genre except Hisoka prefers to watch movies while Chrollo loves to read stories. You've known Chrollo since elementary school. You were fortunate enough to be able to move out of Meteor City and attend a better elementary school. As a child, you were an outcast and made few friends but on occasion, Chrollo would see you at a local arcade. Of course, your mother paid for the both of you to have fun but once it was over, it broke your heart because you knew about the conditions he’d return to once he left.

As time went on, you entered college and decided to invite Chrollo on campus so he could be something like a driving force for future success. You’ve been accepted into Yorknew University planning on majoring in Computer Science with a minor in Digital Art. Reaching Chrollo posed a challenge. He never responded to a few messages but on the third try, he answered with an excited response.

“Please forgive me y/n for not responding soon enough. I am more than happy to visit you. I am proud of you and your accomplishments. I do not see myself as a college man but, hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it right? I’ll be in touch.”

-Chrollo

At exactly 7 PM on a calm Fall night, standing outside of the campus’ most prominent book store, you began to sweat and your makeup began to drip. Just as you were about to wipe it off, you heard a voice call your name.

“Y/n? Is that you?” He chuckled as he questioned your appearance.

Turning around, you jumped a little at the sight before you. This wasn’t the same Chrollo you remember, of course. He had grown several feet, his face was much sharper, his arms were much bigger, had a bandana tied on his forehead, and he had a few rings on. He was dressed in a white polo shirt, black pressed slacks and black dress shoes. It’s weird. It felt like an arrow was shot through your heart.

“Are you ok? You act as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine! I’m just---You--look…”

“Ah, I see. There’s no need to be flustered. I am the same as when we were kids.”

The Yorknew Sailor Store was designed something exactly like a Barnes and Noble except the walls were painted to match the school’s colors.

The bookstore had a perfectly designed Starbucks, with a wooden finish, black and brown metal tables, beige tile floor, and glass doors.

Chrollo immediately noticed the change in behavior, one he wasn’t used to.

The students were snooty according to him and reminded him of how the city council would act towards him, his family, and those who were like him.

First, you offered to buy him a drink. The good thing about Chrollo is that if you or anyone else offers to buy something, He will not reject it. There is no such thing as having too much pride regarding him.

“Do you drink coffee?”

“Of course I do,” he replied. “But I don’t think I’ve had any of these drinks. A Caramel Macchiato? That sounds good.”

“Order it then! That will give you just the right amount of energy for today’s reading!”

To you, this was just two friends reuniting with each other but something else told you that Chrollo thought it was something more. He only dressed up like this if he was going out with someone special and even then it wasn’t an expensive Polo Short, It was his best t-shirt and jeans.

It boggles your mind how Chrollo acquired his expensive clothing but maybe he obtained a great job and is able to make a living for himself.

“I’d like to order a Caramel Macchiato.”

“What’s the name for this drink?”

“Chrollo,” you responded.

“And for you?”

“I would like a caramel Frappuccino with soy milk and no whip cream.”

“Alright. That’ll be $15.00.”

Chrollo glanced at you wide-eyed.

“It’s ok. I got it.”

You take out your card to pay and as you move out of line you bend over to whisper in his ear. “Maybe you can pay for dinner though.”

He laughed and smiled. “Of course, y/n.”

The bookstore was full of comfortable furniture ranging from light blue, dark blue, white in the lounge area. Both of you decided to sit across from each other on the blue chairs that swallowed you both as you sat.

As he read, he’d point out any interesting points in the book. He got tired of yelling across the table, so he decided to share a chair with you. He could feel the heat radiating from your body.

It was almost obvious that you all were involuntarily flirting with each other. The school was full of couples but occasionally seeing the goofy couple was the highlight of everyone’s day.

“This man was so devoted to a woman that does not know that he exists.”

“Sounds pointless,” you say, still trying to read your book.

“Well, she knows he exists but she is ignoring him and making him look like a fool in front of everyone. He says that there is something about her that he has never seen in any woman.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s her eyes, smile, intelligence, the shape of her lips, and her perfume powder aroma. Those are things that drive men wild.”

You smiled and laughed but came to a quick halt when you felt something along the ridge of your neck made you still. The hair on your neck stood up still as the invading force came in contact with your skin. It was Chrollo grazing his nose against your skin, slightly sniffing in your aroma; slowly breathing in and out.

Closing your eyes couldn’t make your sudden arousal fade. At this point, nearly everybody was looking at you both and looked away. This behavior was innocent for college culture, but it was taken as a cute gesture rather than naughty.

You blush. It was quite surprising that your childhood friend viewed you as something of the sort. It was both flattering and scary.

There’s no denying that Chrollo is handsome but if you dated him and the relationship didn't last, it could ruin your friendship.

At this point, Chrollo had his right arm resting lazily behind your back as his head and next aimed in a position that would allow his nose to lay carelessly on your neck.

“You smell delightful. I didn’t know you wore such expensive perfume. Is it….,” He sniffs again, “Flower Rose?”

“Yes! How did you know? Does your mother wear it?”

“She does now. I bought it for her a week ago and now the guys in the city can’t stay off her.”

Wow. The City. Even though it was a hell hole, it was your hell hole. How is everything? How is your mother? How did you manage to have such an expensive taste in clothing and fragrance?

Chrollo enjoys making others flustered. It's amusing to see them stutter when they’re either aroused or nervous.

On the flip side, seeing Chrollo flustered was the highlight of the century! The bad guys are used to being “bad” but expressing softer emotions makes it amazing and a reminder that they can experience them too.

Grabbing Chrollo’s left hand, you gently kiss it a few times and wink at him. He smiled, hiding his dumbfounded expression, and blushed slightly.

“I see you catch on quick.”

“I was raised in Meteor City. Just because I’m here doesn't mean I have forgotten where I come from. But I didn’t know you liked me.”

“You were the only one that trusted me and played with me when no one would.”

It felt like two magnets were pulling you closer. If he kissed you right here right now, you could just melt into a puddle but before anything happened, Chrollo’s phone rang loud and echoed throughout the bookstore.

Glancing at his phone, you saw an unknown number call, and judging from his actions he stood quickly to his feet.

“I’ll only be gone for a second.”

Hmm. That was odd. During this short intermission, you continue to read your book. Ironic enough, you weren’t into romance novels per se, you enjoyed action and comedy books!

Once Chrollo returned, his face was flushed and his soft demeanor had suddenly disappeared. He looked as if he was going to punch a wall.

“What’s wrong, Chrollo?”

He glanced at you with a somber smile, hoping to convince you that he was alright. “I am fine, y/n.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, if you count my mother being seriously injured, then yes.”

“Oh no! We can leave now, it’s fine.”

“No, it's ok. She wouldn’t want me to leave you all by yourself at this time of day.” He pointed to the night sky.

Wow! That was quick!

“What do you mean?”

“My mother predicted that I could end up with you...she also predicted that someone would be hurt or in danger if that prophecy was fulfilled. It’s sort of like give or take. In order to make someone happy, someone has to surrender their happiness and I guess it was her.”

A single tear dropped down his cheek and nothing more. He didn’t care if other men singled out his “weakness” because he’d destroy them all and he didn’t want y/n to know about his abilities until later.

The comfort of your warmth against his head provided more than comfort. He felt safe, welcomed, not judged, and vulnerable. He knew that you wouldn’t make him out to be a bad person but instead welcome him home with open arms. You were his human diary.

[entitynumber5]

omg Hannah!! if you feel so inclined, maybe "things you said when you were crying" for jonmartin? no pressure tho ily

aaaahhh thank you so much for this prompt, friend!!!!! i’m sorry it’s been a while!!! i really hope you like this!!!! ily <3

Content warnings: illness (they both have the flu), depressive episode (mentioned), Martin’s mother (mentioned), the Lonely, disassociation, swearing, compulsive behaviour, self-depreciation. 

things you said when you were crying

Perhaps it’s testament to how wonderfully mundane their lives have become, that Jon’s first thought when he wakes is: Martin’s doing the god damn laundry. 

It’s not an unreasonable assumption. Martin had spent the annual leave he’d taken to align with Jon’s reading week nursing Jon through a nasty bout of flu. During the three worst days, when Jon was barely conscious, he hadn’t seen Martin sleep or eat or leave their bedroom except to linger by the landline—a sign perhaps that Martin had caught what Jon had earlier than he’d let on, since they rarely used the relic—and debate calling the out of hours service. Jon had just about weathered the worst of it when Martin was properly struck down, requiring another week and a half and counting off work. Of course, that didn’t stop Martin’s restlessness even as the flu drained everything from him. He would lie on their bed, pale and panting, barely awake, bordering delirious—and still mumble to Jon that he’d do the laundry in a minute, don’t worry, I’ll get it done soon, I’m sorry it’s such a mess, I’m sorry. 

So Jon doesn’t mean to be angry, when he wakes up to an empty bed after an evening of Martin’s temperature finally staying below 38. It’s not even Martin he’s angry at, not truly.

Perhaps their lives aren’t mundane after all. Is it mundane not to be able to leave an overflowing laundry basket eleven days into the flu? Jon doesn’t know, or Know, but he has two theories: 1) Martin’s mother, the spectre to his half-formed anger. And 2) the state he recalls finding Martin’s flat in after leaving the Lonely, but before they’d set off for Scotland, and how neither of them had said it but Jon recognised well enough what a depressive episode looked like.

Jon reaches for his cane, folded and ready against the bedside table, and gently leverages himself up so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. The change in elevation makes him dizzy, and he lets the cane ground him, digging into the carpet between his feet, as he breathes. It’s been nearly a week since he’s had a fever, but the flu has caused a flare-up of his pain and fatigue. His department are letting him teach remotely through the rest of November. Martin’s boss had been sympathetic too, when Jon phoned in for him, although there’s not much a paramedic can do from afar and Martin is insistent he’ll be back by the end of the week. In four days. Jon rolls his eyes pre-emptively at the conversations he knows he will have with Martin about who had it “worse”, as if it matters. 

After the static has cleared from his vision—always an uncomfortable comparison, and he shoves down the panic that bubbles inside of him at the thought, because Martin needs him—Jon stands. He goes through the same process, leaning on his cane, breathing, waiting, until he feels steady enough to make his way into the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” Jon asks from the kitchen doorway, unable to keep the disapproval from his voice, when he finds Martin crouched in front of the washing machine.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Martin shoots back. The sarcasm of his reply is lessened significantly by how out of breath he sounds, and the way he’s clinging to the countertop above the washing machine with one hand while the other is splayed against the tiled floor like a shaky tripod—a pose that hints at an attempt to stand, aborted halfway through.

Jon sighs, biting back an unkind retort: exactly the opposite of what you should be doing. He allows himself to think it without trying to push it away in sudden, desperate shame, like he’s been practicing with his therapist, until it no longer sits so bitterly on his tongue. 

“Come back to bed, Martin,” Jon murmurs, “Please.” 

Martin sighs too. It sounds stuffy, almost crackling with the way the flu still clings to his lungs and throat. “I—I’m not sure that I... can.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but Martin interrupts: “I know, I know, I shouldn’t be—and my fever’s probably up again and—and I—”

“Martin,” Jon cuts in, as gently as he can. 

“Fine. Fine. This can wait to go out on the—” Still breathless, still barrelling through his justifications, Martin uses the hand on the countertop to pull himself upwards.

It goes terribly. Jon isn’t sure what forces are at work—gravity, exhaustion, pure bad luck, all of the above—but Martin is barely up for a moment before his legs fold, and he’s down again. Jon can’t move fast enough to stop Martin corkscrewing in an odd, 180-degree motion so that he all but ducks beneath his own arm, twisting it in his socket in an attempt to continue clinging to the counter, and knocks his spine against the harsh, circular face of the washing machine with a resounding thud.

“Fuck. Ow,” Martin groans, his voice slurring slightly, “Tha’s embarrassing.”

Jon tries to follow Martin, to kneel beside him on the tiles, but Martin snaps: “No! No, Jon, p-please don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Jon hovers, one hand fluttering uselessly near Martin’s hair while he clings to his cane with the other. Martin breathes, and breathes, and breathes—the sound heavy and laboured in a way that breaks Jon’s heart. It takes some time for him to steady himself, and then lean almost imperceptibly towards Jon. Jon lets his fingers brush through Martin’s hair, not caring, in the moment, that neither of them had showered for what feels like weeks. When the knuckle of his forefinger brushes across Martin’s temple, down his cheek, Jon feels the heat sitting on his skin again, the climbing fever.

“Oh, Martin,” Jon murmurs. 

“I hate this,” Martin says, his voice quiet and sharp and bitter.

“I know,” Jon soothes, brushing his knuckle once again over Martin’s flushed cheek. “I know.”

Martin closes his eyes and leans his head again Jon’s knee. It’s the sort of exhausted display of love and trust that Martin rarely allows himself, unless he’s feeling truly unwell. Jon places his hand on the crown of Martin’s head and leans on his cane and waits for Martin to be ready once again to talk or rest. 

Until very quietly, Martin begins to cry. 

“Oh,” Jon murmurs, almost to himself. 

Martin’s breath trembles, in what Jon knows is an attempt to hold back the tears, to pretend it’s nothing. He hides his face from Jon when he cries, even now, after all this time. A long-learned shame that always finds its way back into their house, no matter how many times they’ve turned it out and barricaded the doors. 

“Martin,” Jon says, quiet but firm, “Please come back to bed.”

There is a long, breath-held moment when Jon thinks Martin is going to refuse, to insist. So painfully stubborn, his husband. Jon braces himself for it. But Martin just nods ever so slightly against the soft plaid fabric of Jon’s pyjama bottoms.

It takes some time, and a great deal of false starts, to get Martin back on his feet. He’s wearing fluffy socks—Jon remembers putting them on for him, when he’d been shivering even in his sleep—that slide on the kitchen tiles, and Jon’s fighting against his own dizziness, which comes and goes in waves when he changes position, to lend Martin purchase. At last, they’re both standing. And although it likely doesn’t help much, Martin lets Jon slide his arm around Martin’s back as he guides them towards the bedroom. 

The bedside lamp is on its dullest setting on account of Martin’s persistent illness, and there are blankets and tissues and medicines thrown at random intervals around the room. Jon leads Martin towards the bed, not letting him stop to correct the mess, to try and restore some order to it. If this is how their lives have to be for the next few days—or weeks—so be it. Jon won’t sacrifice Martin’s recovery for this.

“Sit down,” Jon tells Martin, right before Martin gracelessly throws himself onto the edge of the mattress, listing towards the—thankfully padded—headrest.

Martin is still crying, but in that slow, distant way that makes something deep in Jon ache. It’s almost like the tears don’t belong to Martin. Like he is crying them on behalf of someone else. He stares across the room, half sprawled on the bed with his socked feet languid against the carpet, as the tears fall uninhibited down his face.

Carefully, Jon leans down just enough to pick up Martin’s legs, one at a time, and lift them onto the bed. He’s out of breath by the time he’s managed to get Martin lying down fully, still leaning against the headboard and staring vaguely at the wall opposite the bed. There is a picture hanging there, of them both outside the courthouse where they’d gotten married, but Martin seems to be staring through it.

“I’ll be right back,” Jon promises. He doesn’t know if he’s reassured or terrified that Martin simply lets him leave, barely reacting beyond the briefest twitch of an expression.

In the bathroom, Jon fills up a pint glass of water and wets a soft green flannel beneath the tap. He takes a moment to breathe, to drink some water as well, to swallow some ibuprofen for his aching joints, before he carries his small gifts back into the bedroom.

Martin is exactly where Jon left him. Jon sits next to him on the bed, and when Jon hands him the large glass of water, Matin takes it instinctively. But he doesn’t drink from it, holding it in his hands as if it is yet another thing that doesn’t belong to him, that he will carry unflinchingly for the time being—like the tears. Like the pain.

“Please drink the water, love,” Jon says. He touches one of his hands to Martin’s, where he’s holding the glass, and Martin’s eyes flicker briefly to his. Jon nods in encouragement.

With trembling hands, both closed around the large glass, Martin lifts the water to his lips and drinks. He doesn’t manage much—a few sips before his mouth tightens with nausea, and he has to lower the glass and breathe. But it’s a start.

“That’s good, Martin,” Jon soothes, as he takes the glass from Martin’s hands and places it on their bedside table. “Do you want to lie down?”

“Jon,” Martin tries to say.

“Shh. It’s alright. Lie down, just like that, that’s it.”

Martin reclines against the pillow, restlessness warring against exhaustion, until he looks almost settled. Jon tugs the blanket from the end of the bed and covers Martin with it, smoothing down the edges with extra care. Martin watches him, turned slightly on his side so he can look up at where Jon is still half-sitting against the headboard.

“I hate this,” Martin chokes, and blinks fresh tears down his cheeks. “I feel like—like everything is wrong.”

“In what way?” Jon asks gently, keeping his eyes on Martin as he reaches for the wet flannel sitting on the bedside table next to the three-quarters full glass of water.

Martin closes his eyes. “I’m so—I’m so tired, Jon.”

Jon lowers the flannel to Martin’s face, wiping first beneath his eyes, where some of the tears have collected and soaked into the begging of his laughter lines. “I know.”

Martin’s face crumples with something like grief. “That’s just it, though. This is—it’s nothing. Nothing compared to—to what you... And I’m just—making more of it than it needs.”

“Martin.”

“This isn’t—before, with Mum, I’d just—I’d keep going because—”

Martin frowns, sentence finishing abruptly. Jon pushes down the urge to correct, to intervene, and instead, with every ounce of patience and love he feels for Martin in this moment, continues to draw the flannel over the planes of his warm, weary face.

“I can’t stop,” Martin whispers at last, opening his eyes. “If I stop, then I’ll—I won’t ever start again. Like with the—the Lonely. Every time you reached out, I knew if I just stopped even for a moment, I wouldn’t be able to go back, and it would all fall apart. I’m not meant to stop. I can’t. I’m not resilient or, or the kind of person who can get knocked down and get back up again. It’s just—it’s keep going or...”

Jon drags the flannel along Martin’s jaw, down his throat, wiping away the remaining tears where they mingle with fever sweat. He focuses entirely on his task, a perfect excuse to carefully consider his next words. A separate part of his mind is processing that his theories had been right, in some way, and how he aches for Martin—the predictability of it doesn’t ease the pain. But Martin needs something other than that right now.

“Martin.” Jon starts, of course, at the beginning of all things. With love. With a reason. “There are moments in life when sometimes we need to stop. Think about it like... like an orchestra. In an orchestra, there are times where an instrument, or even an entire segment, will be given a break within the music or by the conductor—because it’s needed and it’s necessary. The performance is better for it. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Martin blinks up at Jon, slow and exhausted but comprehending. Jon continues his task, wiping the cloth across Martin’s forehead now.

“You are the most resilient person I know, Martin. I would be lying to you—and I think you know that—if I said I’d never seen you get knocked down. But I have watched you get back up again and again and again,” Jon continues. “If this time, it takes a little longer—if this time, you’re not sure when you can begin again—that’s alright. You deserve rest. You have nothing to prove, except perhaps that you can stop—or pause, if it’s easier to think of it that way—and the world won’t collapse around you.” Jon removes the flannel from Martin’s forehead and replaces it with a gentle kiss. “I won’t let it.” 

Jon lets his lips linger before he lowers his head onto the pillows to face Martin. Martin is still crying, eyes bright with tears and fever both, but there’s something less dejected in his expression. Something less lost.

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispers, “For the crying, and—”

“There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“Not even the laundry?” Martin’s voice is so small, still trembling with tears. But there’s the briefest glimpse of a smile at the corner of his chapped lips.

“Not even the laundry,” Jon agrees, although he puts on a begrudging front.

Martin closes his eyes and leans forward, so that his and Jon’s foreheads are touching in the small gap between their two pillows. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And I—I want to believe you.”

Jon feels himself smile, and he hopes Martin knows it is all for him. “Thank you.”

Jon knows they will talk about this again. He knows this will be something understood and folded into the fabric of their lives slowly, piece by painful piece. But for now, as he watches Martin’s tears slowly ease, replaced eventually by sleep, and as Jon himself begins to follow, he thinks at the threshold of his dreams that next time might be just a little bit easier. A little bit kinder. And that is always enough.

[nightjarteeth]

Day 4 of the Midsummer Masquerade: Sensory Deprivation

(thanks to CrinklyTinfoil for helping me write the spicy bits <3)

Word count: 3258

Pairing: Valdemar x Finch

Warnings: lemon, tentacles, sensory deprivation, nudity, no actual penetration

(for those who follow my writing, this fic diverges from this chapter of Vervain, Mugwort, & Other Magiferous Plants. this is in no way necessary reading, though.)

“Would you like to see the dungeons?” Quaestor Valdemar asked inquisitively, touching their fingertips together.

“After all, I’d say you’ve earned it after getting past that lock.” Their words implied that Finch was being treated to a reward, but Finch got the distinct impression that they really just wanted to show Finch whatever horrors were lurking down there.

“Oh, no thank you,” Finch replied a little tersely. “I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your valuable time, after all.”

And more importantly, they were more than eager to leave this dark, damp tunnel the Quaestor had lured them down with the promise of a supposedly “intriguing lock.”

As Finch turned to leave, the Quaestor made a pointed coughing noise.

“Are you quite sure about that? You know, I’ve recently acquired some… let’s say, specialized new equipment I could show you. I’ve been looking for someone to test it out on for a while.”

Finch paused. Specialized equipment…?

Wait a second. Was this related to that Midsummer Masquerade thing?

A few days ago, Finch had found an envelope surreptitiously slipped underneath their guest room in the palace. Inside was an invitation written in stylish scarlet ink — and it appeared to be playfully alluding to its intentions, rather than stating them forthright.

Finch had furrowed their brow as they deciphered what exactly the invitation was getting at. It seemed to be a clandestine event… of a decidedly more adult nature.

“Is this some sort of… sex party?” they’d muttered. They approached their door, cracking it open a notch and peering out in an attempt to see who had slipped it under the door. There was no one there.

Whoever had given them the invite had disappeared abruptly, leaving their identity a mystery.

They glanced down at the parchment again.

“Hmmmm. Nope, won’t be attending whatever that is,” they concluded. Finch would be the first to describe themself as a private person — they weren’t a big fan of parties to begin with, much less sexually-inclined parties. To put it lightly, this Midsummer Masquerade thing wasn’t their cup of tea.

For the last two days, they’d been using the invitation as scrap paper, and had nearly forgotten about the upcoming event.

But now…

Perhaps the Quaestor themself had been invited to the Midsummer Masquerade, and was struck in a mood. And perhaps they also preferred to keep such activities private.

Arriving back from their train of thoughts, Finch looked up again. Valdemar’s red eyes were fixed upon them, interestedly waiting for their answer. Finch felt their face flush a little.

Even though just a minute ago they’d been considering how creepy Valdemar was, with their peculiar mannerisms and open adoration of the plague, Finch found themself reevaluating the physician.

They… weren’t unattractive. Actually, once you got past a few minor details — like how they never seemed to blink, or the strange bandages swathed around their head — Finch had to admit there was a certain elegance to their figure.

And who knew? Maybe some experimentation with some questionable equipment in an underground dungeon could release some of the tension of the last few days.

“I have to admit, I’m… curious about your equipment,” Finch confessed, wincing at the accidental euphemism.

“Oh, wonderful,” Valdemar replied. “I’ve been looking to find someone to test it out on for ages.”

They seized a bar of the iron gate, and it juddered open with a loud creak that echoed along the stone tunnel walls.

“In you go,” they instructed, beckoning Finch to walk inside a small elevator that looked like it could just barely accommodate a single person.

“Can two people really fit in there?” Finch asked, unconvinced.

“Don’t fret your little mind over it,” the Quaestor assured them in a not-very-assuring voice. “It will be a tight squeeze, but I’m absolutely sure you won’t mind.”

Finch entered the elevator, noting that the metal platform beneath their feet shuddered a little as they placed their weight on it. How stable was this thing, exactly?

Valdemar moved in swiftly after them, and their chest pressed in closely alongside Finch’s shoulders. Somehow, when they stepped upon the platform, it didn’t shudder at all.

“See? Very comfortable,” Valdemar said, resting a chilly hand on Finch’s head. “Down we go.”

With no indication of them pulling a lever or pressing a button, the elevator rattled on downwards.

Finch shivered against the coldness of Valdemar’s perfectly-still chest. Were they just imagining things, or… did the Quaestor somehow not have a heartbeat? It didn’t feel as if they were even breathing.

But before they had time to fully evaluate this, the elevator had come to a stop, and the iron gate was opening once more. Outside, there was nothing but pitch darkness.

“Well? Come along,” the Quaestor said, looking back behind at Finch, who was not budging.

“Hmmm, that’s right, you need additional lighting. Well, I wouldn’t want you stumbling on anything — an injury might ruin the integrity of the whole experiment. I’ll be right back.”

Valdemar momentarily left Finch with no light except for the dull red glow of whatever magic powered the elevator. Then, they emerged from the dark with a torch in their hand.

“That’s better, yes? Now follow me,” they instructed.

Now that the torch illuminated the area in soft orange brightness, Finch was able to take a decent look at their surroundings. The dungeon was spacious, looking like a place that formerly held a great deal of activity. Tables and chairs were strewn about, with an empty operating theater set at the dead center of it all.

As Valdemar led them through the room, Finch took note of how many of the tables were equipped with sturdy-looking leather straps. One of them still had polished scalpels and a bonesaw arranged neatly across its surface.

Finch gulped. They had a feeling that whatever “equipment” Quaestor Valdemar had mentioned might be of the BDSM variety… but how much could Finch really handle?

“I’ve been searching for a volunteer for this simply forever,” Valdemar wistfully sighed in the meanwhile. “It would’ve been much easier back in the days of the Red Plague — there was no shortage of potential participants in the dungeons back then… but nowadays finding someone sturdy and willing can be a real challenge.”

That’s a very strange way of saying that you’ve been having trouble finding sex partners lately, Finch thought, but kept quiet.

“When I saw the schematic a fellow scientist invented, I simply couldn’t resist recreating it myself. This will be so much fun.”

The way Valdemar said the word “fun” made Finch’s stomach turn in knots. Either this was going to be a weirdly enjoyable time, or it was going to be the most frightening moment of Finch’s life.

In any case, this was bound to be an intense experience.

Eventually, Valdemar stopped at a stone archway with a dark room beyond its threshold.

“It’s right in here,” they said, shining the torchlight so that it illuminated the room.

Finch peered in. The room was empty, with no visible contraption they could see… and then they glanced down at the floor.

Set into the stone tiles was a circular black pool of water. The orange light of the torch flickered over its mirror-like surface, revealing nothing of its depth.

“Wait, what is that?” Finch asked, a nervous twitch entering their normally stoic expression. This… was not what they had been expecting.

“It’s a sensory deprivation pool,” Valdemar replied, their voice laced with excitement. “And you’re going in it.”

Finch felt at that moment that they would’ve been more comforted if there’d been the table with the scalpels and bonesaw inside the room. At least that would’ve been more aligned with the BDSM situation they’d been previously anticipating.

For the first time, they began to question if this whole invitation really was a sex thing.

“I’m going in there?” they asked, taken aback.

“Oh, yes,” Valdemar answered matter-of-factly.

“Is… there anything in that water that I should know about?” Finch asked next, peering into the opaque surface of the pool. It was all too easy to imagine some deep sea leviathan idling under the surface, waiting for someone to dip their toes in.

“Goodness, no. The water’s far too salty for any extant species to survive living in it. And don’t worry about sinking, either… the primary purpose of all that salt is that it’ll allow you to simply float in the water.”

“Any further questions?” the Quaestor asked, suddenly far too close to Finch’s ear. Finch paused for a moment, trying to think of any excuse to get out of this situation they’d foolishly signed up for.

But before they could even formulate a response, Valdemar had already taken their silence as an answer.

“Good, good. Then you may proceed to disrobe.”

Finch hesitated, wondering if they should wait for the Quaestor to leave the room before stripping their clothes off. Instead, they tilted their head at Finch, red eyes looking directly at them.

“If you’re nervous about disrobing in front of me, you needn’t be. I can assure you that whatever’s under that cloak of yours will not surprise me. Unless, you’d rather I leave you in total darkness to remove your clothing?”

“No, that definitely won’t be necessary,” Finch quickly replied, not fancying the idea of tripping over their clothes in the dark.

They weren’t particularly embarrassed about being nude, but they had to admit that the Quaestor’s unyielding gaze was a little unnerving.

Finch turned away to undress, the dungeon air chilly against their skin. When they were fully naked, they looked back. The whole time they were undressing, Valdemar’s eyes hadn’t moved, their face expressionless and giving nothing away.

Finch couldn’t decide if this was vaguely arousing or downright creepy.

They cautiously clambered down the stone steps leading down into the pool. To their surprise, the water was pleasantly warm to the touch.

“All the way in,” Valdemar instructed. “And then situate yourself so that you’re floating on your back.”

Finch did as they were told, leaning back into the pool and letting their limbs go limp. Just as Valdemar had said, they floated with no difficulty, the water seeming strangely supportive of their weight.

“...now what?” they asked after a moment. Gazing up from their position in the middle of the pool, they glimpsed a razor-sharp grin.

“And now I leave you in the dark,” Valdemar said, and turned away.

“Wait! What exactly is supposed to happen to me in here?” Finch asked, suddenly concerned again.

“That’s the whole experiment,” Valdemar stated. “Examining how the mind reacts when deprived of stimulus… Well, there’s all sorts of delightful possibilities. The schematic suggested that it might induce hallucinations — oh, I do so hope it does induce hallucinations.”

Without another word, Valdemar moved toward the stone archway, and the orange torchlight was extinguished. Finch found themself absolutely alone.

If I died in here, it’s likely that no one would ever find me, they thought. Experimentally, they moved a hand in front of their face. Nothing — their eyes didn’t detect even a hint of movement.

After several more minutes, however, they began to feel their mind calm. The chamber was perfectly silent and still — unlike the rest of the bustling Palace, which Finch was still adjusting to staying in. In the complete dark, it was unexpectedly easy to forget that they were deep underneath the building, trapped in a creepy dungeon.

With the pleasantly warm water beneath their body, Finch noticed the tension in their muscles start to gradually fizzle away. Maybe coming down here wasn’t actually an awful idea, even if this hadn’t been the experience they’d expected.

Just as their body began to truly relax, Finch felt a current of water move underneath them. They braced themself. It’s probably just from whatever mechanism’s warming the pool, they rationalized, trying to keep calm.

Then, something smooth and whip-like brushed against their ankle.

Finch jolted on instinct. They thrashed in the pool, trying to regain their balance, but was thrown off by the sheer buoyancy of the water. Finally, they were able to grasp at the pool’s edge, sputtering and panting raggedly.

There couldn’t be anything living in here, could there? The water was, in fact, too salty — Finch could taste the bitterness of it on their lips.

An idea sprang to mind. Maybe this was one of those hallucinations Valdemar was talking about — one of the results they were hoping for. After a few minutes of no sign of further movement in the water, Finch released their hold on the slippery stone edge.

Slowly, they allowed themselves to drift back out into the center, once more closing their eyes and concentrating on staying calm — a more difficult task now, with their heart pounding in their chest as they floated along the surface.

It had to be just their imagination... but underneath, they felt the water shift again, as though something was rising from the depths.

Finch tensed slightly, taking in a deep breath. Halfway through it, the breath caught in their throat as they felt that soft brush against their ankle once more. They focused more intently this time, trying to ignore it.

Whatever hallucination this was shouldn’t concern them. Hell, this experience might be an opportunity to learn something about themself. What would their mind come up with when left alone in the dark?

There was only one way to find out.

The whip-like appendage slowly began winding around their ankle. Finch shivered, their skin feeling as if it were on fire.

Finch felt their limb pulled, the motion deliberate and almost experimental. Whatever was in the pool with them was behaving in a very intentional manner, ruling the possibility of “sea monster” out of Finch’s mind.

On impulse, Finch opened their eyes, but there was nothing to see but the dark. Briefly, they considered reaching their hand out to try to touch whatever was currently wrapping up their exposed thigh and causing their heart to beat wildly.

For a moment, they stretched out their fingertips, only to release them back into the water. Just hallucinations — that’s what the Quaestor had stated. No point in reaching for something that wasn’t there.

A small gasp escaped Finch as in an abrupt motion, the tendril that gripped their leg began to move upwards, sliding between their legs and over their torso.

The water shifted again, and Finch bit down hard on their lip as they felt another tendril join the prior one, sliding gently between their legs as it did so — and sending an alarming spark of pleasure crackling up their spine.

Finch had started to breathe more heavily, feeling the urge to press their legs together onto the unidentifiable tendril as their toes curled. The prior tentacle that had snaked up between their legs prevented this, though, and so they were left a bit of a panting mess as they drifted in the dark.

Then, several more tendrils erupted from beneath, rippling at the surface of the water. They coiled around each of Finch’s wrists and ankles, seizing them firmly.

The message was clear: stop moving.

More tentacles continued writhing up Finch’s body, wrapping them in a peculiarly soft grip. Their chest, arms and legs were soon wrapped and unwrapped as the appendages below seemed to explore them. Soft touches trailed across their body — trails of fire that made Finch’s face redden more and more with every second.

Just. A. Hallucination! Finch frantically reminded themself, trying and failing not to react.

Finch stifled a moan, their hands balling into fists as the tentacle situated across their nether region pressed down none too lightly, rocking back and forth in an investigative manner.

Their bare skin prickled with sensation, and they once more frantically fought to stifle a cry as a warm glow enveloped them. These were some very vivid hallucinations, Finch frantically tried to justify to themself.

After all, if they weren’t hallucinations, what else could they be? Finch literally couldn’t think of any other possibility… but then again, it was difficult to think at all at the moment.

Finch sensed their face going red as they felt a tentacle lightly wrap about their neck. A soft tip stroked down their jawline, its motions careful and precise, like a doctor making an incision.

Another stroked across their cheek, pushing damp hair off to the side as the slit between their legs began to burn with an absolutely vicious heat. Finch felt trapped and slightly frightened, which apparently was really doing it for them judging by the sensations coursing up and down their body.

The appendages continued to glide over their skin, seemingly keen to explore every inch of Finch that was available. Sparks exploded inside of them as the tips of the soft feelers paused on their nipples, beginning to twist and play with them and leaving Finch feeling ever-so-slightly dazed.

They weren’t sure how long they floated in the dark before the shivering and quaking of their body began to mean they couldn’t possibly hold still a second longer. They twitched and shook in the unyielding embrace of the tentacles that had extended from the depths, their breath coming in shallow gasps.

It was as this happened, their world disappearing into a vision of noiseless pleasure, that a surge of heat swept through them. They gasped, and if sinking in the water had been possible, they were sure they would’ve surrendered to the depths below them.

One by one, Finch felt the tentacles fading away. They slipped from between their legs, and removed themselves from their chest and arms. Finch heard the soft splash of water as what they imagined to be thick writhing shapes disappeared back underneath.

The last one to go was the one that lingered about their neck. With one last caress of their chin, it slowly released, sliding gently back into the depths and leaving them once more floating unhindered in the water.

After a few minutes in the perfectly-still darkness, Finch detected the orange light of the torch in the corner of their eye. As the room swam back into view, they felt themselves become reoriented once more.

Finch looked upwards. Valdemar loomed above them at the edge of the pool, head tilting with curiosity.

“You’re back,” Finch noted, hurriedly getting out of the water and desperately hoping Valdemar didn’t notice how flustered they looked.

“Hmmm? I never left the room,” Valdemar informed them. “After all, I had to examine you during the course of the experiment.”

Finch immediately flushed. What… had they seen?

“And besides,” Valdemar added, cracking a sharp grin. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun in that sensory deprivation pool alone.”

Finch decided that for their own peace of mind, they were not going to ask any further questions on this matter — or think too hard about the worrying implications of what Valdemar had just said.

Instead, they asked another question.

“Quaestor… by any chance, have you ever heard of an event called the ‘Midsummer Masquerade?’”

“Midsummer Masquerade…?” For a moment, Valdemar looked genuinely confused — an unexpected sight.

“Ah. I do recall finding an invitation delivered to my estate — but as a rule of thumb, I don’t attend such events unless my presence is absolutely required. I never opened the envelope,” Valdemar replied with a shrug of their shoulders.

Of… course, Finch thought.

Naked in the cold depths of the dungeon, Finch started putting their clothes back on.

[couchpotatoaniki]

One Year ❣︎ Three: The Execution

Chapter Summary: Trying to cool off, you decided to spend the day by yourself. This couldn’t have gone any better for San’s plan.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, stalking, kidnapping Word count: 2.5k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter Two For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

Buzzing came from your pocket, initially thinking your phone got a notification until it continuously vibrated. Yunho was calling you.

“Yo, where are you? Mingi told us what happened between you and Dom--and before you say anything, he’ll be having hell to pay, regardless of whether you approve or not.”

Chuckling, you sighed as you looked at your surroundings. “Fine by me. Do what you like to him.” Slowing down in front of a cute-looking coffee shop, you answered his first question...partially. “Just taking a stroll in the town.”

“Wanna be left alone?” You hummed as you entered the establishment, being hit with wafts of bakes goods. “Very well then. But we’re gonna hunt you down if you’re not back by midnight.”

“M’kay, Pops,” mumbling absent-mindedly while overlooking the menu on the screens above the counter.

You couldn’t see the gentle bitter smile on his face, knowing very well that you weren’t as stone-cold as the façade you masked yourself in. Had an idea that you just needed space. “Alright then. Look after yourself.”

“You too.”

Beeping over the line indicated to you that he had hung up. Shoving your phone back into your coat pocket, you let your feet carry you to the till, where a young teenager dressed in a pale blue polo shirt and evergreen apron on top greeted you with a nervous smile.

Must have been new, or had some sort of social anxiety, from the way they avoided your eyes and fidgeted with their hands. “U-Um, hello. Welcome... What would you like?” the taller kid practically whispered, but you caught on to their words.

Sending a soft, warming smile, you answered, “can I have a buttered croissant with a mango and passionfruit iced tea, please? Actually, would you mind adding a chocolate muffin to that too?”

Nodding, they tapped the till, pressing various buttons before saying, “that’ll be 6,500 won, please.”

Pulled out your wallet and paid the employee. As you sat down, waiting on your order, you began to reminisce from when you used to be that age too--then again, it was not hard at all since it wasn’t too long ago.

Seven years ago, you were only 16, enjoying life just before things took a turn you never expected and you were never the same air-headed, happy-go-lucky kid you once were.

All you needed at the time was someone who was kind, who gave you a breath from the onslaught you faced all around you. Mingi was probably the only reason you’re still alive.

Thinking about the old days did more damage to you than you’d like to believe, but almost seemed impossible with the Dominic situation.

Being betrayed again hurt like hell, and although he wasn’t as bad as what you had experienced, he still broke your trust. Trust you tried to rebuild after all you went through the last time.

Thoughts you spent so long trying to get rid of grew back like weeds of the concrete walls you put up five years ago.

And despite what you tried to convince yourself and Mingi, you actually really liked the guy.

“Here you go, miss,” the young employee mumbled as he placed a tray with your order on it. Almost everything was right, except that there was a vanilla and chocolate chip muffin instead of a complete chocolate one.

Oh well, a muffin’s a muffin.

“Thank you,” you grinned, handing the teenager a tip of 10,000 won.

Their eyes widened at your strange generosity before hesitantly taking the money you held out between your index and middle fingers.

Your lips wrapped around the straw as you took a sip of your ice-cold drink. Strong tones of mango, with a hint of passionfruit, slight sweetness from honey and faint tang of fresh lemon.

Iced tea was something you had grown to love over the past five years, first time being too bitter and flavourful for you. Then again, the events prior left a bad taste in your mouth. Seonghwa was the one who helped you, always getting you an iced tea every time he went to a nearby coffee shop.

Learned quite quickly that your tongue was sensitive to heat after being so concerned how you refused piping-hot meals he cooked for you often. Waited until it cooled a lot before digging in.

No doubt the four boys would do anything for you--Mingi the most out of the rest since you wouldn’t be where you are without him--but sometimes you needed to breathe by yourself. Enjoying the little things you like croissants and muffins rather than focussing on your soon-to-be ex boyfriend cheating on you for a reason that eludes you.

That’s how the rest of the day goes.

Aimlessly walking, window-shopping, sight-seeing. Nothing registered in your mind but it was better than something negative.

Your phone was on silent, growing cold in your pocket from the lack of heat being transferred from your hand. Even then, you doubt anyone (except Dominic) would be texting you since you told them you wanted peace.

Before you realised it, the sun crawled above your head and began to set in the horizon, a clash of beautiful blues, oranges, pinks, and purples hovering in the sky. Lampposts along the streets lit up and the sky grew dark, yet that didn’t stop the hustle and bustle.

Irritated by the noises of people, you turned to an alleyway which had significantly less lighting but also significantly less humans.

As you walked, you were deep in thought, not thinking much of your surroundings. Then the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and a chill ran down your spine.

Someone was following you.

You were about to turn around and defend yourself--and you had no worries that you would lose. But then bright LED headlights of a hidden black SUV had highlighted the hair of a rather short person who stood in front of it.

Shocking electric blue stands brushed against his porcelain-smooth skin from light wisps of wind passing by. The same colour hair you realised had been barely peeking in your peripheral since the airport.

Next to a man you had very briefly met on you birthday dinner while searching for the bathroom.

Exactly how long have they been following you?

Though you chided yourself for not noticing it sooner--despite all the excuses of being ‘on a holiday’--you found yourself pondering. You had never met those two funky-haired people before in your life, and you sure as hell made sure any dangerous people couldn’t find you (not without going through one of the other boys first) so who exactly were these people?

Perhaps you were like a bee, drunk on the honey in your tea, or maybe you wanted to get your mind off the situation, needing a thrill at the moment.

You felt the need to destroy something--or at least toy with it for a bit--and these cocky assholes seemed perfect.

Either way, you relaxed your muscles (only a little, as to not raise suspicion of the young man before you).

One foot stepped behind you as you kept your eyes trained on his coco ones, only to rip them away a moment when you turned to ‘run’. As expected, something else tried to stop you. Another black SUV with blinding lights swerved into the other end of the alleyway as you tried to leave.

You’d prided yourself on good acting, and it always seemed to pay off. Right now, to sell the part of a scared girl, you stumbled backwards--planning to fall of the cobblestone path, but only to be saved by something hard.

The mysterious man’s chest, his hands holding your arms as support.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered in your ear, covering your mouth with a chloroformed cloth. You didn’t really put up much of a fight (to your standards, anyway) and succumbed to the strong chemical.

At first you were floating in a sea of black, unable to connect with your senses. Slowly, after moments of nothingness, you could feel the world materialise around you.

Soft fabric was cushioned beneath you, cradling your body with warmth. Light began to seep through your closed eyelids as the gentle, sweet smell of sugared almonds filled your nose with every deep inhale. And finally, a headache that began to pound harder with every pulse.

Grunting, you pried your eyes open, immediately noticing what appeared to be a shower room in front of you. There were two shower heads on each side, with only pillars of soft light embedded into the tiled wall rather than a proper partition. To add to the lack of privacy, the only material separating the shower room and the eyes of the bed was simply a thin pane of sliding glass which hid absolutely nothing.

“What kinda perv decided to design this monstrosity?”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you looked down on the bed you were lying in, thankfully still in the same cotton dress, phone no longer in its pockets. The mattress was significantly softer than the one at the hotel--yet another indicator that your kidnappers were rich.

On the tables dotted around the space were lilac candles. Most likely the culprit of the amazing scent in the room.

Your eyes then caught the daylight peeking through the curtains, enlightening the room in a soft apricot glow. “Fuck,” you muttered, remembering Yunho’s words in the previous call she had, “they’re gonna kill me for staying out.”

Pushing yourself off the illegally comfortable bed, you inched towards the only door you saw. Fingers wrapped around the cold metal handle and pushed down, finding it much to your surprise that it was actually unlocked. Pulled it open without hesitation, though making sure you peered out to see if there was anyone.

There wasn’t.

“Great security, guys,” you sighed, actually feeling disappointed in the lack of effort you had to put in while walking openly around. After all, it was the reason you let yourself be taken.

Then again, this could all be a trap.

Now that was exciting.

You let yourself become familiar with the surroundings upon one glance, noticing the obvious luxurious colour scheme of gold and cream that had your eyes rolling at the basic rich vibes it gave you.

Then you found your breath catching in your throat as you continued to explore, eyes frozen on a portrait hung up on a wall.

Though the fact that it was a portrait of you had initially shocked you, it wasn’t the defining feature that had your heart palpitating at a dangerous speed. Your hair was short again, a pixie cut, while you were sat on a beach that looked a lot like the one you visited in Santorini.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

In fact, the painting was an exact replica of you from five years ago, down to the clothing of ripped jeans and loose top you wore. You, from one of your darkest and lowest moments.

“Are you lost, babygirl?”

The same voice rang in your ears, repeating the only sentence you heard spill from his lips. When you turned around to confirm who it was, it was indeed the same man you saw.

The damn muscular guy, with pitch-black hair and a lock of platinum blonde brushing just above an eye.

The blood was rushing too fast, fear in your eyes no longer an act. Just who the fuck was this guy?

You took one step back, knees buckling instantly but before your brain could process it, the man had wrapped his arms around you, catching your body before hit the ground.

San could smell the delicate citrusy aroma wafting from your skin and he tried so hard to not bury his head in the crook of your neck, to kiss the area and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

Taking advantage of your frozen state, he lifted you up and place you on a nearby armchair, one beside a fireplace since he felt you were too cold for comfort.

Only until he had a ice cube pressed against your lips, did you snap out of it. “You should have it. Maybe you had a bad reaction to the chloroform. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Head turning the other way, your guarded eyes stayed locked on him rather than your painting behind his form. “English.”

“Why? You spoke perfectly good Korean at the dinner two days ago,” he said, pressing the ice cube onto your mouth once more.

“Simply because I feel more comfortable with English,” you remarked, swatting away his hand. “And stop putting that on my mouth.”

Sighing, he dropped the cold, melting cube back in the glass of whiskey before putting a bit of distance between the two of you. He could feel himself getting angry, that you won’t trust him, that you won’t listen to him.

But could he blame you?

“I feel like explanations are in order,” you said, narrowing your eyes down on his figure, flickering firelight resting on him to make him seem even more good-looking, shadows casted to make each feature appear sharper. But that wasn’t what you were focused on.

You wanted to deduce this stranger by his body language.

Stood tall, maintaining good eye contact, showed that he was confident. Classic black suits--expensive by the look of the fabric--showed that he as rich. Tattoos littering the skin of his hand showed a bit of a bad-boy nature. And the aura he emitted was that of a leader.

Corner of your lips twitching, you realised who--or what--he might be. The boss of a fairly powerful crime syndicate.

San, on the other hand, couldn’t see what you were thinking as you looked at him. Did you think he was as hot as he did you? Fuck, he hoped so--clearly not understanding how a normal person would react in such a situation.

“Hello? Earth to whoever the hell you are?”

“If you want answers, you certainly won’t be getting them if you act like a brat.”

Scoffing, you tilted you head, eyes boring into him with a cold glaze coving them. Like a lifeless doll. “Then how do you suggest I act then? Hmm? After seeing that you’ve been stalking me for the last five years,” you nodded towards coloured canvas, growing more unsettled every time you looked at it.

“Fair point,” he said, taking a seat on the chair opposite you. “But you should know that I haven’t been doing that. Stalking you, I mean.”

“The fuck do you call that creepy-ass portrait, then?”

“I call it a precious memory.” San shifted his focus from your gaze to the flames lazily dancing on charred wooden embers. Tongue swiped over his lips before chuckling, almost bitterly. “Doubt you’ll believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

Lips pursed, you sat quietly as you listened to his story.

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby​ , @sparklychangbin​​ ,

[soukokuwu]

hi there! hope ur doing well esp in times like these. i must say i absolutely adore ur writing. both the chuuya angst fics literally made me cry. i never cried to any other fics before. it was amazing. may i request an angst scenario where Dazai has an s/o & a person from his past (from his port mafia days) wanted revenge on him. now Dazai is incredibly smart & manipulative & they know that (impossible to kill) so they go after s/o & kills them. i hope i'm not bothering u. have a nice day/night.

something left unguarded.

     genre. angst (dazai x reader)      warnings. death, kidnapping/implied assault      synopsis. there are times when dazai wishes he’s dead. this is one of those times.      word count. 1.8k      author notes. hi kitty! sorry this took me ungodly long, and i’m not sure if this is what you were looking for but i hope it’s okay!! <33

there’s some unspoken things that come together with love.

for dazai, that’s the slow crumbling of his walls; the surrendering of firearms. he finds himself unfurling easily at the seams, and regarding what seems impossible for the vast majority, it’s like white on rice for you. best thing is? it comes easy, effortless. you don’t try to be someone you’re not; dazai can tell. you are just unapologetically, undoubtedly you. that’s the beauty of it all, to him.

never has he felt like this, in the crack of dawn, lying next to you on the bed, the distant sounds of the birds and your breathing is all he can hear. it’s weird — he used to hear so many voices in his head, so many conflicting ones telling him to kill himself and yet others telling him to stay because there’s bound to be something that makes him want to live.

the latter is right. because now look at him. he’s not hearing whispers in his mind, the condescending, doubtful voices are gone. it’s peace.

all that fills his thoughts are you. who was he, even, before he met you? he knows, he always knows, he’s mostly self-aware. but then, he doesn’t want to. doesn’t want to remember the person he used to be, because he loves who he is now, with you. do the voices come back sometimes? absolutely. but a minor interaction with you and he feels tranquililty. and he has no doubt that you are the only one capable of such a feat.

he always thought fear was the accompaniment of walls breaking down. why did you make him feel like it was liberating instead? is it just the impossible amount of trust he’s put into you? he doesn’t have to ever ask himself anything, never does he ever feel like he needs to doubt you. ever.

you’re a peculiar little thing, always doing what you think is best for him. you rarely ever do think of yourself, do you? that’s why dazai takes it upon himself to give you what you deserve, a wholesome, warming kind of romance, even if he isn’t so sure about it himself. dazai doesn’t know romance apart from those that’s raved about in books and movies. his whole life is an endless pit of darkness — that’s up ’til the point he met you, of course.

so if the novel, theatric kind of love is the only form of romance he knows, then the least he can do is give you that.

dazai turns and watches as you rest peacefully, weaving his fingers through your hair, appreciating the patterns of your chest rising and falling. how long has it been since he’s first watched you like this before you wake? he doesn’t really recall the exact number of days, but it’s around three years? and he can definitely deal with a lot more than this.

talks about the future has always been taboo for him. not that he hates it, but it’s because he can never feel excited about it. and frankly, it’s much more of a chore than anything. so now, catching himself actually envisioning a future with you? it feels surreal.

the two of you have a routine: wake up, make breakfast, kiss goodbye before work, actually work, come home, have dinner, maybe take a bath together before you go to bed. it’s habitual by now — everything on the list. and while the morning is no different, the afternoon definitely is.

first there is the anonymous letter he finds in his top desk drawer. nothing but a blank paper with a single ominous line of “this is for back then”. nothing else. just a single line written in blood red ink. the weretiger next to him seems a little freaked out by it, so it’s easy to tell that whoever did this made the effort to come in earlier than anyone to place this in his desk. and maybe they expected to elicit some other behaviour from him. distress? fear?

whatever it is though, it doesn’t get to him. he crumples it up and tosses it in the bin. (he misses it, but it’s not like he cares.)

he goes the rest of the afternoon in ignorant bliss. he texts you halfway though, asking if your lunch today was any good.

would be better if you were here, osamu.

dazai forgets for just a moment that you usually only type out osa. because that’s what you do to him sometimes — you make him let his guard down. he wastes no time replying you.

oh yeah, why’s that, darling? ;)

the next message that chimes in has his heart take a deep dive into the ground below him. it’s a picture. of a vile, disgusting man licking the side of your head, with you tied up to a chair, unconscious.

because then maybe she won’t be so boring like this.

not even bothering to explain, all dazai does is grab atsushi by the collar and drag him out of the agency. he’s the only combative one present currently, and frankly, if it comes to a fistfight, having him there is enough. of course, dazai is not planning to spare anyone. they dared touch you?

they’re as good as dead.

dazai never thinks letting his guard down is a crime. but he thinks the ultimate sin he’s committed? that he let himself slack on his guarding of you. because the moment he gets to you at your apartment, he realises it’s never been a race against time. the moment the picture was sent, you were already gone.

and the culprits are long gone, disappeared without a trace. except for the disgusting wet track of where his tongue traced your skin earlier. usually, dazai would go after them immediately, track them down and plan their demise.

it would have been his plan. had you been just another body, another death count. but you’re not. you’re his lady, his angel, his life. yet you’re lifeless now, your chest doesn’t rise up and down like it should. your body is dense, somewhat dry. it’s completely… not you.

atsushi doesn’t know what to do, he stands in the corner with his eyes trained on his superior who’s letting out more emotion than atsushi thinks he has in his entire life. he feels like he should console him somehow, but he knows that’s selfish thinking. dazai won’t appreciate that.

he’s right. dazai won’t. because the only person capable of giving him any sliver of hope in this god-forsaken world is gone. her body but an empty vessel, reminding him of who he once was and how he had longed to be.

and oh, how he longs to join you now.

worst part is? dazai can find no one to blame. no one but himself. not even the man who offed you. dazai recognises him, from way back in his port mafia days. which means there’s no one to blame but the person he once was, the one you made him feel like he and reprieve from.

until now.

losing you is his punishment, isn’t it? for everything he’s done. this is his judgement day and you’re another one of his sad victims. it’s your body, limp in his arms, eyes wide open and the complete stillness of it all.

and he realises maybe this is what people mean when they talk about ‘deathly silence’. he never thought that losing just the sound of your breathing would feel like this and yet here he is, with another casualty in his arms.

yet another soul he can’t save.

and dazai… despite all his attempts, is still alive.

it’s cliche, but it’s true.

the worst day of loving someone is the day you lose them.

except when they’re still around, it’s easy to take every moment for granted. because who, when they think they have everything, will think of the moment they’d lose it? sure, it may come in glimpses, but you never hover over it long enough for it to actually matter.

until it happens.

cups of hot chocolate and cuddling up to each other in the winters. words of affirmation and warmth bubbling inside chests. security of routines and safety of arms.

dazai can’t stop thinking of things that remind him of you. thinking of the good times like you’re still alive is the only thing that keeps him from breaking as they lower you into the ground.

you’re almost in there and all he can think about is the first time he tells you he loves you, the first proper time he lets his guard down. how you were on the couch with your legs tucked against your chest, misty eyes giving away just how much the whole situation means to you. you see, he always knew you had a fear of falling, but he never knew just how much, until that moment.

“you click your tongue whenever something annoys you, you subconsciously like to walk between the lines on tiled floors, you blame yourself for things that are out of your control,” dazai had told you. and he remembered the look in your eyes — that surprise, that gratefulness — because you never thought that anyone would spare you that much attention, did you? especially not him, who you knew would never spend time on anything that’s unimportant.

but he paid attention to you more than anything else.

“i love you, belladonna,” he had assured you, inching close and holding you in his arms. you always needed reassurance, and while dazai would usually think it’s a burden, nothing was when it came to you. “you may think you’re a mess, but i think you’re perfect.”

he lets your giggle be the last thing that fills his mind as they finally lowered you into the ground. and he doesn’t wait for it to be filled before he spins around and walks away. the next memory he remembers being a promise made. of how you told him not to do anything rash should you ever go first, not even in old age. (he thought it was cute how far ahead you thought of for the future — something he finds he needs now; a future with you.)

and that’s the thing about letting your guard down; you let them have a slight control over your decisions. because now, despite every bone in his body aching to throw himself off a cliff, he finds he can’t quite do so. why? he remembers the life in your eyes when he agrees to that promise, the absolute faith you have in him that he loves you that much to abide by your one wish for him. yet in his head a constant question beckons him, chants itself in his mind like a mantra.

i just want to join you, is that so wrong?

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives

[charming-2d-boys]

The other prompt for Feitan, which was requested here.

3. “Did you seriously just get your foot stuck in a toilet?” “Maybe.”

Word count: 851

A/N: inspiration for this?

credit for the thumbnail goes to: HTMPlays -  THE TOILET ARMS | Outlast - Episode 1

I will seriously die from laughing so much 😂 I can’t believe this inspired me! But I believe it fits with Feitan’s skill: torture

Warning: mentions of death, blood, and severed fingers... yep 😂

-----

   Why couldn’t your boyfriend do his job without dragging you into it? Why did you have to be so curious all the time? Why did you think this would be a good idea? And why did you want to try it yourself?

   You kept wondering how you got into that situation again? Oh, yeah. But, first things first.

   You’d known about your boyfriend’s “job” and some of its implications. And this time, you asked if you could watch him. A sneaky little thief who managed to steal something before the Troupe did. He must’ve felt on top of the world because of that – not many could brag about such a feat. With multiple leads, pretty much everyone was sent to look for the culprit. This should’ve been an easy job, given the Spiders’ experience and lack of remorse. Feitan had told you that you shouldn’t come if you were squeamish, that it could get ugly, there would most certainly be blood, but your curiosity won in the end.

   It couldn’t be that bad now, could it? The news and newspapers were always full of really messed up videos and articles about deaths and catastrophes, some more gruesome than others. While feeling sorry, you were a little bit desensitised at the same time. It didn’t happen to someone you cared about, so you were happy with that and would soon forget about it all, before it got replaced with something else.

   The whole thing was pretty easy. After going through several houses in the neighbourhood, Feitan finally found the thief’s apartment. Rundown, small, in a bad part of the city, cheap. It wasn’t even a battle. Feitan had surprised the thief in the bathroom and managed to kill him easily.

   Now, you just had to get rid of the evidence. You’d brought several black trash bags, which Feitan used to put pretty much every larger body part in before hauling them outside and on the roof of the building, ready to dispose of them somewhere no one would look nor care. You were left with burning his things – since your Nen dealt with fire, which you could control pretty well, making sure not to burn anything unnecessary – and also looking for whatever your boyfriend might’ve missed. There wasn’t really much to burn, though, the guy seemed to be almost dirt poor. You found some clothes that just wouldn’t catch on fire – the material seemed prepared for that, maybe it was a thing of temperature – and… a few of the guy’s fingers. You guessed you’d just throw those down the toilet while taking the clothes – maybe they’d be useful.

   Only that… it didn’t really work as planned.

   The toilet must’ve been clogged from before, or the pipes really narrow, because when you flushed, there was nothing, except for a ripple in the water. You tried it again. Nothing. And again. Another ripple and some metallic sounds coming from the wall behind the toilet. Wanting to just leave, you kept flushing. Again. And again. And again.

   “Are you done?” Feitan’s voice was muffled through the closed door. You frantically looked at the tiles and floor, dripping with blood that still had to be cleaned.

   “Umm, no, I have a little bit more!” You flushed the toilet again, only to internally scream when there was no movement. Again. And again. Until the water actually started rising, soon overflowing. The despair in your eyes would’ve been clear as day to anyone as you looked around the confined space of the little bathroom, looking for a solution to your problem.

   There was no plunger anywhere nearby and with Feitan being so close and probably getting irritated, you did the next best thing you could think of. You stuck your foot in the toilet, trying to push everything, hoping for it to go down the drain. The feeling of the cold water made you shiver as you felt your shoe get drenched, the splashing alerting your boyfriend, who was wondering just what the hell was going on.

   “(Y/N)? I’m coming in.”

   “What?! Fei, no, don’t-” It was too late and with one last push, you felt the tip of your shoe get stuck as you now desperately tried to pull your foot out. With the sound of the door creaking as it opened, you stopped, like a deer in the headlights, head slowly turning towards Feitan.

   “…”

   “…”

   “Did you seriously just get your foot stuck in a toilet?”

   “Maybe.” The fake nonchalance you tried to coat your voice in and the ridiculous position you were in soon made Feitan start snickering behind his bandana. You pouted, obviously anything but amused at the fact that your boyfriend laughed. You almost wrenched your foot free when you saw him take out his phone, taking a couple of pictures and recording you while you threatened him using the most colourful language your brain could think of. He didn’t care as he continued snickering, already thinking about showing this to Phinks and Shalnark.

   Of course he was going to help you out soon. But a few more pictures and videos to amuse himself when he was down and away from you were okay, right?

[soobrat]

*･༓☾ bloodshot // johnny ☽༓･*

chapter i // masterlist

*pairing* you x johnny + jungwoo

*chapter rating* mature

*warnings* gore (I'll put a marker up to where it starts and ends for the squeamish), explicit sexual content, mentions of slurs and sexism

*word count* 2.4k

*disclaimer(s)* I obviously don't think johnny or any other members would act this way. Please don't take anything I write seriously as it is just for fun. I in no way view idols differently and inappropriately in real life because of my smuts or any of their contents!

((TW: you “injure yourself” in this chapter but it’s not driven by any mental health circumstances))

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

Well, everyone thinks you're crazy now. You really didn't think kicking a toothpick under your toenail would catch this many headlines. Or maybe it was the reason you did it that has everyone's panties in a twist.

"Popular Streamer _____ Injures Herself After Altercation with Fellow Streamer jonssuh"

You had to prove your point. You had no desire to be cordial with that son of a bitch.

"Come on, ___. You love me, right?" Johnny taps on his cheek with his index finger. The gesture was seemingly in slow motion as your blood boiled. You wanted to knock that stupid grin off his face. You balled your fists tightly as the men- no, boys laughed at his joke. Or lack thereof.

"You're so overdramatic." Lucas rolls his eyes at your stubbornness. You felt triumphant as you felt the boys getting upset. Finally their smug acts were over. It was suffocating. You glared at the two massive men as they leaned on the kitchen island, glaring back at you.

"You actually hate Johnny?" You turn to see Mark on the sofa, pushing himself forward a little so he can see beyond the other men on the sofa. His face read of concern. Good. He should be concerned.

"That's what I've been trying to fucking tell everyone. My viewers, you guys, the commentary youtubers, your viewers, everyone! I'm not joking, I was never joking, I could sleep easy knowing I'd never see Johnny again." You turn your gaze back at Johnny who had that amused smirk back on his face.

"You're so full of shit, you know that?"

"And why is that?" You maneuver around the island to stand firmly in front of the human skyscraper. You felt your adrenaline pumping as the air grew more tense.

"Okay guys this is getting stupid. Stop before you do something dumb." Taeyong piped up, you could hear the annoyance in his voice. You stayed put, awaiting Johnny's response. He tilts his head upward and crosses his arms, feigning deep thought.

"Well I don't know, you always seem to be around me. And hm... I don't know... the fact that I did nothing to you." The venom in Johnny's voice made you shift in place with glee. It was very difficult to not smile. You were successfully getting under his skin.

Finally a man among your mutual streamer friends was the one someone made squirm for someone else's amusement. No more sexism and just flat out being a jerk for shock value. Or to just solely make you feel like shit while everyone else laughed. Now you were laughing while Johnny gritted his teeth.

"You see, you did do something and you know you did. Look it's just my personal opinion that you're a piece of dog shit." You finally let a smile stretch across your features as you let one of his signature lines rip.

"Ah, so that's what this is about?" Johnny scoffed, shifting his weight.

"Those are just jokes. You always take them way too seriously."

You feel the power dynamic shifting again. No, you weren't going to let him use this idiotic defense to gain his position back.

"If those are jokes then you're a shitty comedian." You walk closer to him, looking straight into his eyes as you over-enunciate each letter in your insult.

"Everyone else seems to like them." Johnny shrugs, keeping his composure. The dynamic was shifting once more. You snort at his reply.

"Who's "everyone"? The little boys in this room?" You hear the boys grumble in protest around you.

"Or your 12 year old fans who think saying the N word is a punchline. Very impressive audience, Kevin Hart." You chuckle. Johnny stayed quiet for a while nodding as he shifted back and forth. You could feel how no one was on your side, but you muscled forward, trying to ignore it.

"So you're telling me you hate me, because of some stupid jokes-"

You laugh loudly.

"Of course you take two steps back when you're backed into a corner."

"We're not stupid, ____. I get it, I'm a popular streamer and beef with me would get you some decent numbers. But keep it on stream, babe." He pats your shoulder and attempts to move past you.

"I would rather kick a toothpick under my toenail than be forced to coexist with you. I promise it's not a publicity stunt." You cross your arms tightly.

"Oh yeah?" Johnny's footsteps thunder past you as he reaches for a package of toothpicks. He brings them to the island, dumping them onto the countertop. Countless toothpicks clatter onto the granite, some spilling over onto the linoleum tiles. The guys groan and protest in the background, most notably, Taeyong.

"See- This is what the fuck I'm talking about, man. You guys are so fucking ridiculous."

(gore marker)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It was the anger that Taeyong didn't understand why you loathed this man. It was the way Johnny's nostrils flared at you as he gestured to the toothpicks that egged you on. Your movements are theatrical as you take two fingers to lift a single toothpick from the countertop.

"No fucking way?!" Lucas cackled in disbelief. Everyone watched in awe as you saunter to the nearest wall, placing the toothpick under your right big toenail.

"____ cut it out! What the fuck?" Taeyong shot up from the couch, attempting to stop you but it was too late. The mixture of searing pain and screeches of disbelief and disgust overwhelmed your senses. The room spun as your eyesight faded in and out. You stumbled backwards but Taeyong caught you before you could fall. Your toe was burning hot while blood ran down from the wound in various directions. You didn't want to look at it. Taeyong scoops you up and quickly whisks you away to the bathroom.

The maddening discourse was just blurred background noise as Taeyong sat you on the toilet. Your vision was going blurry, hearing going in and out as Taeyong reprimanded you. You couldn't decipher a word he was saying.

"Could you shut up and take it out please." Hot tears poured down your cheeks. Taeyong paused, shutting the bathroom door. The decrease in volume brought you back down to earth. Unfortunately, this meant the pain was clear as well. You inhale sharply before exhaling shakily. Your foot shook violently as you finally saw the viscera. You whimpered worriedly, in disbelief at yourself. Your hands shook as well as you grabbed for something, anything. One hand landed on Taeyong's arm. The other tugged a towel off a bar, the poorly assembled bar coming down as well with a loud clang.

You began to sob, not knowing how to deal with the excruciating pain. You choked, looking away as Taeyong finally removed the toothpick. Your lips tremble as you attempt to stifle your sobs. You squeeze Taeyong's arm but your body never stops shaking.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"I'm sorry... I didn't know you were serious."

"You still laughed." Your voice quivered. The words came out louder than you anticipated. Johnny probably heard that. Great.

You hiss loudly as Taeyong applies peroxide.

"You need to go to the hospital, this is worse than I thought."

"Yeah, whatever." You stay turned away from him and the wound. You hear him sigh.

You gave permission to Lucas to tell the story on his stream. You wanted people to know that you will not just sit pretty and giggle while a greasy man talks down to you. You do not associate with Johnny Suh. And now the world finally understood this fact.

Except, your plan backfired. People think you're insane. For good reason. The more days go by, the more idiotic you feel. Of course if backfired. Also, "jonssuh" was bigger than you. Of course people would side with him no matter what.

"People hate me now." You see the opportunity to steal Jisoo's knight, so quickly you do so.

"Checkmate." Jisoo utters as you realize your king is fucked from all directions.

"Fuck."

"You always take the bait so fast. Also, who cares if a bunch of racist white boys hate you. They're all probably 13 anyways." Jisoo starts to put the pieces away but you stop her.

"One more round. Also, that's what I said. But let's be real, they're not all 13. Full grown adults are calling me over-sensitive. Some of them are female as well. That shit hurts." You set up your side with a pout.

"Even so, their opinions still don't matter. They have horrible senses of humor. If "go make me a sandwich" makes them laugh, their opinion is no longer valid." You make you first move.

"I guess."

Even so, the comments and tweets still stuck in your brain. Some of the boys defend you over social media which made you feel a lot better. At the same time, however, it made you feel worse. Your mind flashes back to that night, the things the guys screamed were finally clear.

Mark was just repeating "oh my god" over and over while gagging. Lucas obnoxiously screamed "YOOO!". Typical. While Johnny... well he pressed both hands to either side of his head, repeating,

"You were serious?"

Yes you dipshit. How could he be so dense?

How are men this influential over you?

-

You wished Jungwoo streamed. He's so funny and sweet. Not to mention he would stick up for you with no hesitation when you were with the other streamers.

"I would've just slapped him as soon as he said you take his "jokes" too seriously."

"I know." You melted into Jungwoo as he traced shapes into your arm. Your cheek squished against his bare chest as his other hand smoothed over your hair. Your legs tangled together under the covers. Jungwoo kicks them away, muttering something about being hot. The motion causes his legs to brush firmly against your panty clad core. You whimper, digging your nails into the flesh of his bicep.

"Are you needy, princess?"

You nod sheepishly, humping lightly against his leg. He climbs on top of you, spreading your legs apart with his own. He grinds his bulge against your mound, sending shots of electricity up your legs. You look up into his dark eyes. His dark hair messy and half wet. His mouth hung open as he looked at your half naked figure with want.

You twitch, trying desperately to get as much friction as possible. His motions deepen as he grinds against you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. His thrusts get shorter, brushing perfectly against your hardened clit. Your lips brush against his, both breathing heavily. Your moans become audible as your legs quiver slightly.

He pulls away before freeing his newly erect penis. He jerks it a few times before pushing your panties aside and entering your sopping hole. Strangled noises escape your throat as he bottoms out. You use your legs to pull him even closer. You whimper loudly at how deep his tip burrowed into you.

His hips are poetic as they sway back and forth. His cock was warm and hard as a rock as it moved in and out of you. Your noses bump against each other as he bites your bottom lip. His moans whine and tempt as they twist into your ears. He bites the lobe of your left ear as his love noises increase in volume. You dig your heels into his ass as you let out shallow open-mouthed breaths.

Jungwoo slides his hands underneath your ass to give it a firm squeeze. While doing so he pushes himself even deeper than you imagined he could go. You curse and writhe, raking his back with your fingernails. You bite his shoulder, tears threatening to spill as your stomach tightens. Your wetness spread all over both of your upper thighs. His cock was nearly lost in a sea of your juices as it plummeted deep inside you.

Getting closer, you start bucking upwards. You chased your high feverishly, encouraged by the passion behind your hatred for Johnny Suh. You thought of him. You thought of him as you snapped your hips towards Jungwoo's. You grunt hungrily, thighs quaking as you blindly chased your high.

"I'm so fucking close-" You breathe out as you grind your hips up to meet his. He snaps his hips against yours, movements more erratic and moans more determined. Your pelvis feels hot, stomach tightly wound, and legs going increasingly numb as his cock barreling into you sends you over the edge. Your moans border on a scream as you tug at Jungwoo's hair.

You trail your nails down his neck and back as he continues to thrust sloppily. His hips snap violently a few more times as he ribbons sperm into you. Your chests heave against each other, skin searing hot to the touch.

"Is all that pent up frustration gone now?" He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck as he laughs. You just nod breathlessly. Your stomach flutters as he peppers soft kisses all over your neck and shoulder.

"I could tell that guy really pissed you off."

"Well it was more than just Johnny."

You were both silent for a moment.

“Taeyong too?” He lifts his head to look at you cautiously. You just nod wordlessly.

“It’s also the constant losing fight. I think it may be better to just separate myself from them completely.”

Jungwoo slides off of you, snuggling into your side.

“It must be really difficult.”

You pout slightly, tears pricking at your eyes. You were being such a baby.

“Yeah.”

“Especially with Taeyong not siding with you before the toothpick intervened. I honestly thought you and Taeyong would be an item.”

“Me too.” You chuckled, it seemed so stupid now.

“But he’s in a relationship now, with someone he knows I’ve hated for years now.” Saying it out loud, you couldn’t chuckle anymore.

“This is just a shitty situation, huh?” You force a smile, looking over at Jungwoo. He was far from smiling, however. It almost looked like he was going to cry for you.

“I’m so sorry you have to go through this, ___.” Jungwoo snuggled even closer to you, nuzzling his head into your shoulder again.

“Yeah, me too.” You replied numbly. You didn't know if you regretted Lucas telling his stream or... the entire thing.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　끝　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[hearteyes-candyskies]

Houseplant

yandere enji x reader

summary; since enji took you, you’ve only really missed one thing; your houseplants. no, wait, not the houseplants themselves. you miss the control you had over them.

a/n; for @neroesecuzioni. thank you for supporting the blm global network! read the sequel here

tw; kidnapping, dub-con, nsfw

word count; 3.4k

🌱

Before Enji took you, all you had for company were your houseplants. Some hanging from the ceiling, spilling over the terracotta pots, other taller than you were with broad, glossy leaves. Some of them were tiny little succulents, pointy and dainty and smaller than the palm of your hand. All of them healthy and fresh and most importantly, alive. Alive by your hand and love. You miss them, the products of your hard work and love.

“Enji?” He grunts out a sound of acknowledgement, though his eyes don’t leave the laptop screen in front of him. 

“What happened to my houseplants?” At your question he finally looks up, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“What?” You fidget with the phone in your hand, debating whether or not to drop the subject and go back to pinning ideas for house decor. Something masochistic in you urges you on.

“My houseplants. You know the ones I used to have all over my apartment? Are they still there or?” You let your question trail off, tone light and neutral, but you can see a muscle in Enji’s jaw twitch. He doesn’t like talking about your life before him. Sometimes you forget you had a life before him.

“The movers probably threw them out. Just put it on the card if you want to buy more.” His gaze is already back on the laptop screen, and while you wish he would’ve said more you can’t expect the number one pro hero to pull himself away from his work to answer your silly questions about some plants. 

You busy yourself with picking out the perfect plants to keep in a bathroom, imagining how cute they’ll look hanging from the ceiling and juxtaposed against the white tile of the shower wall. Leaves falling on the bathroom floor shouldn’t be a problem, but even if they do? Well, you do have to leave your mark in this house somehow. How else would you let Enji know that you’re living here?

🌱

You can’t stop thinking about your old houseplants. You know it’s stupid, especially when you have access to a virtually unlimited credit card and so much more space to fill in the new home, but still. As stupid as it sounds, you formed a connection with the plants you brought home. Home. This house is your home, not the cramped, slightly outdated apartment you used to live in.

You remember what it was like before Enji took you in and decided that you were going to be his wife. You lived lonely and unseen, just like your quirk, blending into corners and shadows. It was certainly convenient for your job and superiors, who were thrilled to have someone who could slip into just about anywhere. Needless to say, it didn’t work out great for your social life. 

You’re surprised that Enji even noticed you in the first place, a wallflower of a person. Maybe he has just been the first person bright enough to illuminate the depths of your personality that no one else saw. 

It’s strange. In a way, you feel more seen when you’re with him, like the light that he emits both figuratively and literally has finally allowed you to bloom. God, your life fucking sucked if you think being kidnapped did wonders for your mental health. Not to say that it hasn’t but still, it’s the thought that counts.

Enji loves you. That’s the only thought that counts.

🌱

“What made you notice me first?” You play idly with straw in your drink, trying to contain your anticipation at hearing something wonderful about yourself that you never noticed. He gives the slightest shrug of his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. You were pretty enough. Lonely. Quiet. You seemed nurturing enough to be a good mother.” Your fingers still.

“Oh.” You’re embarrassed that you can’t hide the disappointment in your voice, but even worse, you’re embarrassed that you even asked. What romantic response were you expecting from a man who kidnapped you? Enji gives no sign of noticing your crestfallen face, and you quietly excuse yourself to go and shower. 

It’s when the warm spray of the shower head hits you that you finally start to cry. What a naive foolishness to think that Enji had been the first to notice how remarkably lovely you were, to appreciate all of your hidden little quirks and oddities that made you indescribably beautiful. 

You’re a lonely, quiet, forgettable wallflower whose only gift for mothering is to do any job and be too timid to complain about it. Enji chose you because you were convenient and because he was lonely. That makes it two of you, you suppose. You clasp a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your sobs, but deep in the back of your mind you know that the sound of your cries wouldn’t be enough to draw Enji from his work. Not that he would know how to comfort you. You get the feeling he’s never had any positive interactions with his family before.

You can imagine exactly how it would go down if you confronted him right now, hair dripping wet and eyes puffy and red. He wouldn’t open his arms to embrace and soothe you, no, he would stand awkwardly with an almost comical look of alarm on his face before you approached him and only then would he gently pat your back until your crying subsided. Then he would avoid you for the next couple days. 

Enji doesn’t notice how quiet and withdrawn you are later that night, snuggled up to his side as the two of you watch the news. To be fair, even if he did notice he would still say nothing. It’s with that thought that you realize you’ve just traded one miserable, deeply lonely existence for another. Only now you have the privilege of being ignored by the one person who’s supposed to love you more than anything else. The one person that you thought you might have loved.

Except, you know that he’s never truly loved anyone before, never experienced any sort of love that would allow him to recognize the sensation and verbalize it. You don’t think that he felt anything more than neutrality towards Rei, who he put in a fucking mental hospital after she cracked under his abuse, and he sure as hell didn’t love his children, least of all Shouto, who you’ve seen interact willing with him a grand total of three times. 

When he first kidnapped you he promised never to hit you, never to raise his voice or threaten you. He just wouldn’t let you go. He told you he was trying to be a better man, a better husband, a better father. The last part had scared you in the beginning, back when you still believed you would be able to leave one day and continue your career. Hero-work has no place for kids. 

But now? That fear has grown into complacency, your original wariness of Enji into something similar to affection. You never fought him, ever, because, duh. You’re not stupid, you know exactly how it would end. This strange sort of begrudging attraction though? It’s a new annoyance, something that has you dying for his approval and only kept in check by your remaining pride. After the disastrous attempt to find out what he ‘loves’ about you though, your pride is pretty much gone. 

You...don’t know how to retrieve it, and the thought scares you. If you can’t have Enji’s love and affection, or your pride intact, what do you have? You know the answer, even if you won’t admit it.

You have nothing.

🌱

The copious amount of clothes you have astounds you; you knew that Enji had picked out quite a few basics before he took you but you forgot to factor in just how many things you had ordered since coming here. As you paw through your bin of socks and underwear you feel soft lace brush against your fingertips and out of curiosity you yank the piece of clothing from the bin. As soon as you realize what you’re holding you feel your cheeks flood with warmth and embarrassment. 

Cherry red lace and mesh stare at you, wrapped around a tangle of satin and lace in the same shade. You vividly remember buying this, a robe and underwear set that you had drooled over for months while living alone in your sad, cramped apartment. It had remained in your shopping cart for weeks; you just couldn’t justify dropping a little less than a grand on some scraps of fabric that no one would ever see. Once you remembered it and had access to Enji’s credit card, however… 

You don’t hesitate to try the set on, something you were too scared to do when you first got it. As you tie the robe closed with a pretty bow and do a little twirl you feel a girlish sense of enjoyment like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You run your hands up your thighs, finger lifting the hem of the robe seductively before you cup your breasts, cradled in concoction of satin and lace. You look good. 

Then you remember why you bought it and immediately want to rip the whole ensemble to shreds. You had bought it back when you were still under the delusion that Enji was wildly and fantastically in love with you and despite the fact that he kidnapped you with no regard for your say in the matter you were convinced that you were going to surprise and seduce him in the outfit. 

That being said… A half-baked idea forms in your head as you gently take the set off, folding it carefully before placing it in the top drawer of your dresser, easily accessible should you need it. You know Enji likes it when you sleep in the same bed as him at night, so what if you...surprised him? He would love it. He has to love it, he chose you for a reason so for him to reject you- 

You can’t even think about it, the distress in your chest building as you try and push the thought out of your mind. Yes, Enji may have ripped you from your life before him but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a life here. You know Enji likes to read to wind down before bed, so you’ll just catch him then. Yeah. You still have it in you. You can still make him love you.

🌱

Enji barely looks up from his book as you approach, head peeking around the doorframe like a child asking for a bedtime story. You suddenly feel extremely self conscious in your skimpy lingerie, seized by a desire to run back to your room and change and admit that you were wrong, you don’t have it in you to seduce him and even if you do he’ll never love you for it. 

But this is the only thing you can hold onto, the only part of yourself that you can regain control of. You steel yourself as you take slow, measured steps to the bed, heart pounding as Enji sets aside the book and takes in what you’re wearing.

“What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the air, sharp but not unappreciative, and rather than answer you crawl as seductively as possible on top of the bed.

You clamber on top of his broad chest, legs on either side of his waist. He’s paying attention now, eyes trained sharply on your face as large hands wrap around your waist, whether to hold you in place or move you off you can’t tell yet. You don't think that Enji even knows what he wants to do. Enji doesn’t know what he wants.

The silk of his boxers are thin enough that you can feel his growing arousal against your ass as you grind down, hands spread prettily across his chest. His hands tighten around you, and you take it as your cue to let out a breathy sigh. 

“Fuck me, Enji. I want you to fuck me so hard that I can feel it for days afterwards; I want you to cum inside of me so much that I can feel it dripping out of me afterwards.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palms as you gaze at Enji through half lidded eyes. More out of nervousness than an attempt to be sexy, you drag your teeth across your bottom lip, watching as his gaze darts straight to your mouth.

“What are you doing? Where is this coming from?” He sounds wary, guarded even, and you can’t blame him. In however long you’ve been here you’ve never tried to initiate any sort of sexual encounter, merely going along kind of lifelessly every time Enji wanted sex. It’s ironic that the very man who kidnapped you to be his wife is now being cautious about fucking you.

“I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck my pussy with your cock until I can’t take it anymore and then I want you to keep going until I can’t tell you to stop.” One hand travels downwards, toying with the waistband of his shorts. He looks unconvinced, almost like he knows that it’s not normal for a captive to want to have rough sex with their captor.

“Please, daddy.” You bend forward and whine into his ear, bucking your hips against his as you nip at his earlobe. It’s your last resort, and it works. Enji growls, honest-to-god growls against your neck before flipping you onto your back in an impressive show of power.

“You’re a fucking whore, coming onto me like that.” You’re already shrugging off your robe, flinging it across the room in an effort to salvage it. Enji burns the straps off your bra before yanking the panties so hard that they rip right off of you. Damn. There goes five hundred dollars. 

His lips are on yours before you can think of anything else, harsh and demanding as he cups the back of your head with a large, warm hand. For someone as aggressive as he is you’re surprised he doesn’t use teeth. Enji’s other hand reaches between your thighs, finding you almost embarrassingly dry. He doesn’t seem to mind, shoving two thick fingers in your mouth and groaning softly at the way your tongue swirls eagerly round them. He presses deeper, taking pleasure in the way your throat spasms around them as you gag.

“You’re so beautiful. I knew from the second that I saw you that you would be mine.” That’s the first time he’s ever called you beautiful, or even complimented anything about your physical appearance. The praise goes straight to your head in the form of blood rushing to your cheeks, and Enji laughs at the way you squirm against him, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“You can ask me to fuck you but you can’t take a compliment?” He doesn’t let you respond, instead brushing over your clit with his thumb before working his fingers inside of you, curling and seeking out the rough little patch on your walls. You’re glad for the way Enji captures your mouth again, relieving you of the need to decide between fake moaning and laying in uncomfortable silence.

He goes until the sound of his fingers squelching in your slick is all you can hear, and your stomach starts to clench every time his hand moves. Enji hasn’t deliberately touched your clit throughout the whole process, but the pressure of the heel of his palm is enough to work you quickly to orgasm. Much like the overachiever he is in his job, Enji doesn’t stop playing with your sloppily wet pussy until your thighs are tensing around his wrist, one of your own hands reaching down to stop his. 

“Enji- Enji, oh, oh, Enji, stop-” Your moan is practically pornographic, the pleasure quickly becoming unbearable. His fingers finally stop, and he raises them to your mouth.

“Suck.” You comply without hesitation, reveling in the way that Enji can’t seem to tear his gaze from your mouth. You let go with a ‘pop’ before pressing a small, soft kiss to the calloused pads of his fingers. 

Strangely enough it’s this relatively meaningless action that brings the most emotion to Enji’s face; desire, guilt, and regret all flash across his face before he attacks your neck, sucking what you know will be dark bruises into your flesh. 

You can feel him grabbing his dick and positioning it so that the head is right above your twitching hole and-

“Enji!” You practically shriek as his hips surge forward, burying himself deep within you in one go. Your legs wrap tight around his waist and squeeze, arms coming up around his neck as you let out pathetic little gasps and moans. The sensation of what can only be his cock nudging against the opening of your cervix has your legs squeezing tighter until Enji growls and grabs both your calves in his hands before hiking them over his shoulder and pressing forward.

The new position has your legs twitching as Enji knocks against your cervix with every thrust, and you draw his head in closer as he churns up your insides. The sound is obscene; you’re the one producing it and you’re still embarrassed. 

Enji finally has the sense to reach between the two of you and rub at your clit, peeling back the hood with a surprising dexterousness before flicking gently upwards with his thumb. You feel yourself clenching down harder and harder each time he does it, until you’re finally spiraling into your second orgasm of the night. 

The feeling of your cunt clenching down on his has Enji murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as his thrusts speed up and the force behind them becomes almost punishing.

“Mine, you’re mine, mine, mine-”

“Tell me that you love me.” Your voice is breathy and whiny and you sound so desperate but Enji takes no heed, chasing his own orgasm.

“I love you, god you’re going to make a beautiful mother, you’re mine, I love you,” the rest of his words trail off into incoherent babbling as his body stiffens and you feel hot cum flood your insides. Despite your less than positive stance on having kids right now, you can’t bring yourself to care, replaying Enji’s words in your head. He loves you. He wants you. He loves you. He needs you.

He collapses on top of you, rolling onto his side to avoid crushing you but still gathering you up in his arms. You bury your face in his chest, hands trapped between your bodies, and sigh. Enji’s silent, blue eyes watch your face with something akin to warmth before reaching a hand out to brush hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“I can uh, I can get a birth control pill for you tomorrow if you want.” Part of you screams to take him up on an offer that you’ll likely never see again, but the other part of you can’t help but think how much a child would tie him to you. If you gave him a dual-quirked son? Enji would have no choice but to love and cherish you. You’d be giving him what he’s always wanted.

“Mm.” You make a non-committal noise, snuggling further into his body heat and leaving him to awkwardly tighten his embrace.

“Is that a yes?” This is the most uncertain you’ve ever heard Enji in your life, and knowing that you’re the cause for it sends an immeasurable amount of satisfaction coursing through your veins. You make him so weak. 

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I want to cuddle.” Your voice is soft and sweet, and you glance at him through your lashes. His face is uncharacteristically open, allowing you to read every bit of uncertainty that flies across his face.

“Ok. Let me get a towel first.” You say nothing, just scooting back so that he can get off the bed. He returns with a warm, wet towel, wiping down your inner thighs with a tenderness you’ve never seen before throwing it in the laundry hamper, turning off the lights, and settling in beside you.

As you drift off to sleep, Enji holding you like you’re made of glass, you feel him press a light kiss to your forehead.

“I…” he seems to be searching for a way to express his affection, something he’s almost certainly never had to do before, “I enjoyed tonight.” You crack an eye open, observing how the iciness of his gaze has melted somewhat. A small smile creeps across your face.

“I enjoyed it too. Goodnight, Enji.” He runs a warm hand up and down your bare back.

“Goodnight.” A pause. “I love you, y/n.” You feel drunk on power at the sound of your name from his lips. 

“Love you too, Enji.” 

[willadisastercry]

Appendicitis in space...

tw: emetophobia, appendicitis symptoms described, surgery, anesthesia, anxiety.

Coran is secretly shitting himself when the scanner lets him know that this particular human condition requires actual surgery. Most serious injuries they sustained did, but most also could be mended in a pod. This one was an exception, though. Because nothing needed to be fixed, something needed to be removed.

Lance tumbled forward awkwardly as the simulator sputtered and powered down.

“What gives, Shiro? I had that round!”

“Oh yeah? Then that wasn’t me just watching you getting your ass handed to you? Right,” Shiro laughed and he began packing up the equipment that had been pulled out.

“That’s enough for today anyway. Good work, everyone.”

Lance couldn’t even find it in him to continue his protests as he leaned over on his knees to catch his breath while he waited for the cramping in his side to dissolve.

Training that morning had been rough for everyone. Shiro wanted to ensure that the lull in active missions did not leave his team thinking they could kick back. So they worked on hand to hand combat and trained on as hard of a level they could tolerate until they became proficient in whichever skill they were focusing on.

Everyone did pretty well. They all made varying degrees of progress, but progress nonetheless.

Well, everyone except for Lance.

And he was pissed.

So he determined not to quit until he improved from his navice standing with a short sword, running the simulation countless times but barely making a dent.

He fought sloppily, all desperation and no strategy. Actually he did have sort of a strategy if you counted fighting simply to survive and that was not how you were supposed to train, but Shiro gave up on driving that point home early on.

Because Lance was visibly off.

Shiro had chided him earlier for picking at his breakfast, that he would regret it once they began training, but he just shrugged.

Lance barely spoke the entire morning of which Shiro was very wary of given that he was usually the most energetic of the bunch in the mornings.

But he assured the older boy he was fine.

Shiro knew that he had been feeling crappy the last few days so at first he attributed the weird behavior to him probably still feeling gross.

So when he fought sloppily he knew it was because he was fatiguing much quicker than his teammates. That when he got hit by an obvious blow it was because his brain quite literally couldn’t keep up with the battle.

He’d start off okay only to spend the rest of the simulation narrowly feigning off every strike after the first few parries and getting properly clobbered by way too many.

Shiro was glad he was able to recognize his shoddy performance for what it was before he exacerbated the issue, making a mental note to check in on him later that day as he finished cleaning up.

The paladins stalked off to the showers, Hunk and Pidge engaging in a riveting conversation explaining to Keith how the castle’s ‘waste’ was plumbed and disposed of.

He was horrified to say the least.

Lance lagged behind, the exhaustion from the session making his limbs feel so very heavy. Not to mention the knot in his side had never gone away and the trek was only increasing his discomfort as the adrenaline high wore off.

But he resigned that he was just overly tired and that a hot shower would likely help.

And it did, for his aching muscles. But his abdomen was still taut, the steady pulse of discomfort making him a little queasy.

He detached the removeable shower head and held it on his side for a moment. The water was boiling and so the heat seemed to numb the spot, but the pain was still there.

He gingerly began probing the area as he tried to work out what exactly was hurting, thinking maybe he’d pulled a muscle.

His stomach had been feeling weird for the last couple of days, but it had never been a concentrated pain like this.

And as he pressed around he was able to pinpoint the exact spot that was smarting the most so he could rub out whatever the issue was.

But as soon as he put pressure on it he knew he’d messed up.

It wasn’t even the pressure so much as the lack of it because when he removed his fingers to work out the soreness he grunted loudly as pain erupted at the site.

He was so caught off guard by the sudden sharpness that took over the dull ache that he dropped the shower head and it clanged on the tile, just narrowly missing his foot when he hadn’t even made an effort to avoid it.

His vision went white for a second and he stumbled into the wall, mostly due to the intense fear that was now upon him, and it took a second for the blood rush to settle before he could hear his friends knocking on the door of the shower stall.

“—ance? Lance!”

“The fuck is going on in there...”

He took a shuddering breath and called out that he was fine, he was just tired.

“Are you like weak in the knees tired or what? Because if you pass out in there and we have to help you while you’re butt ass naked, I swear—“

“I’m not going to pass out,” he groaned as he leaned his head back against the wall with a hand hovering carefully on his side.

“Okay, you’ve just been in there forever.”

“And Shiro said to keep an eye on you for suspicious behavior.”

“He’s not a suspect, Pidge, he’s just stubborn.”

“Well I am very much okay, so you can tell Shiro that and leave me alone.”

“Jeez—“

“Damn, well if you take a header you’ve gotten your wish, you’re on your own.”

Hunk and Pidge started off and Lance sighed, about to apologize when his side twinged, stealing a more pained sound from his throat.

He leaned his head back and tried to breathe through it, the worst muscle cramp of his life, once again not really being able to pay attention to what else was happening.

The pain wasn’t spreading, it was intensifying. Twisting and burning under each harsh pant, like someone was holding a fire poker to him and moving it around.

It was making his head swim and his stomach churn. He had been nauseous all morning and hadn’t eaten, so he was very confused as to how he could possibly need to throw up now, but there was no questioning it when he almost choked on the saliva rushing to fill his mouth.

He didn’t know when he’d grabbed the towel thrown over the door and tied it around his waist or when he’d made a break for the toilets across the room, he just knew he was moving and that he wouldn’t make it there.

And then he was hunching over one of the many sinks heaving, his side in a fiery protest with each contraction in his stomach.

The blood rush was back in his ears, so he didn’t know that Keith was talking to him or that he was even there until he was hitting his back when he couldn’t breathe in between gags and almost choked on his own sick. The shock of the hit allowed his stomach to break its cycle of relentless clenching.

He spit up the last of the bile that made its way up his throat and ducked his head further between his shoulders as he leaned on the sink while he caught his breath.

His lungs ached and he was dizzy. Everything seemed to hurt from that, all temporarily dulling the bite of the worsening throb in his side.

“Ok, what the fuck was that?” he could hear Keith asking after a minute.

He started to speak, to give an explanation, but he didn’t even know what to say, he wasn’t sure what was wrong. But when he went to talk his side pulsed rather aggressively and he was instantly gagging again.

Not much came up this time though as his stomach had already divulged itself of all its contents.

After he calmed back down, he looked up at himself through the mirror.

He was really pale except for a splash of red across his cheeks, his muscles tight and straining as he suffered through his discomfort and the pain, skin glistening in a mix of sweat and water.

And then he found Keith’s pointed gaze in it.

“Should I get Coran? You look like shit.”

“Ah—uhyh huh...” he struggled to formulate his words through his ragged breaths but got there eventually.

“Ye-yeah, please...”

“Okay, you good here or do you need to sit?”

“I-I’m gonna put... something on,” he stated before pushing himself up from the sink uneasily. Once he was up straight he wobbled a little and Keith grabbed his arm, but he shook him off saying he just needed a second and waited for the swirling black dotting his vision to disappear before heading for his pile of clothes on the bench.

Keith stayed next to him the entire way, making sure he got there without splitting his head open, more worried now then he was when Lance was choking on his own puke.

But he hid it well for the most part, except when he was actually being really nice. That was his tell.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t try and get to the toilet if you need to yak again, wouldn’t want anything to happen to that amazing brain of yours—“

“Hey...”

“Kidding, i’ll be really quick though. And seriously just stay there.”

“Yup, not going anywhere...” he assured, returning his hand to hover over the fire that felt like it was burning a hole in his side, the other waving Keith off.

Lance pulled his hoodie from the pile first. His skin was covered in goose bumps from how cold he was and he didn’t have the energy to put his entire post workout sweat suit on so it would have to do for now.

He shrugged it on carefully, it took a while because lifting his right arm up aggravated his side, but once it was on he felt better. He was still really cold and his hair was still wet so that wasn’t helping.

Pants next. Well underwear first. He found his boxer briefs in the pile and got to his feet wearily. He was still really dizzy and so he decided to proceed with caution and moved over to lean against the wall for this.

He took a deep breath and leaned over to put his feet through. It hurt. The orientation made his head pound dangerously and he straightened up only to feel a twinge from his side.

Fuck, he remembered thinking as he leaned heavily on the wall. But he very much needed to have underwear on when Coran came back, so he tried again.

This time he just dropped his arms down in front of him, keeping his torso straight as he raised one leg at a time through each leg hole.

Success. He breathed a sigh of relief and released his towel then started for the sweat shorts but his body did not like that.

He was none too kindly reminded of how lightheaded and dizzy he still was in that moment and he staggered forward, his foot catching a wet spot on the floor and the momentum of the error took him to the ground hard.

He landed very much on his ass but the fall jolted through his side like he’d gotten shot. If he thought it was on fire before, he was very wrong. This heat was excruciating and nauseating and blinding and gosh it was hard to breathe.

He hadn’t known when he’d laid down but he was suddenly very aware he was writhing on his side, feet kicking and searching for purchase on the tile as he arched through the pain piercing his abdomen.

And then there was a shadow over him. It sounded like robots were talking over him, their cold hands gripping his shoulders and face and turning him to lie on his back.

He had just been so cold but their hands felt so much colder because he was not aware he had started sweating. That wasn’t the only thing coming back to him, so was the nausea rippling through his stomach just as intensely as the fire raged.

He tried to focus his eyes, tried to see the faces over him. It was hard with how everything seemed to be spinning but eventually he could make them out.

“C-Coran, please... p-please”

“I will my boy, but you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What’s hurting?”

His hand moved from scratching at the tile to tug on his sweatshirt pocket.

“Where on your stomach? Show me,” Coran ordered as he lifted Lance’s sweatshirt up to his chest.

From the outside everything looked perfectly fine, aside from his abnormal parlor.

So Coran was dubious when he watched the sick boy move his hand cautiously over his side right beside and a little lower down than his belly button, his fingertips barely brushing the warm skin but producing a stiff breath anyway.

“Hm,” Coran mused, muttering a quick ‘forgive me boy’ before he pressed down on and around the spot.

Lance’s scream was drowned by his gag and then Keith was beside Coran, his hands tilting Lance’s face to the side and then pulling his torso that way as well. He thrashed and tried to wriggle out of their grips as he struggled, the pressure of being on the side that was on fire too much as his gut wrenched up nothing but yellow.

“Calm down Lance, you’re okay!”

“Breathe boy, you’re working yourself up and it’ll only make it worse. I think your appendix has ruptured, we’ll need to get you to the infirmary immediately...”

He wasn’t sure what was said after he that, his memory of getting to the infirmary was hazy because of how much it fucking hurt.

He was vaguely aware of curling up in a wheelchair, one hand clutching his stomach and another barely holding open a vomit bag up to his mouth. Nothing was coming up then except for saliva.

He didn’t even remember being lifted into a bed in the infirmary because the movement had unsettled his stomach once more, stealing his breath while he struggled against the vice wrapping around his empty stomach.

They had to put a cannula around his nose to get him extra air while he dry heaved, but he only calmed down after he quite literally almost stopped breathing and Keith ignored Coran’s protest to hit him on the back like before.

He was also sort of aware he had started crying at some point and was reminded of that when Coran was pressing onto his side once more.

At this point he didn’t even have the energy to struggle, he just continued to tremble violently under the touch as fresh tears spilled down his face.

“Hey, shh you’ll feel much better soon,” a new voice assured as they ran their hands through his damp hair. He leaned into the touch and saw that both belonged to Shiro.

“Shit, if I had known you had freaking appendicitis I would never have made you train today,” he laughed sadly.

He shut his eyes closed at that and tried to breathe through the waves of nausea against his pounding headache all topped off by the fire poker in his side.

“Coran what’s the estimated time in the pod for this, you think?” Keith asked as the others were just arriving.

“I’m afraid he cannot go into a pod just yet,” Coran said gravely, not once lifting his face from his tablet.

“Lance!”

“Woah, what the quiznak happened?!”

“He’s so freaking pale, oh my god.”

“It’s his appendix,” Keith offered.

“The scans show that the organ has completely ruptured and is leaking into his abdomen. It is something that can only be remedied with—with surgery.”

“Oh, Coran... is that—something we can even do here?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

The time between when Shiro explained what was going to be happening to Lance and when they were about to put him under went impossibly slow and too fast all at once.

He would gag occasionally but nothing came up with it. They had since attached a bunch of wires all over him and put an IV in his arm that was giving him pain medicine and antibiotics.

It seemed to help a lot with his discomfort and he eased into the bed after they finally kicked in, his body relaxing for the first time in a while.

“I’m n’gonna feel an’thing right?” He asked Coran, his words sloshing together from the mix of utter exhaustion and drugs.

“Of course not my boy, this will take care of that as will the pain medicine,” he assured as he held a weird altean breathing mask in his hands.

“I’m going to put it over your nose and mouth now, just breathe normally and we’ll do a little count down while you fall asleep.”

Coran motioned to place the mask on him, but he turned away from it.

Lance looked around wildly as if he couldn’t see the multiple friendly faces looking at him and the machines recording his heart rate began to pick up, and then was reaching for someone, anyone.

“We’re here! We’re all right here,” Keith said taking up his hand with a wire attached to his finger, Shiro was grabbing the other.

“I-I don-I don’t”

“You’ve got to buddy, you’re really sick,” Shiro soothed as he ran his hands through his hair once more. The touch calmed him only somewhat, his breath hitching once more as he continued to worry.

“I k-know, but I-I’m scared I w-won’t...”

He was crying again.

“Won’t what buddy?” Hunk asked tenderly as his hand fell to Lance’s leg.

“What if I d-don’t wake up,” he managed before his breathing took a turn and Coran rushed to go find a remedy for it, not quite understanding it was mostly him just being anxious.

Pidge was pushing past all the bodies looming over the bed and sufficiently blocking her from being able to help Lance, but once she shoved Shiro forward she was scrambling onto the bed and nuzzling herself against Lance’s good side.

He gasped at her presence but seemed to melt into it soon after he realized what she was doing. She pulled at the hand clutching Shiro’s and placed it on her back so he could feel her calm breaths and ground himself.

“Slow and deep, you’re okay,” she urged and leaned her head against his chest, his sweatshirt was still on but folded up under itself to expose his stomach, a circle had been drawn around the location of his appendix.

He leaned his head against hers and breathed slow shaking breaths.

“Coran it’s alright, he’s calming down on his own,” Keith urged just as Coran turned up with some strange altean herb that was purple and emitting some sort of low cooing sound.

“You’re going to be just fine, Lance. Coran would never let anything bad happen to you.”

“Yeah, and if you feel like taking an extra long snooze we’ll be here to rudely wake you up like we always do,” Pidge added and she could feel Lance relax under her weight.

“I’m s-sorry for being so mean earlier, guys—“

“Shh, no more saying ‘i’m sorry’. Just accept the cuddle and zip it.”

Lance could almost summon a laugh but the pain in his side prevented it.

“Let’s try again with the sleepy time mask, yeah?”

“Yeah...”

He reached for Shiro’s hand again and all of the other hands on him tried to soothe him as best they could as he tensed when the mask descended on his face.

“We’ve gotcha bud.”

“You’ll be just fine Lance.”

“Nothing bad can happen to when you’re being cuddled so viscuously.”

“Okay, let’s start counting back from 10.”

“10, 9—“

“Easy, count slower. You’re alright.”

A second hand was on his head, pushing his hair back and trailing behind his ear. He closed his eyes at the sensation, it was something his mamá would do.

“9... 8... 7...”

“That’s it number three, easy...”

Around 5 he stopped counting. He felt his body becoming heavier and heavier as he breathed through the strange mask, he could feel the gentle but firm touches of his teammates, the only constant as he breathed deeper and deeper, a pleasant haze falling over him.

He could feel the level in Pidge’s breath, and tried to match it, his eyelids feeling so heavy they were hard to keep open.

And then he felt light.

The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut was Allura and Hunk smiling while they said something that was lost on him.

He didn’t care though, he didn’t need to hear it to know what they meant.

He remembered feeling really safe in that moment.

He wasn’t scared anymore.

[iwantutobehapppier]

As It Was

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You and Steve had been hooking up on the sly for months now. Feelings are caught but is everyone adult enough to deal with them? And who caught them?

Warning: 18+ Only, Smut, Angst, sooo much angst. I’m not a nice person in this one. Described panic attack, cursing etc.

Word Count: 3,990

A/N: I’m in a mood and working through it. There will be sex and angst. Expect nothing more. Enjoy! :) Sorry not sorry. @sagechanoafterdark​ is gonna hate me after this but I will make her latkes to make up for it. Oh and def not MCU Canon. Everyone’s alive, I'm making it angsty enough don’t need dead peeps too. For now kekeke. 

You were both truly naive to think you could hide from a group of spies and enhanced like this but your hopefulness coupled with Steve’s never-ending optimism pushed you into delusions. Or maybe it was just the lies you let yourselves live in, that this was only sex and there was no need for anyone else to know.

“How did that date go last night?” You tried to focus on Wanda’s idle chit-chat waiting for the rest of the team to file into the conference room for a debriefing on the newest mission. Steve stood to the side of the room talking with Bucky; you looked his way to find him staring at you. He shouldn’t be so obvious really but it was hard not to stare as you were in his bed just this morning.

“Hello?” Wanda waved her hand in front of your face. You jerked back giving her full attention but not without a bashful glance.

“Good. I mean probably okay?” You sighed, “No it went pretty bad actually.” Wanda’s frown encompassed her whole face; she had been trying so hard to help you with your love life. It wasn’t like you could fault her for meddling, Vision and she worked so well together and she wanted the same for you.

She just couldn’t know that it was hard to have any good date when you were hooking up with Captain America on the sly. They would all pale in comparison but this date had been quite the spectacle of tragedies.

“Never knew someone could talk about themselves for an entire night. Let’s not forget he flirted blatantly with the waitress then, made some innuendo at me blowing him in his car in the middle of dessert.” Giving a reader’s digest version of the story you wouldn’t mention to her the way his hand kept riding up your skirt or how he practically propositioned the kind waitress to partake in a threesome.

You may have also spared the details for listening ears, specifically the pair attached to a blonde centenarian, who would not respond well to learning you had not been entirely forthcoming with details when wrapped up in his bedsheets following the atrocious date.

“He tried to put his hand up your skirt?!” Wanda’s tone was harsh, her powers lighting up her hands in response to her rage.

“You promised!” You frowned at her, you had requested several times she keep her wandering mind to herself around you. Wanda blushed at being caught.

“I knew you were holding back,” She didn’t even vein remorse, “I’m sorry it went so badly but I am not sorry for prying.” She took your hands in hers about to speak but Tony interrupted.

“I know you all have missed me whilst away,” Tony held his hand to his heart “But I am here!” last to enter with this signature flair of dramatics, “Capsicle take it away!” Tony plopped down next to you with a side smirk that you reciprocated with an eye roll.

Facing forward Steve’s eyes landed on you first, the small frown marring his face indicating he had heard Wanda.

“Let’s get started,” Tightness in his voice made you involuntarily flinch, you knew, later on, there’d be a conversation or worse there wouldn’t be one at all.

~~*~~

You limp your way back to the personal quarters following a very long but successful mission. Not without the colossal share of setbacks landing Natasha in the med bay, Bucky stranded at one point without working comm, Tony’s suit damaged beyond macrobiotics ability to repair and you along with Steve ambushed. What did it matter though if the mission was successful?

Happy to finally be back in the sanctuary for your room you started the shower letting it warm up while you slipped out of your gear. Walking back into your bedroom the welcomed silence was interrupted by your sharp inhale through clenched teeth at the pull of the tight suit on bruised and battered muscles.

“Need some help?” You jump turning around at the sight of Steve leaning against your door jam. His arms crossed over his torn and dirty stealth uniform. Did he follow you to your room from the Quinjet? The jerk on your battered body nearly sends you to your knees in pain. You just wanted to be in that hot shower, let your body feel some form of relief.

“Yes, please,” All you can get out, working hard to keep the tears of pain at bay. There was no reason to hold them back except your own pride. Steve shut your door and strode over to you, helping you peel the catsuit down your back, over your hips, his fingers gentle trailing over forming bruises. 

Steve clenches his jaw the more he exposes your injuries, a rather deep cut on your hip, dried blood trailing all the way past your knee. You place your hands on his shoulder when he ushers your legs from the suit. Left in your activewear bra and underwear you felt an unusual level of vulnerability.

You two had been fooling around for months but neither tended to each other in such a way outside of mandatory mission first aid. 

“I’m going to wash this grime off, did you want to join?” You voice barely a whisper staring down at Steve, his head slowly trailing up your body to catch your gaze. With a brief nod he stands up and you step out of your suit, moving to face his chest and helping him remove his suit. 

Soon the two of you are bare, under the harsh bathroom fluorescents and warm large showerhead’s rushing water. You stand there, your back to his front, almost touching. Almost something more than just a mutual need to clean. You close your eyes and tilt-up, letting the rainfall showerhead leave trails of water down your face. The two of you shampooed your respective hair, he opted to use your gardenia scented shampoo, his own shampoo only ever in his bathroom.

Having him so close and naked but not touching left an uneasy ache in your stomach. The sensation that something was wrong, but what could be wrong? You turned your head back to look at him, his eyes were already on you, they were always on you. His gaze felt different than any others and you weren’t sure what it meant. A storm burning behind those beautiful blue eyes. Often, you find yourself getting lost in those pools of blue. Clearing your throat you turned back around, closing your eyes and tilting your head back up to rinse the shampoo from your hair. 

Maybe you imagined it all? Your desire to want more from him projecting your own wishes in his actions.

You are startled from your thoughts when you feel a soaped washcloth gently drag across the back of your neck, along your back and moving to your front. Rough calloused hands with a tender touch washing you clean of all the harshness of the past few days. A relaxed sigh escapes your lips, the coupling of warm water helping your muscles loosen and Steve’s attention pulls you into a cloud of comfort.

An involuntary hiss pulls from your mouth when he washes the deep gash on your hip. Muttered “Sorry” is his response, bending his knees to be low enough behind you to clear away the blood. Your eyes drawn to the crimson water swirling down the drain, but you were pulled to face him, his eyes assessing your front to find any speck of grime he missed. 

Once he was satisfied you took the washcloth from him, ensuring to ring it clean and reapply soap you begin the task of cleansing him.

Petite hands run over the wide expanse of his chest following the washcloth, this feels different, you want to shake it off and pretend that was not true but it was different. Whatever it was between the two of you, it was growing, mutating, maturing into something more.

With both of you free of the missions burdens and dirt his lips crash against yours. The intensity of his kiss is startling, hands trailing up your sides to wrap around your back, pulling you flush to him. His touch was untethered in a way unfamiliar to you. Finally, he pulls his lips from yours, your lugs desperate for air. Wide eyes look at him, and he can only answer with a low lid gaze, licking his lips as he pulls you in once more to drink up all you have to offer. If he asked you’d give him everything and what was left after that.

Your hands grip his shoulders, needing an anchor in the rocking waves of his desire. His hardening cock presses against your stomach, a soft moan spilling into his mouth that he eagerly consumes it. Hands slipping down your waist, one hand gripping your wound free hip he hoists you up against the cool bathroom tiled wall. 

Legs wrapped around his waist, his gorgeous cock sitting pretty between your lips. You rock against him, your slick coating him, he grunts into your mouth, not once pulling away, you take in much need air through your nose. 

There was no need for foreplay, you were always ready for him, something you hoped he did and didn’t notice at the same time. After all the power he had over you, you wanted to keep him ignorant. Oblivious to your thoughts consumed by him, the way your skin craves his touch, your heart longed to keep him there with you forever. The dates you went on to keep appearance that this was still casual to you. That this was still whatever he wanted it to be so it wouldn’t stop.

Pulling you from your thoughts Steve manhandles your body to line you up. Releasing your lips you watch at his cock sitting at your entrance. You coo, watching him slowly push in. Your fingernails dig into his shoulder, Pushing forward until he’s reached your depths. There’s a lascivious way to how he feels inside of you. His head falling into your neck, peppering kisses on the wet skin. 

“Feel so good around me,” he garbles into your neck. The pace he starts is slow at first, almost loving, but the jarring way he pushes the last few inches in reminds you what this is. Carding your hands through his hair you pull his head back to look him in the eyes.

“Fuck me Steve,” His eyes darken, following your command he pummels into your heat. Driving you both into moaning messes. Foreheads pressed together, slapping of flesh echoing against the tiled walls. He presses his lips to yours, the softness of it contrasting the carnal brutality of his cock driving into you.

Lowering his head he takes a pebbled nipple into his mouth, suckling and pulling. Knowing you love that pain wrapped in your pleasure. Your hands slap against his back, arching into his touch you cry out. Fingers digging into the corded muscles of his back you seek purchase on something, pleasure wrecking your body of any sense. 

“Steve!” You holler, your body drawing tight as the ever needed orgasm nears. “Please,” the gentleness in your pleas pulls Steve’s head back up. A hand leaves your waist, cupping the side of your face. “Yes, I’ll give you whatever you want.” He gasps out face tightening as you both near. 

“Come for me and you can have it all,” he continues hips never faltering. His cock stretching and dragging along your walls. A particular deep thrust sends you spinning, your legs tighten around him fingers digging into flesh enough to bruise if he hadn’t been a super-soldier. 

His pace stutters, a staccato of groans fall from his lips and you feel that telling of warmth shooting inside you. God how you loved the way he felt cumming inside you.

There’s a peaceful silence in the oncoming dawn, the two of you wrapped in each other under your bedsheets. Legs tangled together, your head resting on his chest, entranced by the rhythm of his heartbeat. You woke before him, a first, drawing random patterns on his chest with your finger. 

Idle thoughts race through your head, now that the mission is washed away after a night of rest you could not help but think on your date and Steve’s reaction to you withholding information. If it wasn’t addressed sooner rather than later it would just be a new topic for you two to not talk about, just like whatever this was. 

When he wakes up, his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him. The embrace welcomed and certainly something you could get used to as a routine. He lets out an exaggerated yawn and smacks his lips together looking down at you with a sleep ridden smile. A smile tugs at your lips at his adorable morning mannerisms. 

Better to get this all out in the open before the day began and you became a coward.

“About that date-” Before you can say more a shadow falls over him, lips downturned when he practically chucks you off him.

“You’re not obligated to tell me things like that,” his voice rough with sleep, he swings his legs off the bed sitting up with his back to you. “You’re really not obligated to me in any way outside of following mission directives,” the curtness in his voice is searing in your ears. 

Right, right you two weren’t obligated to each other. Obligate meant you had to get something back from him other than orgasms. 

“Oh right…” the silence settles between the two of you, heavy and uncomfortable. You pull your sheets up to cover your chest while sitting up. There are a few moments of controlled breathing, erratic heartbeats, and tense shoulders. Steve stands and makes for his dirty mission clothes, never looking back at you, covering his privates with the clothes but not putting them on. Your room was across from his, not like anyone would see him.

“I’ll see you around,” It wasn’t until he was out of the room that you realized the shared silence between you two was full of all the things left unsaid, or half-spoken. 

You don’t see him again until the next mission briefing a few days later. Only looking for him once, and when he brushed you off to spend time with Bucky you weren’t hurt only upset he never came to you later. 

Entering the familiar conference room you sit next to Tony who was surprisingly there before you. He smiles at you and you return it before facing forward. Steve not looking at you, for once. His eyes on the report in his hands, a grimace covering his face before he begins to discuss the upcoming mission. Eyes never leaving the paper.

“Are there naked girls on that paper man?” Bucky asks a soft chuckle is Tony’s input.

Steve huffs looking at his longest friend, “No.” a grumble under his breath. 

“Then maybe look up, what’s wrong with you punk?” Steve’s eyes divert to you for a moment, so fast you almost miss it before he’s looking at Bucky once more.

“Nothing,” he clears his throat and continues, his eyes perusing the room but never landing on you. Your face downturned to the table, the uneasy feeling you had during the shared shower returned but tenfold. He calls out your name and it startles you, jerking up to look at him. His lips pinched before he continues.

‘You and Tony will be doing this one together,” You look at Tony who gives you a thumbs up with a soft smile. While the two of you had been paired before on group missions it had never been just the two of you.

“We’ve got this Firecracker, right?”  Giving a tentative smile you nod in agreement. Looking back to Steve he’s staring down at his papers once more, brow furrowed and lips pursed. Whatever thoughts he had storming in his brain, not good.

~~*~~

Five days, you’re with Tony for five days on this mission. It wasn’t so bad except Tony loved to complain. You were used to the silence of Natasha and Bucky or friendly conversations with Steve. Not the never-ending complaints of one Tony Stark. 

You escape to your room, leaning against the shut door with a relieved sigh. Silence, blessed silence. 

However, that silence was short-lived when the echo of knocking on Steve’s door carried over. You should move further into your room and not eavesdrop but you were too exhausted to care enough about proper decorum.

“Hey Steve,” a soft familiar feminine voice greeted Steve as he answered the door. Your eyes narrowed. Who was that?

“Oh! You’re here.” He sounded flustered, “I’m so sorry I should have met you out front.” His words are rushed with an uneasiness to it. What was Steve hiding? 

“It’s alright, Bucky let me in and honestly I was just excited to see you for tonight” the soft comforting words carry across the hall through your door. Just as you went to step away, not wanting to hear anything that would do permanent damage to your already fragile heart.

“I mean we’ve been tiptoeing around each other for years then it was radio silence,” there was an awkward chuckle from Steve in response “Was surprised when you asked me out.” There it was. You fall back against the door, the back of your head hitting the door with a thud. 

“Oh, what was that?” The female voice questions but Steve dismisses it quickly and leads her down the hall. Away from you. For a date. A date that Steve was going on. Without you.

Your heart pounds in your ears, sliding down the door toppling onto your ass, the pounding on gets louder. Taking in large gulps of breath you try to gain a sense of reality, it's unobtainable. A buzzing noise is all you can hear. Whatever this was it made all torture you’d suffered in the past seem like child’s play. Crushing, that's what it felt like, being crushed from the inside out. Big fat tears made their way down your cheeks.

Oh, what a fool you had been. Why would you deserve to be cherished? How could someone see you more than a simple means to an end? Laying on your side, you curl up into yourself on the floor of your room. The buzzing in your head and straggled breaths the only sound you could make out.

~~*~~

Much later in the evening, there was a tentative knock on your door. Struggling to open your tear swollen eyes you make out your name being called. Another knock, louder this time, you sit up and with a deep breath, you rub your face. Slowly standing on your knees you open the door and look up to see Wanda’s worry stricken face.

“Oh no,” a soft sigh and suddenly your being picked up, she pulls your arm around your shoulder and leads you out of your room, down the hall where Steve left, with her. You feel the crushing sensation return.

Wanda sensing your ramping thoughts sets you on a stool in the kitchen and takes your hand.

“Deep breaths,” A soft hand on your chest, “In through your nose,” She takes a deep breath and you mimic holding it with her. The hand on your chest glows a soft red, you feel your body relax “out through your mouth,” together again you breath out. “Keep doing that I’m making some tea.”

Watching her movements you continue your breathing as instructed, a thought crept up. Did she listen to him as you did? Was her advice better than yours? Was he kissing her like he did you in the shower? 

“Stop!” Wanda’s voice soft but tone harsh enough to still your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed your breathing pick up. She brings the tea over and mimics the breathing pattern once more and you follow along. 

“There was something I wanted to tell you before that last group mission,” Wanda pushes the warm tea in front of you. Steam raising out the cup, you curl your fingers around the mug. The heat emitting into your hands helps you realize you had been cold. Pulling the mug up you take a small sip, the warmth blooming down your throat to your stomach releases an uncontrollable sigh from you, shoulders sagging.

“I heard your thoughts, about the date, about Steve,” the way she stresses his name makes you tense once more a sharp breath in. She tips her mug to you and taking another small sip you let the warmth soothe you once more.

“You’re worthy,” she speaks so softly you almost miss it. “I heard it, the thoughts you weren’t good enough, weren’t worth love.” Looking down at the mug setting it on the table you have no words to offer in response.

“You’re worth so much more than this world has given you,” a hand takes your from your mug, fingers intertwining. A feeling of warm euphoria slowly seeps in your hand up your body. She says your name making you look up at her. 

“It’s okay to say what you need,” you jerk your hand away at her words the feelings she provided evaporated.

You open your mouth to say something but the elevator doors ding, both turning you regret ever coming out of your room. 

There he was, handsome as ever, hands in his pant pockets. Head bowed down with furrowed brows. It’s a few steps out of the elevator that he notices you and Wanda. Steve freezes, his eyes didn’t leave you. Trailing up and down your body you suddenly became self-conscious of the fact you had never changed out of your gear and eyes more than likely still puffy from crying. You certainly looked sexy right now. 

He takes a timid step towards you, your back goes straight and you stand up from the stool. Whatever he had to say wasn’t going to help your current mood, you’d rather just avoid the inevitable. You were rather good at circumventing fate. 

When he says your name you make your exit of the kitchen, seeking solace in the four walls of your room. His feet are pounding on the floor as he make chase for you. 

A warm large hand grabs your upper arm stopping your progress. You whip your face around and look up at him. His lips pursed together again, there’s that look, the deepness of his blue eyes. The impossible futures you projected. 

“I-” He pauses and clears his throat, his eyes shifting around you. “I know you heard Sharon and I,” you let out a hiss at her name. Sharon, fucking, of course, Sharon Carter. There was nothing wrong with Sharon, she was a great CIA agent, a remarkable SHIELD agent but she was also locked into Steve’s past.

Not worthy, unlovable, not his, not enough, never amount to that connection. Is all that runs through your head. 

“Right, but you’re not obligated to tell me things like that,” You hate yourself right now, why were you throwing his words back in his face. “In fact,” Stop! Stop! “I’m not obligated to you in any way except following orders.” 

Steve’s reaction to your verbal assault is similar to if you had smacked him, he takes a step back leaning away from you. His hand slackens on your arm and you use this to slip out. 

Without another word you rip your arm from his loosened grip and make your way to your room. Shutting the door behind you, you walk into your closet and shut that door too. You go as deep as you can in the closet, far away from Steve. You didn’t want him to hear you crying, did not want him to hear your heartbreak.

[jason-the-mommas-boy]

That is Not a Boy (Jason Voorhees x Reader)

Summary: You’re the new babysitter for a boy named Jason, but the house is empty...

Word Count: 1.8K 

A/N: My friends and I were watching The Boy a few months back and a few of us thought, “what if The Boy but Jason Voorhees?”, so this is what this is. It’s also a gift to @kuro-the-phantom-art ! Also a big thank you to @yourlocalslasher for reading some of this fic over too! I’d like to write more for this, but it’s essentially up to you guys.

TW: Kidnapping and Jason not realizing personal boundaries are a thing. 

‘“So, Mrs. Voorhees-” 

“Ms. Voorhees if you please, I left my husband quite a while ago.” 

You paused, biting your lip as you brought yourself to make eye contact with the old woman that was sitting across the table from you. “My apologies.” You wait for her to nod before continuing. “So, Ms. Voorhees, who am I exactly going to be babysitting?”

A smile painted on her face and she let out a sigh. “While I’m gone, you’ll be taking care of my son, Jason. He’s a good boy, I assure you, he’s just really...shy.” 

You tilted your head, a subconscious movement that portrays your slight confusion. You definitely haven’t seen a little boy around the mansion, and while it was a big grand place, certainly a mother would want their kid to meet their caretaker that was going to be there for the next few weeks. You really didn’t hear anything that would suggest that someone else was there with you two besides the few creaks and moans that sounded from the walls. That was normal stuff though, assuming that the place was as old as it looked. 

“Is he...er, Jason not around right now?” You asked, trying your best to keep a polite tone. 

Ms. Voorhees glances to the side of the room briefly before shaking her head. “He’s very much here. Let him introduce himself when he’s ready, I’d hate to overwhelm him...He’s not used to company.” 

You kept your mouth shut as the old woman stood up from her chair and instead you bow your head to silently tell her you understood. To be fair, you really didn’t. Most parents would make their kids meet their babysitter before they would even leave, but it may be best not to push. If Jason was truly the type to be overwhelmed by meeting one person, there was no use in forcing an introduction if he was going to run away. 

Ms. Voorhees placed a folder in front of you, resting her hand on your shoulder. “I’m not asking much for you to do, Jason doesn’t need much watching over, but it helps all the same.” She pats your head before taking a step out of your personal bubble. 

“So, I’m here just to make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble?” 

“Precisely.” She smiles, tapping the yellow folder she had set in front of you. “He can be forgetful sometimes so that’s why I left you a list of rules and his usual schedule. Please make sure that he follows them.” 

You pick at the folder Pamela Voorhees left you to review over as you recall the afternoon before leaving it on the table to go in pursuit of a kid. There has been no physical sign that anyone else was there with you, and it was really making you question if there was anyone for you to watch over at all. 

Well, at least you were going to get paid for doing nothing if no kid shows up. 

The place was a bit creepy though. Long hallways and odd creaks from the walls were very prominent, adding to the creepy atmosphere, but at the very least the main rooms like the kitchen and your main bedroom didn’t have that lingering feeling to it. It may have been your anxiety of being alone in a place so big, but you were sure someone was watching you. You could have been wrong on your assumption that the person you were going to be taking care of was not actually here with you, but no matter how long you searched, there was absolutely no one.

It was around evening when you decided to give yourself a break after walking around for so long, you had a good layout of how the house was and that was enough for the moment. You decided it was best to make dinner for yourself when you passed by the kitchen, the little pain in your stomach begging for you to eat something. 

You take a step on the cold, smooth tile floor and glance around in the cabinets, wondering what to make. You have no idea when you’re going to get the next grocery trip, as you’re going to leave to check the thick folder’s components for the morning, so it may be best to play it safe until you have a good grip on how the schedule was going to work out. 

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich sounded good right now. Something simple to make, didn’t take too much of the food supplies, and would easily make you full with two sandwiches at most. Agreeing to the conclusion you made, you reach up into the cabinets to look for a decent sized jar of peanut butter. 

And that’s when you felt it. The eerie presence of something behind you. Something large that was looming over your figure. 

You didn’t have time to turn around and react because two incredibly strong hands pick you up and lift you off the floor before you could. You weren’t even able to get a good look or understanding on what was going on before you were forced to flail about over the stranger’s shoulder. 

Of course you screamed at the man to let you go, kicking and flailing at the great mass of the body that seemed to make the creature. Nothing phased him though, no matter how hard you hit. That didn’t mean you weren’t going to stop trying though. 

Among your little fit, you did take note that you were still in the mansion. You felt the bob of the man’s shoulders as he had walked up the stairs. He wasn’t taking you outside, he was keeping you inside. Some part of your brain was stupid enough to think that maybe this was Jason, the kid you were supposed to be taking care of. But this was no kid at all, this was a full grown adult. This was a man that was taking you against your will and was carrying you  like you were just a sack of flour. 

When you opened your eyes again and letting your voice rest, you noticed that your kidnapper was slowing down his pace. You were in a bedroom that you didn’t see on your home-made house tour. It was mostly empty except for a bookshelf full of books and little trophies that you couldn’t make out. And without warning, you were set down gently on a mattress, the man’s harsh grip still stuck on your torso. Was this so you couldn’t just get up and run away? You don’t think it was even possible to outrun him.  

Blinking the blurriness away, you finally get a good look at your captor...who was oddly enough wearing a hockey mask, which prevented you from seeing his face. He was a large man in all ways possible, his strength showing off at any possible moment through his body movements.  He removes one of his hands from you to grab something beneath the bed you were sitting on.

You glance around for a moment, trying to think of a way out. You could kick him, but you might as well not get a reaction from him since he was practically unbothered the entire time he carried you up to this spot. You may just end up hurting your foot instead in all honesty.

You glance around, trying to look for something to give you an idea or even a hint at how you could get out of this. You’re sitting on the bed, there’s a few potted plants scattered here and there, and just an assortment of boxes scattered everywhere. And that’s when you caught the name carved in on the headboard. The letters spelled out Jason, which told you that the man that was in front of you was most likely the person Ms. Voorhees was talking about. How did such a big guy hide around for so long and how come you didn’t notice him at all before? 

Maybe sweet talking your way out of this crazy guy’s grasp was the choice to make and just take a run for it and never return. 

You take in a quiet yet shaky breath. “Jason.” 

His head darts up to look at you, tilting it to the side to convey that he was listening. So this actually was Jason Voorhees. 

You force a fake smile, shuddering when he moves his hand on you to your legs, pressing on them gently. “Jason, sweetie, I-I’m just your babysitter-” 

You shut your mouth almost immediately upon seeing him pull out a collar from beneath his bed. No, it was a leash in his hand. Oh god, uh, the attention he was holding on you was like daggers piercing into your soul. 

Jason stands up and traces his fingers along your jawline, forcing a shudder out of you. He drags his touch to your throat, very gently rubbing the sides before securing the leash around your neck, tight but not too tight to make it impossible to breathe and talk comfortably. 

It dawns on you maybe, just maybe, you weren’t brought here to babysit. You were here to be his pet.

It’s not a comfortable realization to think about at all while you watch Jason wrap the end of the leash around his hand a few times. More than likely to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to run away from him. 

But yet at the same time, there’s a calmness to this idea. If anything Ms. Voorhees has told you about her son, he was curious and shy. Then again, forcing you to sit in his bedroom and tying a leash around your neck was anything but bashful. 

His eyes are staring you down, as if trying to peer into your inner soul from the outside. Surely if his mother trusted you, so could he? 

He tugs on your leash to test the waters, seeing if it pulled a reaction out of you or not. Satisfied when you don’t do anything, he joins you on the bed, rolling you both to your sides so you could fit comfortably on the small bed. 

 Your chest feels constricted, you can’t really breathe, and there’s an iron-grip keeping you from escaping a crazy man’s embrace. Jason rests his head atop of yours and pulls you closer. 

You wait.

And wait…

And nothing else happens. 

You curse to yourself, while this situation was less than ideal, at least all that was happening was that you were being smothered by a giant man. 

Maybe if you can force yourself to calm down and get some rest and could maybe slip out of the tight hug in the middle of the night and get out of there. Yeah, you could do that. 

You just had to play the waiting game.