#this is enough to make a villain out of me

[tonycries]

Night(wing) Crawler - G.S.

Synopsis. Trapped with a too-smug, too-handsome Nightwing by the very same villains you were trying to swindle was not how you planned to spend your night. Luckily for you, Gojo can think of a much better way to pass the time.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! anti-hero!reader, Nightwing! Gojo, BATMAN AU, enemies-to-Iovers, forced proximity, píning, MARATHONS, manhandIing, Gojo goes FÉRAL, overstím, he is BIG, making it fit, cervíx kíssing, tummy buIges, BREÉDING, RIPPING suits, spítting, cúmplay, chokíng, arguing during it, P��SSYDRÚNK GOJO, matíng presses, making Gojo CRY, oraI (f + m rec.), p talking, breaking furniture, Red Hood! Geto cameo, slight vioIence, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.4k

A/N. *evil laughs* I just had to.

“You.”

“You.”

“Enchanté, sweetheart.” And Gojo - oh, it’s so undeniably Gojo Satoru’s sapphire gaze behind that satiny mask - tilts over his tall, bubbling glass of champagne towards you with the cockiest of winks. A wink. 

Your teeth set on edge - out of all the pompous, boorish high society balls that he could crash undercover, it just had to be the one that you were planning to heist. 

And by the most pompous, boorish hero of all. 

If looks could kilI, then you’d be upturning Gojo’s grave to finish him off yourself already. 

“Didn’t think you were one for masquerade balls.” He’s leaning in to brush off an invisible piece of lint from your shoulder, words coming out in scorching hot puffs against your ear. Low, hoarse. “Changed much during your lil’ vacation, hm? How is the Gotham State Penitentiary this time of year?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How’s the hottest one of the Bat Family doing?” You’re sniping back, head cocked innocently. Silent for just how long it takes for Gojo’s eyes to widen, breath to hitch- “Y’know…Toji Fushiguro. How’s Batman doing, Nightwing?”

There’s a strangely sharp glint in his stare, and his traitorously handsome jaw clenches through a wild grin. 

With a wide sweep of the bustling ballroom, he murmurs over the live orchestra. “You’re gonna give me away~”

“Don’t even have to try.” You’re tilting your head up in defiance when he closes in so many sultry inches, all the way until you could feel the heated press of Gojo’s ticking biceps through his formal suit. Heady masculine cologne invading your senses, “That mask does more than enough damage.”

Honestly, what fool dons a disguise with a mask that looks exactly like his hero one? 

Though, you weren’t complaining - if Nightwing accidentally provided the perfect distraction for you to swindle future big-shot congressman and business heir, Naoya Zenin, out of his precious diamonds then so be it.

The fact that Batman’s protégé would be humiliated was only a plus. 

Scoffing, “So what you’re saying is you want me out of it? Scandalous, but I don’t fuck before a first date.”

A very, very big plus. 

“Never in your wildest dreams, Nightwing.” You’re pettily raising your voice just a pitch to make the sculptured man in front of you squirm, as much as he would never admit it. “S’it that you don’t fuck or you don’t get to? Come here to try out your hand with the wives of the bourgeoisie?”

“I’m here on business, sweetheart. Gotta get to that brat Naoya’s office.” Gojo nods towards a gaggle of ogling older ladies, ever-the-charmer. 

It’s enough to make them swoon, and - you hate to admit it - for your heart to stutter just a beat. 

Because Gojo Satoru looked good. All powerful, lean muscle that carried him so many numerous inches over six feet. The rich, yolkish lighting makes his dark blue jacket look almost painted to his slender waist, and those meaty, meaty thighs. 

Easily the sexiest man in this room full of sordid businessmen and shifty politicians.

If you dared to let your gaze roam, you’re sure they’d stray past his milky collarbones to catch a hint of the even tighter black and blue hero suit he was surely wearing under. 

He looked more than good, if you were being honest.

But when has one of Gotham’s most notorious cat burglars ever needed to be honest?

And you’re so caught up in pondering just what the others see in him that it gives you an electric jolt to feel the doughy pads of Gojo’s gloved fingertips brushing down your thigh. Feeling as if he was searing through your saucy, glittering gown.

There’s a tremor of amusement when his sensory tips meet the cold hilt of your famed dagger. Hidden. 

Tonality dripping with something sickly sweet that makes your tummy lurch, “And it seems like I’m not the only one, Prowler. The Zenin diamonds?”

“The Zenin drug smuggling ring?”

You both give a curt, almost-missable nod. Your eyes back to analyzing the sprawling celebrations for any sign of the aforementioned Zenin heir himself.

Though, not for long- “Y’know, maybe I should send you back to your lovely penitentiary right now, girl. Already did once.” Whispered right against your sensitive earlobe. 

“Darling–” Your plastic smile is almost painful as you feel the interested stares from around the room. You did make quite an eye-catching pair, especially so close. Hand drifting to his beefy, veined forearm and pinching, “-you’re too close~”

“I don’t think I’m close enough.” 

Nails clawing down his smooth skin and towards his pale wrist. “Close enough for me to strike a vein without a single person here knowing any better.”

“That’s kinda hot–” Gojo’s lips quirk upwards, sleek brows quirking up to the curtain of his snowy bangs. And you don’t know where to look - down below, where he’s adjusting his pants with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, or up above where his irises follow a triangle between both your eyes n’ your lips, dead-on. “-for a petty thief.”

“You little-”

“Big, actually.” And of course, he has to interrupt with a look on his face that tells you he knew you were fighting to not take a glance downwards and confirm for yourself. “I’m very big.”

“I hear words compensate.” You’re batting your lashes through your own lacy Stygian mask, too close. “And I hear Toji’s bigger.”

“Enough with the-”

“My my, young love sure is fiery!” Saved by a rough, booming voice to your side of the festivities. Though, you’re not sure if it would technically be considered a “save” when you’re finally snapping your head and recognizing the source of those words. “I always do tell Naoya ‘ere that it’s time to settle down. No such luck so far!”

As Naobito Zenin slaps an overly harsh hand down on his son’s crisp, suit-cladden shoulder with a bark of laughter, you mutter. “Can’t imagine why.”

Though, perhaps it was a bit too loud.

Because Naoya’s nostrils flare in a sharp inhale, and you’re hearing Gojo stifle a breathy rumble of laughter from his broad chest- shit, since when were you two even pressed up like this? No wonder it must have looked…romantic to an outsider.

“Naobito Zenin, at your service.”

“Ah, my apologies for being so rude.” You’re pushing away from the hero as if it burned - and by the strange tingling on your skin, maybe it really did. Reaching over to the wizened, leering man for a handshake. “I’m-”

“Mrs. Gojo, of course.” Gojo gets there first. “My wife and I are new to Gotham, you see. We wanted to make connections here in our new home.” A warm hand casually slings over your shoulder, slender digits tight. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

What….the fuck.

And perhaps you should’ve screamed bloody murder - maybe that would make the Zenin’s take pity on you after an encounter with this lecher. 

“That’s right.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have leaned in just as you did to his hard front. But if the way that Gojo was momentarily stunned told you anything, it was that you were doing something right. “It’s all been quite a change.”

Naoya’s thin, mahogany brows raise silently - new to the city and already invited to one of the most elite social gatherings of the year? That certainly was intriguing.

“Gojo? Gojo…so familiar…” Naobito muses out loud, and your veins boil with anxiety as his face scrunches. Before he clicks his fingers with flourish, “A-ha–! You wouldn’t have anything to do with the revered Gojo Enterprises now, would you?”

Your faux-husband places a hand over his heart, “Ah, my most beloved little project.” 

“President?”

“CEO.”

Calling a multi-billion dollar foreign company a “little project” was generous, you think. But what was even more so was- “Though, it’s nothing in comparison to what I have coming up soon.” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Oh! We probably shouldn’t reveal much, however. Confidential, only friends and family.”

Naobito Zenin was practically frothing from the mouth at this point. And you notice that even Naoya’s suspicious furrow had almost completely disappeared. Almost. 

“C-confidential-” The older man squeals, before bumping a fist into Gojo’s puffed-up chest. “Why, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Tell me tell me- just between you and I, how big are we talking?”

“Big.”

“Bigger than Gojo Enterprises? S-surely impossible-”

You cut in, “Bigger. Better, considering the association with the parliament we’ve negotiated this time. Whoops- my apologies, darling, that simply slipped out.”

And through it all, Naoya stays unnervingly quiet - even while his father tries and fails to hide his squawks of delight. 

It would’ve almost been comedic if the air wasn’t so cut-throat tense. As if the clinking glasses and chatter of the ball were infinite miles away from your little bubble now. 

Past animosity almost evaporated, you’re managing to meet Gojo’s eyes. His cloud-pale eyebrows wiggling with a knowing waver, and you find yourself plastering on an exaggerated look of distress before carrying out the finishing blow.

“Oh, but you know–” Patting the delicious curves of his pecs, “-my husband has been so stressed lately. I’m afraid he’ll overwork himself mad with this new project.”

“Aw, dear…”

“I do wish he’d take on a partner to collaborate and split the innumerable profits with. But, alas, there hasn’t been a company competent or high-profile enough for our taste.”

And by the sharp elbow Naobito digs into Naoya’s ribs, you already know that you’ve won. Well, that the two of you have won.

Reluctantly, almost as if every word made his bones ache, his son purses out a tight. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, my father and I certainly hope this isn’t too forward, but we believe that- ah, we might just be exactly what you’re looking for.”

You both adopt a look of faint surprise, “Oh?”

Another nudge, another step forward. 

“Apologies for the late introduction, but I’m Naoya Zenin. Future congressman, future CEO of the immensely successful Zenin Corporations” Each syllable practically oozing with icy smugness, “I believe I know what you want, and we are it. Please, allow me to reach out on behalf of our Zenin hospitality and lead the two of you to our private business room; where we can discuss this further…in-depth.”

Somehow, the trail end of his sentence made you shudder. 

“Ah, how wonderful!” Gojo’s arm wraps possessively around your waist, “Lead the way, Naoya.”

And if you were lucky to be led straight to the dragon’s lair of treasures, then you were even luckier when one of those said dragons stayed behind.

Indeed, Naobito was held back in conversation with another undoubtedly important parliamentary figure as you and Gojo followed Naoya out of the massive, gilded doors. Silent. Rigid. 

“Take him out. Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds.” Gojo rasps from the corner of his mouth, voice barely audible for you let alone the stiff figure a few steps in front of you. Leading you along windingly decadent corridors and staircases. 

You’re shaking your head, eyes following the velvety curtains and gleaming ornaments on display and wondering whether you should increase your scope for this heist even more than just the diamonds. “Diamonds, then whatever. I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds, then prison for you, girl.” He snarks back, “Unless– you wanna make up for this appalling date by actually going out with-”

“We’re here.”

It seems that the Zenin’s did have quite an affinity for interrupting you two at the most important of times. 

And the only thing keeping Gojo from curling his features into a sneer is the sight of those rich, mahogany double doors in front of him. This was it. 

The infamous Zenin office room.

With enough secrets to overturn the nation, and– Gojo sneaks a glimpse at the determined set of your gaze - enough diamonds, too. 

Naoya’s spindly fingers twist on the burnished golden door handles, letting them creak open just a few inches ajar. Dim lighting floods out through the crack, and you’re seeing the outline of an expensive cross between an office room and a lounge room.

He gestures his hands in a wave inside with an almost-bored sort of drawl, “Guests first, I insist.”

Your fingers itch towards the dagger strapped to your thigh, and Gojo’s stare narrows. Tone steely yet polite, “No no, as the future master of the house-”

“I insist.”

“Alright…” He plants a staggering palm on the small of your back, “Come along then, sweetheart.”

Tentatively stepping onto the luxurious red carpet inside at the same time, you swear from your cunning optics you see Naoya’s lips twitch-

And then it happens.

All in the span of a nanosecond that neither you nor Gojo have the time to react - the floor and the ceiling crack open in an almost metre-wide line dividing you two and the door, a thick wall of metal snapping! shut in place before you can blink, and suddenly– suddenly, you’re trapped. 

“Fuck-”

“No!”

“You must excuse me for the rude welcome-” Naoya’s voice drifts over, and you’re noticing that the gleaming wall had a small window pane. Enough for you to see a sliver of crazed, honeypool eyes, “-Prowler and Nightwing.” 

He knows.

Of course, he knew. You were here trapped between a thoroughly bolted, heavy-duty panel of metal harder than diamonds. Ones especially made for trained heroes and- well, you. 

And one furious bang! of your fist told you that not even your overpowered strength would be able to break through - it barely even rattled the barrier’s bolts that proudly stood circumference of your head. Running the expanse from floor to ceiling, you were backed into a corner. 

Looking behind you, you’re met with the rest of the gleaming office; shelves upon shelves of books, a busy desk, cushy loveseats. And no window. 

No exit.

He’s spitting, face twisting into heaps of wrinkles as he grins. “My father might be half-blind, but I’m not.” Pointing accusingly, “You almost got me, I admit. But any fool could tell- the tension, the stupid flirting. Who else would it fuckin’ be if not for you two?”

Crossing your arms, you do your best to keep out the tremble in your voice. “Quite frankly, I’m almost insulted.”

“I’m not.”

And you do not glower at Gojo…this time. To firmly disprove Naoya’s point, if anything. 

The other man clenches his teeth, throwing his hands. “I don’t care what you feel. This is checkmate, so now you both simply die.”

Running your hands through your cage, you could practically feel the power. The strength. “Well, it seems you’re not just beauty- well, you’re not beauty at all, actually.”

“Don’t forget, he isn’t brains either.” Gojo pipes up, nodding towards you. “I know this daddy’s boy wasn’t the one to make this lair. It reads more like the works of-”

“Shut up shut up shut up-” You and him watch in mild astonishment as your captor drags his fingers through his hay-blond locks and pulls. You swear you could count every red, popped blood vessel in his bulging eyes. “-insufferable fucking- I have you two at my mercy, and when my father hears about this he will be pleased. Very pleased.” 

You will yourself not to gulp, “There’s nothing you can do to us.”

“Wait and watch. After all, I am the future head of Zenin Corporations, I’ll kill both of you. It doesn’t matter how.”

Before you can torment him any further, he turns tail and throws a withering glare your way. Hands on the doors, it feels like something leaden is forming in your throat. “Better sit tight until the ball ends and we can have our ah- fun little afterparty.”

.

.

.

“Can’t you stop that infernal noise, girl.”

You’re halting your body mid-punch, a thin line of sweat trickling from your temple. Heaving out, “I don’t see you helping.” 

Not even waiting for a response before you’re back to gifting the office wall with a solid CLANG! You’d already attempted the same with the metallic partition, to not even a single crater. And by the unaffected state of the rest of the room, you’re slowly realizing that every one of these four walls might just be made from the same material. 

Fuck.

BANG!

“For fucks-”

“What are you doing, then?” You’re whirling around to face a precarious Gojo Satoru, standing on one foot on top of a high bookshelf and murmuring utterly ridiculously to something clutched in his palm. “An interpretive dance routine won’t get us out of here.”

He’s been like this for the entire time - it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes - since you’ve been trapped here. All he’s done was rifle through a few files and snatch a few documents. And…this. 

Hell- you didn’t even find your diamonds, yet. 

“You think about ‘us’ a lot?”

Rolling your eyes- you can’t even bother with a scowl. Instead, turning back to spend your time planting CRASH! after CRASH! over his protests. 

“Keep it down, sweetheart, I can’t-” Punching your way through even harder - making even louder noise, on purpose. “-hear-” Perhaps you could kill him before Naoya even gets here. “-the mic-” 

“What?” You’re grunting, ears still ringing from the deafening noise yourself. 

And just then you find your brows knitting together because Gojo Satoru looks so…satisfied. It strikes you to your very core. Which was definitely never a good sign. 

Jumping down from the bookshelf in one, fluid motion, he shows off a tiny rounded gadget grasped in one hand. “You’ll see.” Gojo purrs at your questioning gaze, winking. “You’ll see very soon. We’ll be fine, promise.”

Yeah, you really didn’t like the sound of that.

But before you can swivel back to your target - you swear you were seeing a crack - Gojo’s tucking away the mysterious object into his jacket pocket and taking it off. Letting the silken fabric hit the floor with a dull schwf! Right along with his tie, his belt-

“Wh-what are you doing?” It comes out more breathless than you’d have liked. 

“Changing into my supersuit, that’s what.” He lifts up his mask to roll his eyes, full and well knowing. The pinkish perk of his tongue drags a slow glide of wetness across his lips as he unbuckles his belt - looking you straight in the eyes. “Why? This turn ya on, sweetheart?”

“No.”

Yes.

Fuck, you hated how even despite turning away, you couldn’t help but angle your body just so that you’re ogling Gojo from your peripheries. You hated how every thud of clothes hitting the floor made a fresh new layer of goosebumps bead along your clammy, heated skin. 

It was so hot. 

“You should do the same– you must be getting warm with all that ruthless, blundering violence.” Comes the sing-song voice from behind you, oh- he was enjoying this. It sent Gojo’s heart racing to watch the way you were all flustered because of his actions. His body. 

Scoffing, another punch. “You just want to see skin, lecher.”

“With a body like that- fuck yeah.”

“Save it for the wives of the bourgeoisie.”

“Scared, Prowler?”

Oh, for the love of-

“Not on your life, Nightwing.”

And then you do it.

You make the mistake of giving into your instinctual desire to glare at Gojo Satoru, as if your eyes never wanted to leave him. And then you see it. 

All his long, tantalizing muscles and curves - being hugged so tightly in that black and blue suit that you could count every one of his eight washboard abs. Fuck. Gojo’s body seemed to go on for miles, pulling the latex tightly over his rippling flesh. 

Right on cure, your eyes trail from the bulging valley of his pecs, to the ridges of his v-line to…you gulp.

You always did think it gave him an unfair advantage - just how sexy he was. It was one of the reasons he managed to distract you enough to lock you up in Gotham State Penitentiary last time, after all. 

Tittering, “Take a picture it’ll-”

“Take this fist to your face.”

“Kinky~ it’ll only make me harder, y’know.”

Hard-er. 

And all of a sudden it was as if the tension in the room was like molasses, and you were drowning in the saccharine concoction. Nightwing- Gojo really was too cocky for his own good, but what was even worse was he could back it up, too. 

Your skin flares up with a burning breeze, and your voice comes out peaky. “Fine.” Through his mask, you swear his eyes widen once your hands fly up to take off your own. And then to the zipper of your gown, “But only because it’s so hot.”

Pulling it down just an inch before-

“Wait…let me?”

Just a flash of that glossy black suit of yours, just a single sneak-peek of it enveloping your skin and he was pressing you to the wall. Ravenous.

You were gorgeous. 

Balmy heat of his body making yours sizzle up, all Gojo needs is only one of his massive palms to pin both your wrists wayyy above your head. Meaty thighs massaging up against yours to stop your jostling body. 

Lips twitching up into a smirk at the carnal hunger in your eyes, “Let me…help with that, yeah?” His gravelly words resound in your eardrums and make your thighs squeeze. The fat fringes of his digits draw slow lines down the side of your figure, memorizing. “S’a hero’s duty, after all.” 

You’re growling, “Do it. Do it if you’re not scar- ah!”

But that’s exactly what Gojo had been waiting for. 

Exactly the moment to make your pretty voice break, exactly the moment for him to tuck a finger behind your back and all but rip–! your dress from the back.

“Would ya look at thaaaat-” He’s snickering out in awe as your flimsy gown falls halfway through tatters around you, all along with your dagger. Revealing a snug suit that makes his mouth simply water. All gorgeous lines of your body that he can’t get enough of. “Always fuckin’ hated this suit.”

His sinful pants strike you in gusts when Gojo leans his admiring head down, down, down to push right into the valley between your heaving tits. “Made me s-soooo fucking hard every time I saw ya in it.”

Did you just make Gojo Satoru stutter?

No wait- even better, was that achingly hard outline bumping right between your legs what you thought it was?

He’s rubbing the swollen outline of his mushroom tip at the target of your hot core, drinking in that cutely surprised expression on your face. Something devilish. “Oh~? What’s this? I-if this is what it took to shut that pretty mouth, I’d have done it sooner.”

But what he didn’t account for was the way that you would take the initiative shutting him up. 

The way you would breach that almost-non-existent air between you two and crash your lips onto his. In French kiss so filthy that it makes Gojo moan–

“You’re better like this-” You spit between his strawberry pink lips, the taste of his bubblegum sweet taste now your most favorite. Cherry flavored, almost. “-when you shut up.”

In response, he’s nipping on your lower lip and draaaagging. Smirking at the adorable squeal that lets off from your ajar jaw, “Can’t even keep yer h-hands off of me, always knew you found me irresistible.” And Gojo doesn’t even need his other hand to entrap you now, pinning you with his muscled front. A sultry glissade of mere inches up n’ down up n’ down up n’- 

You could tell that he was big. 

So could that soft palm of yours, sneaking down to cop an agonizing feel of his rotund bulge. Fingers rovering generously along the damp crevice of his slit, “What was that?”

“Found me ir-re-sis-”

Harder. 

“Shiiiit.” He hiccups, head swimming. “Suck- suck on my tongue.”

You do. Making Gojo’s eyes glaze over at the twist of your pillowy lips, making him rut-

“Fuckin’ dirty little thing.” The rough texture of his tastebuds swirl across your own, and even through his mask you swear he looked fucked-out already. Taking off his suave gloves, he leaves one spank on your thigh. Two. “Mmm- spread them f’me now.”

You’re snarling, despite the furious throb you feel from your leaking cunt. “Who’d ya think you are to ngh- boss me around?”

“Have it your way then, girl.”

And when he says that shit, he means it.

Before you know it, he’s sitting on the capped curves of his knees with a loud bam! You’re grimacing for but a mere split-second at just how much it must have hurt, before realizing that Gojo doesn’t care.

It’s the last fucking thing on his mind once he’s gliding an open, calloused palm underneath one of your unsteady legs and wrangling it on top of his sculpted shoulders. 

You’re latching a hand through his soft, fawny strands with a yelp. “Asshole.”

“Witch.”

“Pussy.”

“Pussy, alriiight—” The borders of his short, manicured nails draw an invisible line down, down, down to coast the puffy fissure of your pussylips. Before pinching and tearing cleanly between the legs of your latex suit. Breathing deeply in- “There she is. Pretty girl…hey there, the name’s Satoru. I’m the stuff of your wettest dreams.”

You can’t even bite out a retort - a plea - before Gojo’s diving nose-deep allll the way into your drooling cunt. Nudging apart your gluey folds with his perky buttoned nose, lengthy tongue slathering your hole with a fat drag-

He’s basically glued. Addicted with only a single taste, and swerving his tongue to scratch up in solid, dizzying circles around and around your soppy entrance. 

“Sh-shit-” Your thighs break out in jitters, and he only responds with a firm tug to interlock your craned limb ‘round his neck. Making your spine bend the perfect curvature off of the cool wall, “-more. More.”

SPANK!

The rims of Gojo’s fingers burn into the globes of your ass, and he’s so unrepentant about it. So smug. Making such a spectacular show of letting your globs of slick pour down his tongue. 

Kiss-bitten maw hanging wiiidely agape to make you watch the thick rivulets of sap that hit the back of his awaiting throat. He’s dripping wet all the way down to his bobbing Adam’s apple, treacly splotches of juice hitting the floor in puddles. 

Gojo gurgles out something feral, still mushing his pert maw to your wet mound so you’re feeling each n’ every vibration. 

“Dooooown, kitty.” Another spank, and another steamy snog of his mouth. Though, this time he’s letting his pearly whites catch on your plumpened clit. Dangerously so. “Watch ngh- watch it, I bite.”

With a frustrated tut, you’re pushing his pretty features even deeper into your pussy. Making him pinch your sensitive nub between his teeth even harder. Slobbering a long drag from every inch of his pointed chin, to the very apples of his high cheekbones. 

“Maybe m’into that…Satoru.”

“Oh- Oh.” Through the bleary gaps in your eyes, you’re noticing that Gojo was blushing. Bright. Red up to the tips of his ears. Burning skin chafing up into your own, and you’re practically melting at his heat.

That sound was like heaven to him. You were like heaven to him. And Gojo’s dilated irises hold direct eye contact with you once he’s digging his round fingertips roughly onto your asscheeks. Resonating out such saturated squelches after squelches as his tongue laps every nook and cranny. “You’re gonna get it- fuck, you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

So many delirious moans rip out of you with every slash of his tongue, perking it in every right sensitive spot of yours - without even trying.

Mewling, “Toru- ngh- Toru.”

“Easy there, easy there.” He giggles out in a wet sputter right into your inner thighs, ragged voice all waterlogged with so many ounces of you and your sweet pussy. In the blink of an eye, you feel like you’re floating - only mere moments later do you realize that it’s because Gojo’s holding you up. 

With only one hand.

Relieving you of any thought other than jerking your cunt repeatedly on top of his open mouth in a sultry tempo. Back and forth. 

“Have no idea h-how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He spits into your weeping pussy - both literally and figuratively. Free hand darting upwards to push aside the glutinous barrier of your folds and spray it with a thick wad of spittle. Licking over the shiny sheen, “No idea. Always actin’ so ngh- high and mighty. Had to fuck my fist every time I fought ya, had to run off and- shiiiit cum to the thought of you all over my tongue.”

Gojo was babbling, and right now it was as if he started and couldn’t stop.

“Annoying fuckin’ girl.” He’s snarling, every syllable falling out before he can even think. The swollen point his thumb treks past your walls and catches on the fluttering orifice of your hole. “Ya just need to be eaten out reeeeal proper. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

Then you feel like you’re being split-apart, and you knew you were fucked. 

Because Gojo’s fingers were both long and girthy. 

Such a lethal combination that had you mussing up his silky bangs while you held on for dear life. 

His barreling inches crawl right past that first cozy outer ring, showering it with such lustrous layers of pure, slippery need. Pushing and pushing until they’re skirting to thrash right into the bulging area of your g-spot. 

And just when he’s pummelling your molten wall with a harsh strike, just when Gojo’s mouth parts at the pure ecstasy of finding it. Of how pretty you looked. 

You’re letting your own, too, in a frail whimper. “Th-that all you got, Nightwing?”

“Ohhh, I love a woman that bullies me.” 

All that Gojo whispers into your cunt - low, almost reverent - before his touch turns deadly. Cock aching painfully, thighs squeezing together until his pulsing, hot shaft gets squeezed. 

You’re faced with the full force of his slick-covered fingers pumping direct hit after hit. Sending white-hot flashes of pressure straight from the stout ends of his fingerpads and right to your brain.

“That all I got? H-heh, that all I got-” He’s echoing your previous words like a mantra. Breaking. Octaves higher as if he was on the verge of laughing. “How fucking cute.”

“C-cute?”

“So fucking cute.”

“I-I’m not- fuck!”

Pinpointing his long index purposefully in a massage right up against your g-spot, like it was a button for him to toy and push. 

Gojo’s smile leers ever-wider as he holds it there, listening to the way your moans pitch creakily. “What’s that?” And you’re barely spilling off a few more syllables in response before he angles his wrist deeper to push down even harder. Making your entire body shudder, “What’s that? Yeahh, s’what I thought.”

You were so tight around him that Gojo’s forcing himself to bite his driveling bottom lip to hold back countless embarrassing whimpers. Because you were clinging onto him like gum, tugging his fingers back into your boiling hot depths every time he’s reeling back.

And the problem with Gojo Satoru was that he couldn’t decide. 

He wanted you. And he wanted it all. 

Couldn’t stop from alternating between scissoring his dexterous fingers into every ridge and crevice of your goopy cunt, and making out with you like he was parched. Lolling his tongue like he was drunk- all over your swooping slit and rubbing in tiny hearts on top of your hooded clit. 

“Need you. Need you s-shoooo fuuuckin’ badly.” He couldn’t even speak properly at this point. You’re flinching as a third finger slimily squirms inside your pussy. “Want it all.”

So fucking sloppy in ways you’ve never seem him.

Your dewdrops of slick coat the outside of his mouth and stick in delicate strings, growing thicker and thicker by the minute as he once more strikes your magical spot and makes your toes curl. Gasping, “Yeah- yeah, fuck. Take it, take it ngh- all, Satoru—”

You think you’re gonna snap.

“Upsie daisy.”

Basically being manhandled to lean your entire weight on his shoulders. You don’t think you’re even holding yourself up at all this point. Feeling every flex and ripple of the hero’s deltoids underneath your fleshy mounds.

You’re so loud - and not just from your mouth.

“Hell yeah. Talk t’me.” Juicy sloshes spring onto the edges of Gojo’s mouth after every gyration, practically devouring you. He narrows his lust-murked stare to your glistening hole, giggling - fucking giggling - at how your hips just can’t stay still. “She’s saying…ohhh she’s saying- saying she’s gonna be good f’me.”

You’re blinking down with dazed intrigue, watching with an empty head at the way that his motions only get faster. And faster. 

Pupils sprinting allll the way to the back of your heavy lids, “Close. Think- think m’so close, Toru.”

“Ya think?” He muses, drawing a bold stripe up your bruised and battered g-spot. One so hard that it has the corners of your lips flooding with a bubbling torrent of saliva, it has your eyes shuttering- “Oh, girl– I know. You’re cummin’ already, sweetheart.”

Shit- you were? You were. 

Head spinning, throat raw. 

And you didn’t even realize it with just how fucked-out you were on his long, lecherous tongue. Rendering your head permanently dizzy with those vulgar patterns he was drawing with it, both inside and out.

Your goopy walls tingle with the force of your high, ears popping with the pressure of those startling peaks after peaks. Ones that Gojo drags out gladly. 

“Cumming from the hah- the great Gojo Satoru, huh?” He’s groaning, tonality husked with a shiver of something predatory. Unstable. Needy. Smashing away over and over and over on your most tender spots, buzzing. “Cumming all over my mouth. Always was meant for this- meant for me.”

If you thought that the squelches from before were blasphemous, then you surely weren’t ready for the slurps that follow now. 

So loud. 

Slithering the curling tip of his tongue to slap down on your quivering entrance, he’s pounding your hole dually with a mean mouth and even meaner fingers. Merciless. 

You’re cumming and cumming and he’s stringing you along with every explosive ram and suck. Tired fingers pulling out of your hole with a wet plop! and lurching down to squeeze his achingly hard cock. Grinding the fat of his palm over n’ over across his length-

“S-soooo sensitive—” You’re sobbing out, eyes leaking hot tears once the crescendo of your orgasm pulls taut, powerful tingles rushing from where Gojo was latching his neat teeth onto your clit and biting. 

And not even wringing your fingers to scratch his scalp, not even draaaagging Gojo by his sweat-matted hair could get him to part. 

He wasn’t done yet. No. 

His chin hits the very back of your cunt as he targets your pussy with yet another viscous few wads of spittle. Scattering it all over your sloppy hole when he’d drunk up all your sweet sap and there wasn’t enough. “Wanna taste more o-of you. S’fuckin’ sweet, wanna taste more.”

Because to him it would never be enough.

Not even when you’d finally let your toes uncurl, not even when your cracked whimpers were turning hushed. Bated. 

Not even when he finally breaks his kiss between your legs with one last looooong slurp. Well, multiple. Gojo simply kept parting and coming back every few seconds with the most vulgar kisses because it hurt him to leave the very same pussy he’s been dreaming of since the day he first met you. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Gojo seethes out through rough pants. The soppy thwack! of wiry ribbons of drool from both sets of lips smacking him in the face. It lacquers all over his prettily flushed face and makes a mess.

Yet, you think he’s never looked prettier. 

And the only thing messier was that smile he was giving you - dopey, and crazed. With beads of syrupy slick hanging off of his cerise lips, “You…you got my mask all dirty, sweetheart.”

“Dirty” was an understatement. 

Gojo’s black mask was drenched, soaked through until every bit of his milky skin touching it smeared with a shimmery lamination of sap. You’d done such a number on him that when he hooks a thumb underneath, it lets out the most sinful squelch!

“Hear that?” You’re watching, speechless, once he tugs it off haphazardly. Impatiently. Ethereal white locks splaying out and over like a halo, “That’s the sound of ya being eaten out reeeal good n’ proper.”

And when Nightwing takes his mask off, you have to blink. 

Because you’d fully and completely thought that Gojo Satoru could never be prettier - but when he was like this? When you could finally see his face fully?

Shit, you’re feeling your heart hammer against your ribs with a painful ba-dump–! just by looking into his summer blue eyes. The cute blush painting his features even more evident, and you’re catching his nose crinkle. 

You’re pushing back the stray twines of his bangs sticking onto his prespired forehead. A touch that makes him shiver, a touch that makes his hardened cock twitch in his supersuit. “Never put that on a-again, I swear.”

“Ate that pretty cunt out and you’ve hah- fallen f’me already, hm~?” He’s wriggling his pale brows, and the look in his eyes is so enchanted that it leaves you momentarily speechless.

If you’d fallen for Gojo now, then he had already fallen for you a long, long time ago.

You hand on his hair tightens, searing. Angling his handsomely pussydrunken face until he’s looking up at you, “And who was saying they’ve been hngh- dreaming of eating my ‘pretty cunt’ for ages now?”

“I…”

“Shut up.”

And when you tell him to shut up, he shuts up. For perhaps the first time in the twenty-something years he’s been terrorizing this Earth.

Oh, for just how famed Nightwing was for his reflexes, Gojo barely sees it coming when you’re pushing him onto the muggy floor and collapsing right on down with him. Feverish. Needy. 

He was so fucking hard that you swear you could see the zig-zag of his inflated veins through that massive bulge. Through his clothes-

Seriously, you’re ripping through the tough latex-y fabric wrapping around his inner thighs with a smirk. If he got to rip your supersuit then you should only return the favor. 

You can’t help yourself, the very tip of your mushy tongue drips with a few pearls of saliva with just how badly you wanted him in your mouth. You’d seen the way that Gojo was huffing and grinding his cock as much as he could when he was filthily making out with your cunt.

Judging by the way he was jolting and moaning at your every touch, you were surprised he didn’t cum just from-

Oh.

He did. 

And from the startled look of awe on Gojo’s face, he didn’t realize he had, either. 

“Oh?” You’re skimming the fat plane of your thumb over his leaky orifice right in the middle, bawling out thick ropes of creamy white which slipped n’ slid allll down your wrist in generous heaps. “A-and you called me ‘cute’.”

Shit, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know where to look.

True to his word, Gojo was big - more than big, actually. 

His cock was oh-so-pretty, standing red and proud at something near nine or ten inches. Oodles of buttery seed dripping down the side and ready for you to lick up. 

Nestled above breeder balls, he’s lightning bolted with fat, rosé veins you couldn’t wait to feel scratch up your insides. A girthy circumference that made your poor knuckles ache to wrap around, so needy that every throb made your wrist jolt. 

So…sexy.

“Satoru…”

And something in your tone of voice seems to jolt Gojo into overdrive. 

He’s letting his meaty thighs crack open, displaying you with the attractive ripples of muscle. “C’mon, sweetheart-” A large hand softly cups the back of your unsteady head, “-clean up this- this mess you made.”

If this was any other time, you might’ve snapped back something about it being the mess he made himself. If this was any other time, you might’ve teased him for the teary cracks shattering his words.

But right now, you were striking the bullseye of Gojo’s round, coral pink divot with a hefty dump of saliva. Thumbing it right over his weeping middle and lazing your tongue tenderly all down the grooves of his veins.

You could feel him throb and buck underneath you, so turned on that you could practically taste it. 

“Gods. Fuck. Fuck, girl-” He’s spitting out through lowered lashes, watching your tongue flop out to lap ‘round and ‘round his mushroomy tip like your favorite lolly. “-like that. Just like that.”

Gojo tucks a thumb underneath the curve of your chin, prying your maw to fall open just enough so that he can tap-tap-tap his blushing, thick head on your tongue. So that he can spurt out a few more gumdrops of seed and watch them glisten all the way to your throat. 

He’s watching you with an open mouth,  “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, my girl. Now you’re gonna hah- take all of me, right?”

Your pussy twitches with interest at his words — “my girl.” And the only thing you can think to do is let your digits sift underneath his tender slit, grinning. “Make me.”

It’s all the confirmation that Gojo needs to lurch open your slobbering mouth even further and plunge his veiny cock into you. Hissing at the way your tongue drags underneath his sinking shaft, he burns red to the tips of his ears. 

“N-now now, play nice and say ‘ahhh’—” Your mouth was so hot. And it was working so many wonders on his fat cock that it was forcing him to gasp out tiny sobs. “Take me- fucking- fucking take me or god help me-”

He didn’t even know what he was saying.

Never breaking sultry eye contact, Gojo’s swabbing his cum around your plumped lips like a whitish lipstain. Fucking up feverishly, his trickling tip hits the very bottom of your throat and stays there-

“Ya like that?” He’s snarling out, perfect teeth pulled back on full display. You’re moaning into his tufted, snowy-white pubes at the sight of his glinting canines. “‘Course you do, course you do. F-fuck don’t know how many ngh- time I-I’ve imagined this. All because of you, nasty girl-”

Without warning, he’s pinching your nose together and you whine in answer. Crescents of your nails clawing down red, red lines all over his toned abs, “Alright alright- ngh- mostly because of you.”

He lets go, finally. Snickering at the steady tears that fall down your cute face. 

Fighting against his flapping lids to watch the way you’re bobbing your head in a primal cadence now. Your nose brushing up against his heated skin every time. A fat few rivers of drool find themselves glazing your lips, your chin, Gojo’s shifting pelvis in a puddle. 

He was so hot and weighty inside, and your jaw was starting to ache just from the sheer bulky fatness. Your cunt leaking - bawling - at the way his ballooned-up veins rub against the roof of your mouth up n’ down.

“You and that damn suit n’ those damn eyes a-and that-” He bucks up, up, up, core tensing sexily each time. Smashing the rounded curve of his tight balls against your chin. “-damn mouth. Now mine, all mine oh—”

Your fingers just barely graze over Gojo’s plump sack, making his precious, pinkish skin wrinkle. Making him gasp- “O-oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-” His head snaps upwards, eyes rolling to the very backs of his head. “-c’mere. C’mere.”

Maybe it’s because of the remaining aftereffects of your mind-shattering orgasm, maybe it’s because you wanted him so bad you couldn’t think; but you’re so pliable in Gojo’s big, strong arms.

He’s bending a few degrees to scoop you up in a mess of boneless limbs, all in one go. Sitting you all pretty and struggling to balance on his slender hips– his v-shape was mouth-watering. 

And your thighs fit so perfectly snugly on either side, glissading your pussylips up and down on his cylindrical shaft. You’re riding all along his bumpy veins, head bobbing at every probing spiral that pokes past your folds. 

“Fuck me.” Gojo whispers against your throat. Reaching over languidly to rip even more of his supersuit for you, all the way down his inner thighs, his chest, everywhere. For you to ruin. “Fuh-fuck me.”

Whining, “Give it- give it t’me, Toru–”

He blushes. 

You didn’t know who was yearning for it more. 

Gojo repeatedly spanks your slippery hole with the very rounded crown of his cockhead, sandwiching himself between your bloated lips. And the sight makes him grin, the sight makes him twitch- “Open. Open wiiiide, sweetheart. Tight fuckin’ thing.”

Your knobbly knees ricket as you splay them out shamelessly, “‘Nough teasing. Want it- a-and I want it now.”

Bratty girl.

Though, he always has loved that side of you. 

And it’s exactly what makes Gojo depart his hips off of the ground in a sudden rut and fill you up to your brim. Just the plump circle of his tip mazing past your entrance enough to render you stupidly speechless. 

You swear you hear him bludgeon just the few inches of his head into your channel with a wet plop! Before your ears ring with something even louder…even wetter. 

“Fucking- shit shit shit-” You’re almost letting your mouth sing with a whimper once his gorgeous eyes shutter closed, a cute pout smearing over your face. Gojo’s shifting, he’s restless, he’s planting his feet firmly flat on the floor and bucking wildly. Through clenched teeth, “This is- all- your- fault.”

Suddenly, you’re feeling something warm and thick soaking through your walls. Slathering ribbons of liquid sloshing around your wet inners and mixing with the waves of your aroused slick. 

Did he just…? Just from putting it inside? 

And, really, you felt so heavenly inside - what was a man to do?

Your gooey walls molding around his length like molten gold, it was driving Gojo crazy until all he could do was wrap his arms around the small of your back as if you were his lifeline. Panting out cloudy breaths against your face, he stares deeply into your eyes and cums-

Your eyes flap open alertly, “T-Toru– did you just-”

“Shut up.” He’s huffing, gnawing on his wobbly lower lip like chewing gum. To shut you up, he’s shoving your face between the plummy cushions of his pecs. Grunting when your tongue comes out to suck his rose pink nipples. “I’m just- I’m- ngh–”

Just fucking his globular wads of seed until you were overspilling, is what. Pumping the bottom of your pussy so full that you’re feeling him smear sticky streaks down your cervix, the gluey-texture making your back arch for more more more-

“Can’t help that this p-pussy is so fuck- filthy.” He’s trawling out syllables from the back of his hoarse throat, a thin line of saliva leaking from one end of that fucked-out grin. Eyeing the plapping of his cum pouring in bucketloads out of you and onto his skin, “That you’re so…”

Can’t help that he’s been dreaming of this since forever. 

Gojo didn’t have to say a word, because the massive puddle formulating from between your icing-topped folds was chatty enough. Really chatty, in fact, that the man finds himself nodding away blearily with every shrill squelch! from down below. 

Humming, “Mhm— real t-talkative, aren’t you, pretty girl?” His pants puncture with a few breathless titters, watery gaze flickering between your sweaty face and where he was disappearing. Depraved. “Nicer than her, too.”

Lips falling into a partially-offended, partially-delirious oh! your brows furrow, “S-so mean. Don’t make me- ngh- don’t make me g-get off, Satoru.”

“Get off, huuuuh?” He’s drawling, hands pushing you down even further along his blushing red cock. You were so insistent and fiery, it made him so much fucking harder. And it was cute, the way you’re flinching when his tip throbs even fatter. “If you wanna ngh- tap- tap out, jus’ say so, my girl.”

“Never.” 

“Never?”

Rolling those beautiful eyes of yours, “You’d tap out first.”

Fuck yeahhhhh, he was shifting his hips just a little to make you feel how much girthier you were making him. The clingy sides of your walls snatching on the way his crownhead pulls taut, stretching your innards to the very max. “No. You.”

He doesn’t know if you even realize just how much more damp you’re getting. A syrupy wet patch already formed and growing on his v-line, dribbling down to his twitchy balls. “Scared, Nightwing?”

“I’m not even trying, sweetheart.”

And with that said, only now do you realize just how true his words are. 

Two impressive hands interlace on the crown of your sticky scalp, pushing you- bullying you down like some glorified ragdoll. 

Your thighs twitch as if you were unsure whether to clench or spread. You can feel Gojo’s sweltering hot cock squeezing and squeezing his fully proud length inside of you - you didn’t even realize that he hadn’t bottomed out yet because he was simply so big.

But when he did finally fit all the way?

God, it felt like he was drilling his split-ended tip right into your lungs. 

“There we go- thereeee we go.” Gojo breathes out thickly, and it felt like something leaden in his tummy was finally unraveling after all this time. Finally stuffed inside your pussy. “Knew you could t-take me- heh. S’biiig, isn’t it?”

Really big. 

And every shallow bounce of yours made your pulse burst near your throat, stars sparking behind your burdensome eyelids when he pinpricks tiny speckles of pre on your most favorite spots. 

“Yeah yeah- ride me.” He grapples at your scalp and pulls. “Fuckin’ ride me. S’all yours n’ I wanna see you ngh- milk it.”

“Gods- ohhhh gods.” You’re shrilling out in a strained pitch when he jerks upwards and clashes into your g-spot, your nails claw ragged lines on the carpet as if you’d just been thrown to the wolves. Stupid now. Hips jerking away from his tantalizing pace-

“No running.” Gojo spits, pained. One hand curling around your throat and dragging you down to smack the backs of your thighs against his weighty balls, the other cupping your face delicately. His long, textured tongue laps up the salty pearls of your tears with looooud slurps. “Wh-where the ngh- fuck do you think you’re going?”

You didn’t even have an answer because every possible one was being fucked out of you. Brutally. 

One sharp jab. Two. Three into your tender alcoves and you feel like collapsing, your front melting into his toned one, drool spilling out in spit-loads. 

It’s all you can do to gyrate your waist back and forth in sloppy circles to meet his pace. Looong figure eights that made Gojo’s thighs shudder, and your clit scratch his creamy happy trail. There were so many thorough inches being fed into your cunt, probing deeply. Over and over and over- 

And no matter how full you were he’d keep rutting and rutting. Like he couldn’t stop. Rotund head sagging down your cervix to leave streaks of pre and he was still pushing.

Gojo bores up at you with glazed eyes, saliva-glistening lips parted ever-so-slightly while he pounded up into you as if in a daze.

You’re swearing his dilated pupils have formed into hearts- “Mmmm– love you, my girl.” He carries out a tender kiss on your forehead, and a rough squeeze on your throat. Jostling your lolling head back and forth ever-so-slightly, to dab his digits in a seeping puddle of slick and push past your lips. “Love fucking you. Being haaaaa– fucked by you…”

It’s not often that anyone can catch Gojo Satoru off guard.

But you’re not just “anyone.”

With your honed expertise, all it takes is one jackhammered thud! into the back of your pussy - two - before you’re flipping your ravenously glissading bodies over. 

“Then f-fuck me properly, Toru.”

Maybe he heard your words through the static-y buzzing in his head, maybe he didn’t. Either way your tone makes something inside him twitch, full-bodied. 

And you don’t think Gojo even registers it beyond a stuttered ohhh–! at first, you don’t think he even realizes the way he’s immediately sprawling you out flat on your back and bending you into a rude mating press. 

Still not slowing down. Still not faltering. 

Ah, you don’t know if you’re a genius or just plain stupid. Because you still manage to yelp, “S’that- s’that it?”

As if on primal instinct, he’s letting out a growl near your mouth. “Hah- haaah– Y’know…I-I’m reeeeal flexible, my girl.” Your calves burn with exertion once he throws them unceremoniously over his shoulders, core tensing in a way you can’t help but ogle. “Real flexible.”

At first you didn’t understand why he was telling you this. At first.

Before Gojo drags his large feet up, up, up until he’s planting them where you can see - sweaty thighs lugging forwards where he’s bending you in half and then some. 

It was so cute how pliable you were underneath him, manhandled to every whim and want and need-

This brand-spanking new angle was everything. 

Thrashing into your springy cervix - hard. Stretching out deeply-seated sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. It makes you feel so fucking filthy at the sting of his papping balls bruising your ass like never before. 

And his tip is so greedy, feeling the swashing splash of his own seed dripping all over your walls and still bursting to erupt with more. He could tell he was close, aligning himself to crash into his favorite target of your g-spot. 

“Fuck–” Your mindless legs threaten to close - not that he would ever let them. “So much. Fuck me, p-please.”

“What was that?”

“Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please!”

Gojo’s hunched over, seethingly red in the face. Ivory bangs half-way covering his intensely half-lidded stare, stray spatters of perspiration hit your chest like bullets. 

“Gonna ngh- fuck you properly.” He spits, hands ghosting over your tummy - namely that globed bulge he was fucking into you. A mere nudge of it with his thumb leaves Gojo’s breath leaving his lungs in a sizzling woosh! Sculptured chest vibrating, “Gonna breed you properly. Gonna…” 

You’re flinching when fingers waft over your nubbed clit, the stark volts of electricity prompting your ass to hit back even rougher against his sharp pelvis. 

“Want it, Toru.” Wobbly arms wrapping around his flushed neck to pull him in close. He looks at you lovingly, while he fucks you like he hates you. “W-want you to ngh- breed me.”

And that does it - for the both of you.

Gojo Satoru’s breath hitches with a cry, balls achingly tight. Needy. “Gonna make you m-mine.”

Running headfirst into your highs, it hits you like a tidal wave. You don’t know where you’re seeing white from; the flurries of stars speckling your vision, or from the torrents of cum Gojo pours out past your sloppy entrance. 

“Your p-pussy–!” Gojo bursts, drilling into you as if he was crazed. Fat tip swirling around your pretty insides with decorative ribbons of pure white, his cum seeps into you thickly and you swear you can feel him well up the door to your womb. “O-ohhhh your pussy your pussy your- p-pussy, takin’ me so well.”

“Fuck me-” You tug on his pink lips with your teeth and it makes Gojo empty out another few webbed streaks of sap into the bottom of your pussy with a thud! Brows furrowing, “Deeper.” Even though he was so deep you think you might burst. “Harder.” So hard you felt raw. “More.”

You were already overspilling, the throes of your burning hot orgasm just barely letting you register the splat-splat-splat of his cum pumping in n’ out of you. 

Two of his slender fingers urgently scoop those few escaping globs back through your pussylips, Gojo’s girth so wide that he doesn’t even have to try to plug you full and tight. 

“A-all safe and sound.” He’s patting at the cumflated outline on your tummy, cylindrical and round. Your walls were so plump and tight with him that just the simplest dig had you squealing. “A-all…”

And Gojo looked like he could purr if he could. 

All fucked out and satisfied, the pussydrunken grin on his face seemed permanent - and so was that tender glint in his eye. Peeking up at you through long lashes, he leans his head over to listen to your juddering heartbeat, “All mine.”

Your tummy lurches, and you find yourself smiling before you can stop. But it’s not like you wanted to stop.

In fact, you didn’t want to stop at all. 

“That last one’s a tie.” Your voice scratches the favorite crevices of Gojo’s brain; so mushy and melted that it takes a long while before his lips drop into an understanding oh! You sweetly peck his lips, “Rematch, Nightwing?”

Fuck. 

His poor, overworked cock twitches.

Fuck. 

And of course, it was a rematch with the two of you.

Of course, the one rematch turned into two. Into three. Into four. Into- you’d lost count after five, and you were sure right now that you couldn’t even do any maths past that.

After breaking Naoya Zenin’s loveseats, after splitting his desk literally in half. Eventually, you’d either forgotten about the man himself and your fate, or you just didn’t care. You were so fucked dumb that all you can cry is a broken, “Sa-to–ru!”

Because if there was one thing that Batman taught in his rigorous training scheme, it was stamina. 

Gojo was taking you from behind right now- well, that was being generous. 

He was slumped down over you until his abs were liquefying down your arched spine, head buried deep into the clammy crook of your neck. Swirling his sensitive cock all around your tenderized insides, thighs trembling where he was pinning the both of you down onto the floor. Too sloppy and fucked to even try anywhere else.

“M’here—” Gojo drawls out, heavy tongue stumbling over the sounds. He pats the cute tummy bulge that he’s responsible for first, and then your gushing pussy. Pulling you to him, he really was acrobatic, “M’here. Toru’s h-here, my sweetheart.”

Fuck- those last two words make him jetstream out a sweltering few beads of seed. He couldn’t even cum properly anymore. 

Driving into you until every voluminous mass in his body was now packed intensely between your snug walls, he shifts inside of you with a sloooow gyration and feels the knotted mess he’s made. 

“My sweetheart–” Gojo’s biceps bulge where he’s shoving your head into the soft carpet, into the pond of saliva that just won’t stop leaking from your parted mouth. His words depart in a cracked plea, “My girl.”

“Y-yours.”

Maybe you’re cumming, maybe you’re not - you don’t even know, at this point. 

Half-lucidly aware of the faint tingles shooting up your spine, and making your temples throb. Gojo himself feels out of control, hips reeling back, back, back to slam into your jiggling ass. 

He’s pawing himself a rough handful of your fleshy mounds once he throws his head back and lets his aching shaft jolt. Straight from his drenched base, all the way to his overstimulated tip- exhausting out one bead of pre. Two. 

Before Gojo cums dry.

“O-oh.” His teeth snag near your pulse, wet splatters of tears soaking your skin. Something animalistic twinging at the back of his cottony mind at the way you literally milked him until he was dry. Despite himself, he laughs. High-pitched. Crazed. “S’a- tie- s’a tie, I went e-easy on you…”

Somehow, you’re managing a grin. “My hero~”

And Gojo was just about to open his mouth - maybe to counter back something nonsensical, maybe to ask for a rematch over n’ over until he passes out.

But what happens instead is that overly familiar metallic gate explodes open.

You have to blink away the clingy fog in your eyes in alarm, and you’re embarrassed to admit that it took longer than you thought. Dammit, he really did win that last round- ah, rematch.

Still stunned, you can barely even dredge up some semblance of dignity as a towering man in a red helmet and skin-tight black suit walks in. Past his sexy biker vest, and those muscles upon chiseled muscles, you think you see- yeah, it really is. A red Batman logo. 

Red Hood. 

A low snicker sounds from underneath his mask, swiftly being taken off to reveal a man so pretty that you feel your jaw slacken. 

He runs a hand through silky, waist-length black hair, amethyst eyes glinting with amusement and something…more as he takes in the sight. Long lashes fluttering, he lets go of a specialized machine gun you assume was used to break down your cage. “Yo, Satoru.”

“Suguru.” Gojo gruffs out in a condensed gasp, though he makes no move to stop. None at all. Still balls-deep, and rubbing his tip down your spongy cervix. “Wh-what- fuuuck, don’t squeeze like that, my girl- took ya so ngh- long?”

Red Hood- Suguru, waves his other hand airily, only then do you see the knife clutched in it. The extremely…bloodied knife. “Ah, y’know~ Had to clean up some messes. Toji wanted revenge on the Zenins, the usual family drama.” Eyes flashing, “He’ll be up once he’s done to ah…join us here.”

Oh god, was the entire Bat Family here? You get the distinct feeling that this was not just “usual family drama.”

But you can’t say a word when the other man bores his piercing gaze onto you next. Tone smooth and syrupy, “So…Prowler, I’m assuming, by the ripped up costume?”

You feel your skin heat. “The one and only.”

“Geto Suguru, gorgeous.” He pulls out a tiny spherical gadget that looked exactly like the one Gojo had been toying with hours- days? ago. “I already know your name, Toji and I heard it over and over. Which, by the way, you should remind that idiot Satoru to turn his microphone off.”

Ah, that explains a lot. And wait- it was on this whole time? 

Shit. 

While Gojo only huffs out a pant of laughter, planting yet another deep jackhammer into you, you feel the apologies bubble to your lips. That is, until- 

“Unless you want someone to feel…” Geto licks his lips slooowly, bangs swooning over his sleazy gaze. You watch with widened eyes as a hand falls to his bulky belt, carnally. “-left out.”

A/N. Mhm what happens when ya let a girl listen to Nightcrawler.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[p1nkshield]

Perhaps Danny’s pursuit of banishing his boredom had gone a bit far. He was currently handing out business cards to the justice league after a successful presentation of his experience and the terms of his prospective employment. Maybe the catchphrase fake a foe was too cutesy? Ah well, the look on Batman’s face when he received a laminated resume was entertainment enough for the time being.

Danny didn’t expect to receive a call back at all.

“Did you mean what you said earlier Phantom?” A gravelly voice came from the phone.

“Absolutely! Only minor injuries guaranteed!”

Might as well commit.

“Robin is having issues with communication before he leaves his teammates.”

Oh the boy wonder?

“Say no more!”

This will be fun! And lucrative if the justice league could afford such a nice satellite.

Danny allowed his complexion to sallow to a more verdant tone, his canines sharpened to a vicious point.

He turned to Tucker as he materialized his royal ghostly regalia. Rings upon rings, a fur lined crown and a cape that seemed to always have frost on the hem. “Too much?”

“Yeah man, just the cloak is good.”

“No keep the crown but make it a circlet!” Sam protested.

“Bold of you to assume I know what that is.” Danny said as he followed the already pulled up examples Sam had.

“Let’s go spook some baby heroes.”

Damn it. Dick tested the ropes that kept him tied to the chair. Not good. This villain even thought to remove his gloves before securing him so there were literally no tricks up his sleeve. He still struggled anyway just to make sure he didn’t look too defeated.

An icy laugh permeated the room. Dick swore that the room dropped a few degrees as he heard his opponent.

“Hello Robin! How nice of you to drop in unannounced.”

Okay, calm down and analyze. Who is this? Where is the voice coming from? Ice powers, but it’s not anyone familiar. Not Freeze or Frost.

“Oh but where are your little friends?” Suddenly a teenager about a head taller than him phased into view. Years of training kept Robin’s expressions neutral despite the dude just appearing like that.

“Who are you?”

His opponent regarded him with a patronizing smirk.

“Ah ah ah! First let’s watch.” He said as he turned on a tv in the room he was being held hostage in.

Wally sped into the open expanse of the warehouse looking at the various pieces of tech scattered and mixed with random old looking artifacts.

“Hey Superboy, check this out! You think this is a real blaster?”

Kon shrugged as he eyed some glowing green vials.

“I suggest you avoid touching prospective weapons as we investigate. Or anything else for that matter.” Kaldur said as he surveyed the room.

Starfire sheepishly put down the old dusty tome she was holding. “I agree! Also where is Robin?”

“He likes to disappear and run ahead. Usually he shows up later, I wouldn’t worry about him.” Artemis said as she inspected her bow.

“But do we not have coms for this very reason?”

“Doesn’t mean he uses em Star.” Wally said half joking.

Dick winced at the criticism. Okay, ouch he gets it.

“A shame you didn’t tell them, otherwise the amount of time you’ve been gone would have been suspicious. Maybe they’d be more vigilant. More prepared.”

What?

His attacker disappeared with a laugh, appearing again moments later on the screen, front and center.

“Greetings young heroes! Allow me to test your mettle.”

Danny Phantom:Villain for hire writing prompt

Danny goes to college after he becomes ghost king and gets bored when his life is no longer packed with chaos.

Sure he could head to the realms and fight some ghosts but that was just regular chaos and he wanted to mix things up a bit.

It’s around this time that Danny learns about the young protégés of the Justice league.

One day while the JL are at the watch tower having a meeting IN SPACE they are interrupted by a teenaged invader.

The whole team goes on the defensive when much to their surprise, the teen passes out his resume and pulls up a PowerPoint title “Phantom:Villain for hire”

He then goes on to explain that he’d been in the hero game for years in a small town where the media actively portrayed him as a villain for years before going completely dark on the matter when Vlad was kicked out of office.

He explains that he’d been in fights with various levels of villains and is incredibly versatile with his power output and fight difficulty.

Which is why he would be the perfect villain to have their protégés practice against!!

He can be their villain of the week that helps them learn valuable life lessons while giving them a very real challenge WITHOUT the risk of death or dismemberment!

he can even create schemes catered to lessons they want to teach their proteges

for a price of course….

years down the line when each of them officially join the league. one by one the team has a mental breakdown when they find the bane of their existence eating a bagel in the league cafateroa

[xanneeeyyyy]

A Taste of His Own Medicine

⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ ⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x F!Reader

Synopsis: When Katsuki brings you home to meet his parents, what was supposed to be a simple introduction turns into an all-out battle of wits, insults, and dominance, leaving him utterly defeated as his own mother chooses you over him.

⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ ⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

Katsuki Bakugou had faced a lot of dangerous situations in his life—villains, explosions, life-or-death battles. But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared him for the moment he brought you home to meet his parents.

“Listen, my old hag’s annoying as hell, so don’t let her get to you,” he muttered, gripping your hand as you both stood at the doorstep.

You gave him a look. “Katsuki, she’s your mother.”

“Yeah, and?”

Before you could scold him, the door slammed open.

“TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, YOU DAMN BRAT!” Mitsuki Bakugou stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, scowling at her son like he’d just committed the greatest sin of all time. “WHAT, YOU FORGOT WHERE YOUR OWN HOUSE WAS?!”

Katsuki clicked his tongue. “MAYBE IF YOU WEREN’T ALWAYS YELLING, I WOULDN’T HAVE TO THINK TWICE ABOUT COMING HOME, YOU OLD HAG!”

SMACK!

The entire house went silent.

Your hand was now firmly planted on the back of Katsuki’s head. He stumbled forward, eyes wide in pure betrayal, whipping around to face you.

“WHAT THE HELL, WOMAN?!”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “That’s your mother, you fucker! Show some damn respect!”

“THE HELL DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!”

Mitsuki’s jaw dropped, then—

“PFTTTT—HAHAHAHAHA!” She threw her head back, cackling like she had just won the lottery. “OH MY GOD, I LOVE HER!”

“LIKE HELL YOU DO!” Katsuki barked, rubbing the back of his head. “SHE JUST ASSAULTED ME!”

“You deserved it, you disrespectful gremlin!” you shot back. “Seriously, what kind of son yells at his mom like that?”

“I’VE BEEN YELLING AT HER FOR YEARS, AND NOW YOU GOT A DAMN PROBLEM WITH IT?!”

“Yes, because I have manners! Something you apparently lack!”

Mitsuki wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. “Ohhh, she’s perfect! You’re officially approved, sweetheart. You are absolutely going to be my daughter-in-law.”

You grinned back. “Happy to be here, Mom.”

Katsuki let out a primal scream. “I’M STILL YOUR SON! HOW THE HELL ARE YOU PICKING HER OVER ME?!” Mitsuki shrugged. “Because she’s not a little brat.” Katsuki choked. “THE HELL YOU JUST SAY?!”

“You heard me, brat.” Mitsuki grinned at you. “I’ve been waiting YEARS for someone to smack some sense into this idiot. Welcome to the family.”

You smirked at Katsuki. “See? Your mom likes me more than you.”

Katsuki’s eye twitched. “LIKE HELL SHE DOES!”

“Like hell I don’t!” Mitsuki shot back.

“I’M YOUR ACTUAL KID, YOU OLD HAG!”

“AND SHE’S BETTER THAN YOU!”

“LIKE HELL SHE IS!”

“I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND GRACED YOU WITH MY GENES—DON’T MAKE ME SHOVE YOU BACK UP MY VAGINA!”

Masaru spit out his tea.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FU—?!” Katsuki turned horrified. “WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT?! HAVE SOME FUCKING MANNERS!”

You choked on your drink. “OH MY GOD.”

Mitsuki grinned. “YOU WANNA ACT LIKE A LITTLE SHIT, I’LL SEND YOU BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM.”

⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ ⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

He was losing his mind now.

This was supposed to be a simple introduction. Bring you home, let you meet his parents, and get the hell out before anything too embarrassing happened. But no. Instead, you and his traitor of a mother had become best friends within minutes, and somehow, the two of you were teaming up against him. “This is mutiny,” he muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he glared at the two of you laughing like old friends. Masaru sipped his tea quietly, already accepting that this night belonged to chaos.

“Alright, listen up,” he grumbled, arms crossed as he stood at the head of the table. “I officially brought her here to introduce her to you, so stop running your damn mouths for a second.”

Mitsuki snorted. “What, so we weren’t already introduced when she smacked you upside the head?” You smirked. “Pretty sure that was the best introduction I could’ve made.”

Katsuki shot you a glare. “The hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you deserved it,” you replied sweetly.

Mitsuki cackled. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Unlike you.”

Katsuki groaned. “Tch. Whatever.” He sighed, resigned to his fate. “Fine. This is my girlfriend, (Y/N).”

Masaru smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. You seem like a wonderful young lady.” Mitsuki grinned. “A smart young lady, too. I like this one.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, whatever—can we eat now, old hag?”

SMACK!

For the second time that night, your hand connected with the back of his head. Katsuki whipped around, eyes blazing. “THAT’S THE SECOND FUCKING TIME PRINCESS,”

You planted your hands on your hips. “What do you think, Katsuki? You will not call your mom like that while I’m here!”

“She doesn’t care—”

“I CARE!” you snapped.

Mitsuki threw her head back in laughter. “Oh, this is hilarious,” Masaru sighed. “We did try to raise him with manners…”

You crossed your arms. “Now, say it properly.” Katsuki scowled. “Like hell I will.”

“Oh, yes you will,” you countered. “Now, repeat after me: Can we eat now, Moomm~~?”

Katsuki twitched. “No.” You smirked, tapping your fingers on the table. “Alright then, let’s break it down,” You lifted a finger. “M.”

Mitsuki gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, she’s spelling it out for him,” Masaru chuckled behind his tea. Katsuki’s eye twitched. “Don’t you dare—”

You lifted a second finger. “O.”

Katsuki growled. “I swear to fucking god—”

A third finger. “M.”

Mitsuki was shaking from laughter. “THE DISRESPECT! HE’S BEING TAUGHT LIKE A DAMN TODDLER!”

Katsuki turned to his father, seething. “ARE YOU JUST GONNA SIT THERE AND LET THIS HAPPEN?!”

Masaru gave him a helpless smile. “Well… you really should call your mom properly, son.”

Katsuki nearly flipped the table. You leaned closer, lips barely an inch from his ear. “C’mon, Katsuki~. Say it properly,

or… I’LL. REPEAT. IT”

Katsuki gritted his teeth. His body shook with barely contained rage. Finally, through pure suffering, he muttered—

“…Can we eat now,

…Mom.”

The room went silent.

Then—

Mitsuki slammed her hand on the table and howled. Masaru sighed in relief.

You? You just grinned and reached up to press a quick, soft kiss on Katsuki’s lips.

Instant shutdown.

Katsuki turned beet red as he stood frozen in place. You patted his cheek. “Good boy,”

Mitsuki was wheezing at this point. “HOLY SHIT—HE LOOKS LIKE HIS BRAIN JUST SHORT CIRCUITED!” Masaru chuckled. “Well, at least she knows how to calm him down.”

Katsuki snapped out of it and pointed at his mom. “YOU’RE NEVER SPEAKING OF THIS AGAIN,” Mitsuki wiped away a tear. “Like hell I won’t. I’m calling your aunt about this.”

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE!”

As Katsuki and his mom bickered, you just sipped your tea, completely at peace.

Yeah. You were definitely part of this family now.

⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ ⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

A/N: I hope you enjoy this new piece! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Also, thank you for all the love and support—it truly warms my heart to see you reading my work.

© 2025 CODE:BKXY — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[lazysoulwriter]

reckless kisses - rafe cameron.

You never exactly considered yourself reckless—at least, not in the way people talked about Rafe Cameron. The name alone came with a warning label. The Pogues whispered about him like he was some mythical villain, and the Kooks… well, they either idolized or feared him.

You, on the other hand? You just thought he was hot. Too hot. That buzzcut? Girl, please. It did something to you. And the worst part? He knew it.

You’d caught him staring at you before—sometimes in that lazy, half-lidded way that made your stomach flip, other times with a smirk that felt like a dare. But you were never the kind of girl who just sat around waiting for things to happen.

So, one random summer night, standing in the middle of a Kook party you didn’t even want to be at, you threw a ‘fuck it’ into the universe and marched straight up to him.

“Hey, Cameron,” you said, plucking the red Solo cup from his hand and taking a sip. Whiskey. Strong. “What’s up?”

His brows lifted slightly, caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip before answering. “Didn’t think you knew my name.”

You snorted. “Please. Everyone knows your name.”

Rafe chuckled, tilting his head as he looked you over. “You drunk?”

“Nah. Just feeling bold.”

You saw it—the flicker of interest behind his blue eyes. He leaned in slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hummed. “And I was thinking… you should sneak me out of here.”

His lips curved into that dangerous smirk, the one that made bad decisions feel like the best ideas. “Oh, I should, huh?”

“Mhm.”

He didn’t even hesitate. Rafe grabbed your wrist, leading you out of the house like he had a mission, barely acknowledging the people who called after him. You grinned as he dragged you toward his truck, shoving you inside before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Where we going?” you asked as he started the engine.

Rafe glanced at you, eyes sharp with mischief. “Somewhere private.”

You had approximately thirty seconds before his truck rolled out of the driveway, and in that time, you made another split-second decision: you climbed onto his lap, straddling him with zero hesitation.

“The fuck—”

You cut him off by grabbing his face and kissing him. Hard. His hands immediately flew to your ass, fingers pressing into your skin, and when you rolled your hips just slightly, he groaned against your lips.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered before flipping the situation—literally. In one swift move, he had you pinned against the leather seat, mouth sliding down your jaw, hands roaming your sides like he needed to touch every inch of you.

“You’re insane,” he murmured between kisses, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look at you.

“You like it,” you shot back, breathless, grinning up at him.

His fingers trailed under your shirt, teasing the edge of your waistband. “Yeah,” he admitted, smirking. “I fucking do.”

And just like that, you fucked Rafe Cameron for the first time in his truck.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hi! I adore your writing! Could you please write some fluff? Where either the hero or the villain has nightmares and the other takes care of them. But the one that takes care of them is actually breaking into their base to get information. And the one with the nightmares is usually super happy and doesn’t like to show their pain. I hope all of that makes sense lol! Thanks no pressure if you can’t do it or you’re busy!

The villain couldn't think of any words. Not really.

All they could do was stand there, glued to the ground. Breaking into the hero's room had been quite tricky. After all, this building was packed with security.

But now that they were here, they couldn't believe their eyes.

It was messy. Very messy. Some furniture was simply destroyed - a table was split into two, as if the hero had punched through it. The shards of a vase were discarded on the ground and above all that: paper. A lot of paper.

The villain suspected the hero had thrown several files to the ground and the many pages had simply spread through the whole room.

They dared to look at the hero. The very same hero that turned away and clenched their fists.

"How did you...?" the hero began. Their voice was anything but stable, anything but usually cheery. "...ah, nevermind."

"I disabled the security system for a while," the villain said. Their voice was quiet and they were debating if they should throw themselves out of a window. The discomfort of the entire situation was crushing them. They shouldn't have been here.

They took in a deep breath and took another look at the hero.

Whatever had happened, the hero seemed to be another person entirely. They were distant, so very distant.

It wasn't like their relationship had the deepest connection. The villain was more of an inconvenience to the hero, they supposed. A fun obstacle they liked to taunt. But still...the villain had never thought the hero to be capable of destroying their room like this.

Maybe it hadn't been the hero after all. Maybe another hero?

The villain's eyes narrowed.

"You're bleeding," they said. The hero didn't turn around, but they did look at their knuckles. They let their arm drop as if it was nothing.

"I don't have any valuables here, so if you want to steal something, you should..."

"What is going on?"

The hero was rational, even though they were coming across as playful most of the time. The hero was smart, they were in control of their emotions.

But this?

The hero squeezed their eyes shut and leaned against the wall.

"I'm not sure you're the right person to talk to."

"Oh."

Technically, the hero was right. It still stung a little, though.

They exchanged looks.

"But...do you know that feeling of healing horridly?" They looked at the ground and the villain wasn't quite sure if the moonlight illuminated their nemesis or an angel. What a horrible feeling. What a horrible pain in their chest.

Was it normal to feel this distraught? At the sight of someone they were supposed to loathe being this hurt?

"Do you mean not getting over something?"

"...not exactly. I..." They let their lashes flutter and the villain feared they were seeing tears in their eyes. "I've been working through some stuff. Things from my childhood, past relationships, my work...you know, stuff like that. And I'm trying really hard to heal. And not to turn bitter. I'm trying not to let it hurt so much. But...I think I can't. I feel like, even if my wounds do heal, the scars will spoil me forever."

The villain didn't know what the hero was talking about. Hell, they couldn't even relate to it. They had never given themselves enough time to think about healing. Most of the time, they pushed everything away that hurt and moved on.

"I feel like it stains, it's like blood that I can't wash off my hands. And it makes me so incredibly ugly, it makes me so sick. I have nightmares and I...I..." And there it was. A simple sob the hero didn't manage to swallow. They covered their mouth with their hand, turned away.

And for some reason, for some strange reason, the villain walked over to them, pulling them close. They hugged the hero, embraced them as if they were the only two people in the world and let the hero sob, soaking the villain's uniform in tears.

"I understand," the villain whispered. They tried to sound as soft as possible. This wasn't exactly their field of expertise, not by a long shot, but they knew what it was like to pretend. To doubt. To fail. "It won't be like this forever, I promise. It will fade."

"It won't go away, though, it will always be there. It will always-"

"It will fade," the villain repeated. They brushed some tears out of the hero's sight. "And one day, you won't notice it anymore. You won't think about it."

They took the hero's hand.

"I don't know what you are going through right now, but I know that you are strong and capable. You can beat this."

Suddenly, the hero pulled them closer again, pressed their face against the villain's shoulder. They didn't say anything and the villain thought they themselves couldn't come up with anything better. So, they just held onto the hero and waited until their nemesis calmed down.

Eventually, the hero leaned against them. Their voice was quiet.

"...I know I have no right to ask this and you can decline, of course. But could you stay a few hours?"

The villain felt their cheeks burn.

"Yes. I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone right now anyway." They pulled the hero a bit closer again. "But I am going to take care of your knuckles first."

In the end, the villain fell asleep next to the hero, despite their best efforts to stay awake.

[itsnesss]

𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | axel kovacevik × fem!reader

summary | an ai axel simulation glitches, locking onto you with an unsettlingly real challenge

warnings | artificial intelligence, uncanny valley, tension, intense staring

word count | 1.1 k

author's note | can you tell I'm obsessed with this scene? sorry.

let's suppose that everyone uses goggles and miguel is attached to cables that make the movements for him ?

The midday sun warms the Miyagi-Do dojo, filtering through the trees and casting shadows on the tatami. You lean against one of the wooden pillars, arms crossed, watching as Hawk and Demetri tinker with a mess of wires, surrounding Robby with the excitement of mad scientists. Robby, sitting in the center of the tatami, eyes the devices with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"Are you sure this won’t fry my brain?" Robby asks, squinting as Demetri sticks electrodes to his forehead and arms.

"One hundred percent sure… more or less," Demetri replies with a tense smile, adjusting the goggles on Robby’s head.

Hawk pats Robby’s shoulder. "Trust the science, man. This is going to revolutionize karate training. We’re giving you the chance to face your Sekai Taikai opponent before the tournament. Don’t tell me that’s not amazing!"

"Amazing would be if this didn’t look like you’re about to use me as a comic book villain’s experiment," Robby grumbles, crossing his arms.

Your attention sharpens at the mention of the tournament. Axel Kovacevic. You can barely stop yourself from smiling at the thought of him, though you try to keep a neutral expression. Ever since you met him, there’s been a spark of adrenaline every time he’s near. Now, Robby is about to face him… even if it’s just a digital version.

Demetri looks at you with excitement. "Get ready to witness the future of karate training. This AI has been programmed with Axel’s moves with impressive realism. It took us hours of analysis, video editing, and… well, many sleepless nights."

"I just hope this doesn’t end in flames," you murmur, though you have to admit the idea is fascinating.

Hawk stands in front of the laptop, typing frantically. "Alright, Robby! Ready for the fight of the century?"

"I don’t know if being ready is enough for this," Robby replies, the goggles now securely in place.

Demetri presses a button, and suddenly, Robby straightens. His posture changes, his expression gains a different kind of confidence… and then, he smirks. A familiar smirk that makes your heart skip a beat.

It’s him. Or at least, the digital version of Axel.

"How does it feel?" Hawk asks excitedly.

Robby tilts his neck casually and lets out a confident huff. "It feels… interesting."

Your eyes widen. "This is impressive. He moves exactly the same."

"Of course," Demetri says proudly. "We’ve created a perfect replica."

Miguel, who has been watching from the sidelines with his headphones on, steps closer with curiosity. "This looks like something out of a sci-fi movie."

"And the best part is, it’s not fiction," Hawk grins triumphantly.

Robby flexes his fingers and takes a stance. "If this is going to work, let’s start the fight."

Demetri and Hawk exchange glances and press another button. As soon as they do, the digital Axel attacks.

Robby barely manages to block the first strike. "Shit! He’s fast!"

"Told you!" Hawk exclaims. "Axel doesn’t give you room to breathe. His attacks are relentless."

You lean forward, excitement running through you. Watching Robby fight against an almost perfect version of Axel is mesmerizing. Even the subtlest details, like the way he moves or the way he tilts his head before throwing a kick, are identical.

Robby lands a hit, but immediately takes a counter to the ribs. "Ouch! This feels way too real."

"Should we lower the intensity?" Demetri asks, a little nervous.

"No!" Hawk shouts. "If Robby wants to win the Sekai Taikai, he needs to face the most realistic version of Axel possible."

But then, the laptop emits a warning beep. The screen flickers. Robby’s eyes glow strangely under the goggles.

Demetri pales. "Uh… that’s not good."

"What did you do?" Hawk asks.

"I don’t know! Maybe… we overloaded the system."

The digital "Axel" stops. Then, very slowly, he turns his head in your direction.

Your body tenses. "Oh, no."

"Uh…" Hawk swallows hard. "Maybe you should move."

But it’s too late. Robby—or rather, Axel’s AI—lunges at you with terrifying speed. Instinctively, you raise your arms to block the attack, but the difference in strength is obvious. You immediately step back, your mind racing for an escape.

"Shut it down!" Miguel shouts.

"I’m trying!" Demetri yells, slamming the keyboard.

You can’t wait for technology to fix this. You take a deep breath and decide to fight back. If the AI has perfectly copied Axel’s style, then you know exactly what to do.

You duck to avoid a punch and sweep your leg in a low kick, but "Axel" jumps effortlessly. Before you can react, he throws a spinning kick. You manage to block it with your forearms, though the impact makes you stumble.

Miguel jumps in to intervene, hitting Robby in the side to make him back off. "Shut it down now, Demetri!"

"I got it, I got it!" Demetri presses one final command, and suddenly, Robby freezes. A second later, he staggers back, ripping off the goggles and breathing heavily.

You sigh, shaking off your gi. "That was definitely… something."

Hawk laughs, adrenaline still rushing through his veins. "Come on, admit it—it was epic."

You glance around at everyone and, after a second, let out a laugh. "Miyagi-Do training has never been this interesting."

As Robby and Axel’s AI exchange blows, you feel a mix of excitement and nervousness at how real everything seems. Every move, every gesture… even that defiant look you know so well.

But then, something changes. The digital Axel’s gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, you feel like he’s analyzing you. Like he recognizes your presence beyond the simulation.

"Uh…" Hawk frowns. "Why is he looking like that?"

"I have no idea," Demetri types frantically. "This wasn’t programmed."

Before you can react, Axel’s AI moves with terrifying speed and stops right in front of you.

"This can’t be happening…" you murmur, heart pounding.

With a smooth motion, the digital Axel tilts his head and smirks, exactly like the real Axel would. His voice comes out with eerie precision.

"Knew you were here."

A shiver runs down your spine.

"Demetri?" you ask, not taking your eyes off the figure standing so close.

"I’m trying to shut it down!" he exclaims, nervous.

"Do it faster!" Hawk laughs tensely. "Though, I gotta admit, this is pretty badass."

The digital Axel steps even closer. The intensity in his gaze makes you feel strangely vulnerable, almost like he’s studying every detail of your expression.

"You know you can fight me, right?" his tone is low, challenging—almost teasing.

Your breath catches. This isn’t the real Axel, but the feeling is exactly the same.

"I don’t have to prove anything to you," you reply, a hint of defiance in your voice.

He smirks. "Then prove it."

[drumakun]

Since I can't post in ao3, and Idk wtf happened

Here's a fic I made (a song fic)

Hope y'all enjoy

ITHACA

Shadow Milk held his breath, exhaling slowly as he opened the doors in front of him. There stood a man by the balcony with long blonde hair, a flower crown, a long light blue and golden dress that matches the very heterochromatic eyes that he's been dying to see, a blue and yellow each in those beautiful eyes.

"Pure Vanilla..."

He called out to his wife, an endearing and loving tone, also filled with guilt after being apart for so long.

"Is it you? Have my prayers been answered?" Pure Vanilla trembled slightly with his hands on his chest.

"Is it really you standing there?..."

Pure Vanilla blinking.

"Or am I dreaming once more.."

As he walked slowly towards the man in blue. Close enough, Pure Vanilla brings a hand to cup Shadow Milk's face. Examining his features, and his expression.

"You look different..."

Pure Vanilla's thumb grazes over his cheek right under his eye, a visible dark spot

"Your eyes look tired..."

Pure Vanilla, not breaking contact, looks at him with eyes filled with woe.

"Your frame is lighter..."

Pure Vanilla's other hand caresses his cheek gently.

"Your smile torn..."

Pure Vanilla tilted his head slightly.

"Is it really you, my love?"

Shadow Milk shifted from where he stood, unable to even bring himself to avoid Pure Vanilla's gaze.

"I am not the man you fell in love with..."

Pure Vanilla's eyes widened.

"I am not the man you once adored..."

Pure Vanilla slowly lets go of Shadow Milk's face, looking at him with pity.

"I am not your kind and gentle husband"

Shadow Milk looks away from Pure Vanilla's gaze.

"And I am not the love you knew before..."

Pure Vanilla's expression, emotions circulating.

"Would you fall in love with me again if you knew all I've done?"

"The things I can't undo... I am not the man you knew! I know that you've been waiting... Waiting..."

"For love..."

Pure Vanilla's voice hitched as he calmed himself.

"What kinds of things did you do?"

Shadow Milk returned his gaze, somewhat murderous, as Pure Vanilla finds himself in a vision.

Bloodshed everywhere

"Left a trail of red on every island..."

Shadow Milk follows the path, Pure Vanilla's eyes following him.

"As I traded friends like objects I could use..."

Beasts and Ancients, heroes and villains, every cookie fell victim from Shadow Milk's arduous journey.

"Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands."

Shadow Milk trembling, looking at his bloody hands in shame.

"But all of that..."

Turning his gaze towards Pure Vanilla.

"Was to bring me back to you..."

Pure Vanilla's eyes were glistening. Returning them back to the bedroom from the vision.

"So tell me... Would you fall in love with me again? If you knew all I've done?"

Shadow Milk's hands clenching.

"The things I can't undo..."

Pure Vanilla's expression, now unreadable.

"I am not the man you knew..."

Pure Vanilla turned around, walking to where he once stood by the balcony.

"I know that you've been waiting... Waiting-"

"If that's true..."

Shadow Milk's eyes shifted his gaze towards Pure Vanilla, whose back was fully turned in front of him.

"Could you do me a favor? Just a moment of labor, that would bring me some peace..."

Shadow Milk, quite confused of a request by his wife, fully focused his attention on him. At least he should do this, to make his wife happy, after the long years they've parted.

"See that wedding bed?"

Shadow Milk turns his gaze at their bed, their union, their coupling. Their very foundation of love, but why would he ask about the bed-

"Could you carry it over?"

Shadow Milk's head instantly snaps his head to face Pure Vanilla again, face filled with dread.

Huh?

"Lift it high on your shoulders?"

What?

"And take it far away from here..."

The blonde wife turns around. Calm and collected is all what Shadow Milk sees, making him clench his jaw in frustration.

"How could you say this?..."

Shadow Milk asked, voice filled with dejection.

"I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat..."

Shadow Milk walks toward the bed, eyes focused with affection as he recalls their beloved memories.

"Carved it into the silver tree where we first met..."

Shadow Milk still focused, didn't notice Pure Vanilla's small smile as he observed him.

"A symbol of our love everlasting.."

Eyes now turned with frustration and rage as he slammed his fists on the foot board, his hair fizzing and bubbling.

"Do you realize what you have asked me?!"

His gaze shifting to Pure Vanilla.

"The only way to move it..."

As he stormed towards Pure Vanilla's line of sight.

"Is to cut it from its roots!"

Pure Vanilla smirks.

"Only my husband knew that!"

Closing the distance between them as he jabs a finger to Shadow Milk's chest.

"So I guess that makes him you!"

His anger, gone as the breezy wind, as he looked at Pure Vanilla. His eyes shifted, sadly.

"Pure Vanilla..."

Pure Vanilla took a deep breath, tears spilled and dripping, as he exhaled slowly. With eyebrows furrowed with pain, looking at Shadow Milk.

"I will fall in love with you..."

Pure Vanilla shaking his head at the thought of losing Shadow Milk.

"Over and over again..."

Shadow Milk looks at Pure Vanilla with teary eyes.

"I don't care how, where or when!"

Pure Vanilla's voice raised in a high pitch, almost breaking.

"No matter how long it's been..."

Pure Vanilla, then, pulls him by his cloak, dangerously close to his face as Shadow Milk can see Pure Vanilla's face up close, filled with a teary fury.

"You're MINE!"

Pure Vanilla trembled, lips quivering.

"Don't tell me you're not the same person! You're always my husband and I've been waiting... Waiting..."

"Pure Vanilla-"

Pure Vanilla falls to the ground, his legs failing to support him from his outburst, his hands still clutching onto Shadow Milk's cloak.

"Waiting... Waiting!...."

"Pure Vanilla!-"

Shadow Milk kneels to comfort his wife, their feelings spiraling. Hugging his wife tightly.

"Waiting!... Waiting...Oh...!"

Pure Vanilla looks up to see and meets his husband with teary eyes, being cupped by the blue man to stop the tears from spilling.

"For...."

Pure Vanilla leans to Shadow Milk's touch as they can feel each other's breath.

"You..."

They both dove in for the kiss and unity they desperately wanted from each other for so long. The kiss lasted at least a good ten minutes as they looked at each other again and embraced one another. Tears shedding like waterfall, hugging each other tightly, as it is a joyous day for one another.

"How long... Has it been?"

Shadow Milk looks below to meet his wife's eyes, as they were both laying in bed, smiling at each other, as they embrace each other's company.

"500 years...."

He smiled as Shadow Milk reciprocated the expression.

"I...."

"I...."

Tears still falling from each other's faces.

"Love...."

"Love...."

As their foreheads touched, warmth enveloping.

"You...."

"You...."

[thebatmanwhoblogs]

Isn’t this a tasty little morsel of pain and agony.

Yapping and comic details under the cut.

I don’t know how I feel about the whole “Jason always had a problem with violence” direction, but I’ve only just finished issue one, so maybe I’m jumping the gun. Most of my Red Hood knowledge is based on his appearances in the Detective Comics and Batman, so it’s admittedly limited. (And fandom, but I knew going in that fandom likes to take canon and run with it)

I know during his Robin days, especially leading up to his death, he was experiencing disillusionment regarding villains and the reality that they weren’t truly stopping them from coming back to commit more crimes. And maybe in some way, his fall out with Bruce was always going to hinge on that point. But I have a lot of thoughts about his (violent) death would obviously push him to the extreme end of that spectrum, and I think planting the idea that he was already in the habit of pushing things too far makes it seem. I don’t know. Like Bruce is in some way excused from fumbling the ball, or that Jason was always on the path to becoming an anti-hero. I don’t know if I like it more or less if it’s more of a (literary) tragedy, wherein he was doomed to his fate by virtue of wanting things to be Better.

Also maybe some ✨unreliable narration✨ happening, so.

I don’t know! I’m not very good at organizing my thoughts when it comes to stuff like this. Give Jason a fucking hug.

I originally started reading the New 52 Red Hood and the Outlaws, but the IMMEDIATE blatant sexism Starfire’s fucking awful characterization was enough to turn me right back around. Someone on Reddit said it only gets worse, so Rebirth it is!

Apparently Scott Lobdell has written both, so we’ll fucking see. (Thin fucking ice, pal. 🤨)

Red Hood and the Outlaws: Rebirth (2016-) Issue #1

Writer: Scott Lobdell

Pencils/ink: Dexter Soy

[rawliverandgoronspice]

re: sympathetic ganondorf vs evil for evil’s sake ganondorf, i think this is misrepresenting and underselling what’s actually offputting to people

“i’m evil because i’m evil” or “i’m evil because demise is evil” and the associated lust for power simply for its own sake has always been lame and low effort. there’s a reason it’s “shit tier” on the classic “villain motive tiers” thing

“i’m evil but there’s enough nuance to make the player at least somewhat sympathetic to me even if i’m still ultimately a bad guy” is a good thing that people like? i’ve never personally interacted with a zelda player who thinks windwaker ganondorf ruined the character or anything - he’s generally regarded as the gold standard of villain writing both in and out of zelda. this is roughly “high tier” on the tier chart

“actually TWIST i’m not evil at all, it’s the good guys who were evil all along, i’ve done nothing wrong and i’m completely justified in my righteous quest against the status quo, you’re the real secret true villain for being complicit in preserving it” is technically regarded as “elder god tier” on the motive tier chart but i would personally label it as “oscar bait tier”. these things *can* be compelling in conversation with the existing landscape, but often it comes across as a deliberate effort to subvert the audience’s expectations for the sake of being unpredictable (or worse, for the sake of proving you’re the smartest one in the room). in separate works where this conversation/critique is the entire point (eg. Watchmen or The Boys), that’s not necessarily a bad thing, and the audience sets their expectations accordingly. in an established, long-running franchise, however, this almost always reads as dripping with contempt for the audience, like walking into a room and going “you morons like this shit? let me, a person much smarter than you, explain what it’s Actually about, because you’re an idiot if you’ve been a fan of this series before now”

on top of that, in the context of a series like zelda, this type of story feels myopic and disrespectful to the future of the series. “welp i burned down the 20+ years of lore behind this character so i could do a deconstruction, good luck using them in any capacity in the future, sounds like a you problem”

all this is to say, i think it’s a bit disingenuous/strawman-y to suggest that people put off by this want ganondorf to have 0 depth at all. there’s a lot of room for different kinds of depth, it’s just that the trend of the last decade has been for “depth” to mean “condescending deconstruction”

Hey!

Thanks for taking the time to write this ask, I think it warrants an interesting conversation. To me, there's like, a lot of things about what you're saying, and tbh I do see where you're coming from --in part.

First thing first... No yeah unfortunately some people Are hostile to even WW Ganondorf. It's been a rising trend in the fandom since TotK was released --people being very against the concept of any additional complexity to the character, either not getting it or considering anything he says pure manipulation that doesn't even warrant a conversation, literally making fun of people who were intrigued by this and wanting more out of this particular thread. This position not only absolutely exists within the fandom --less so on tumblr, I'll agree there-- but it's not even hard to stumble upon as a pretty regular opinion that gets tossed around. I had some interesting asks thrown my way, let's say. The idea that Ganondorf is a remotely interesting character that deserves more thought than what he gets is very much Extremely not the norm, and the very fact that you, as a fan, likes him as a guy is perceived as weird and missing the point by a lot of people. Like a lot a lot of people.

So I'll just... I guess I haven't clarified my position in a while, so I will reclarify my position on our favorite evil dude: I do like him perfectly fine as a villain, I do not want him to be "redeemed" by the narrative, I think he works fantastically as an ongoing threat, I think they could make him even scarier and more offputting and that would be super fun and thrilling... and I also think he already is complex. Like, inherently. Everything Nintendo has been putting into him since his first appearance is complicated --even their attempts at flattening him back in TotK do not fully work because they can't scrub him of the extremely loaded ideas they injected into him from the get-go. Nobody forced Nintendo to do a Mega Orientalism when inventing him, nobody made them write the NPCs to have this super weird antagonistic relationship to the gerudos in OoT, nobody made them have all this lore of the one man born every hundred years, raised by twin witches --and then nobody made them press on that tension point in Wind Waker explicitely, and then, in a more subtle fashion, in TP too. Nobody forced their hand when it came to having the strange "round ear" situation, suggesting (confirmed even, in additional canon) gerudos are born unblessed. The fact of the matter is: everything to make the relationship between Hyrule and the gerudos complicated has been there since 1998. There's no need for a Switcharoo to prove that anyone is smarter than the audience: everything messy has always been baked within the worldbuilding itself. It's in the cartridges already!!

Perspective on it is what could change, though --because, except in Wind Waker, we never get even a hint of a sense that we should think, as an audience, that Hyrule's super weird relationship to the gerudos is maybe questionable. Worth thinking about at least. Which, given the optics, is wild to me that to bring this particular can of worms up is still very largely considered crazy talk within the fandom (that, or the Sheikah situation across the series, also insane in many ways). And yes, it would perhaps lead to themes that are a bit heavier than what Zelda has been overtly dealing with (though, again, Majora's Mask exists --and I do find a lot of unpacked ideas in the Wild Era, like the very unquestionned gerudo bridal pipeline, very uhhh unfortunate already if I'm being honest --even moreso because it is unquestioned). But Zelda, when well handled narratively, can do wonderful things with evocative subtext, open doors never fully crossed, a lynchian pressure on what should feel offputting. We don't even need a sad monologue about it. It doesn't even need to be handled explicitely. But I think the pressure point is just better when understood and incorporated in some form, instead of being denied so hard the world itself start to feel incomplete and unlived.

I do want to say... I get what you mean with the whole "oscar bait" thing. There has been, historically and in recent years, a tendency to be driven by an external, almost panicked sense of morality rather than by the internal drive of a story, its internal thematic logic. I also do think it can feel very corporate, very "Disney looking back at its own movies and scrubbing off everything Buzzfeed deemed problematic in 2014 while making everything glossy and lifeless and awful" and it's not that great!!! and tbh I can't say I would trust Nintendo to handle any appreciation for the fact that the story of an eternal golden kingdom cheering on beating the evil outsiders who want to corrupt everything good and pure and blonde about that perfect inherently good place, is like, extremely not neutral. It absolutely is a delicate thread to weave, and I agree that putting a definitive end to Hyrule is probably not the smartest IP move to do. But, Hyrule doesn't have to be condemned as Bad, it can be merely complicated. And ongoing, regardless. To keep on with the Disney parallel: The Lion King would feel weird if we started to peel off the internal politics of the hyenas, it's just not the right place for it, when everything about this story revolves around the Righteousness of the Divine Right to Rule. But if the Lion King was an ongoing series that had been looping on itself for a while... wouldn't it make sense to figure out how to achieve majesty by studying other angles too, eventually? Is it that strange to suggest the exercise is like, possible? That it can be handled with artistry and soul?

I feel like... Yes, to acknowledge Ganondorf's humanity --not even to coddle it, just to acknowledge it-- implies taking in everything that makes him who he is, and that might rattle some foundational ideas about why this ancestral fight is even happening in the first place. I also do not think it means that he must be Good now. He can still punch a child and cackle maniacally, he can still be unredeemable --he can still destroy himself and others out of the most unconstructive spite ever, and we can still see the purpose in defeating him while basking in the "yea....." left in his wake (Wind Waker did that!!! Wind Waker did that and then we had more Zelda games!! crazy how that happened). This is hardly undoable. It does take some narrative skill, and some commitment to taking a bit of a risk, but Ganondorf is genuinely unmanageable as a character if you insist on your refusal to acknowledge his foundations --and I think it's partially why TotK's story is such a mess. He sells a TON, but you can't have him breathe slightly too loud without risking the entire world falling apart. They did try in TotK, so very hard, and to me they still failed--as insane as he behaves, Hyrule still doesn't come out of this looking good or particularly justified, because the very central core of Ganondorf's character is to be subjugated, and then rebelling in a destructive and brutally selfish, uncompromising manner that ends up robbing him of humanity --and the discomfort of that premise will therefore always haunt the conversation. Nintendo dug themselves into that mess. I feel like a lot of the Ganondorf fans I know merely... point at that. At the mess. And I feel like the longer the games avoid this mess, the more coats of spinach green they slather ontop of his skin, and the more nonsensical characterization they pile up, and the more Ganondorf will become a parody of who he once was, and what made him compelling to begin with.

And to top it all off, as if he wasn't contentious and complicated enough to handle already, they leaned into the internet turning him into a sex symbol for some fucking reason??? Yeah I genuinely have no idea how Nintendo will manage this dude moving forward, because to me, he is, at best, an endless source of (very lucrative) headaches, and at worst a ticking time bomb. I'm not sure how long they can get away with that TotKification strategy, is what I mean.

(Also: I tried to not overdwell on all the incredibly complicated conversation re: race and orientalism, but it's borderline impossible to have this conversation without acknowledging that I have never seen a major pop culture villain receive more pushback against "woobification" than him, and I don't think it's a complete coincidence let's say :) )

[hheartsdramas]

i am seeing so many beautiful gifs of love of divine tree on my dash and i’m only on eps 4/5/6. when do they kissssssss

so at this moment: su yu likes mu qingge. mu qingge’s sister likes su yu. mu qingge likes su yishui. su yishui doesn’t like anybody except his sister? so this gonna get messy.

girl tricking him like that was low but also i’m cackling with glee

omg her criteria for disciples is other people think they’re losers but she thinks they’re cool, i love that

mqg be like “if not lover boy why lover boy shaped”

“were you worried about me?” absolutely definitely not at all worried nope no ma’am the man is very unworried totally chill

the way he freezes up for a second every time she’s nice to him! or thinks about him as something other than trash or a tool! like he short circuits for a second because he’s not wired to understand it (which he’s definitely not because trauma brain)

what is this wine in xianxia that makes the lightweights pass out immediately and where can i get some (i’m a light sleeper)

lol this is a date, right? she took him down the mountain for a date and even got him to SMILE

and then she ruins it by telling him she’s trolling for more hot guys to add to her collection HA

is wei jiu’s villain origin story seriously because she didn’t think he was hot enough lolllll

why you just unquestioningly drink tea offered to you by a clearly evil masked man, bro

see i knew that was a bad idea

ngl I don’t love her invading his mind/memories like that but it’s probably necessary because left to his own devices this man won’t tell anybody anything ever

i very rarely can get on board with miscommunication/secret keeping tropes but they’ve given such good in world reasons for it here that it’s working for me.

[deadhands69]

⁵¹⁾ “argh- you’re freezing!” and ⁷⁶⁾ “you started it!” for the three word prompts!!

Don't Fall in Love With Me

Tomua Shigaraki x reader

Thanks for the prompt request Kisa! Here's 51: “argh- you’re freezing!” [prompt from this list of three word prompts, feel free to send requests and I'll be working on them in the evenings over the next few weeks!] fluffy fluff no real tws other than cussing. gn reader. occurs at some point in the LOV drifter phase.

The long trudge back to the league of villains hideout cave is always difficult when you're tired, but with the torrential downpour this evening, it's an absolute nightmare. You and your boss/mission partner for the evening, Tomura Shigaraki, have already had to stray from the road multiple times to find higher ground in an effort to make your way around the flooded portions of road. It’s slowed you down considerably. You haven’t even made it to the turnoff into the forest yet. If you were to guess, it’s another 5 kilometers at least and most of that is slightly uphill, through the thick brush and slippery rocks. On top of that, your waterlogged clothing is weighing you down.

“I don't know if we'll make it all the way back tonight,” you shout over the thunder and rain. “Maybe we should stop somewhere!”

“Yeah,” Tomura yells back. 

Finding a place to sleep in this forest wouldn’t be hard. The area is filled with cabins. They're typically vacant most times of the year, waiting for someone on vacation to rent them. Given the storm, you doubt many are filled tonight. This isn’t exactly a tourist destination right now.

Coming to a massive puddle in the gravel road, you tiptoe around the edge but it doesn’t make a difference. Your already drenched shoe slides through thick mud into the water with a splash. You shake your foot off the best you can but it remains heavy, toes squishing around your soggy socks. Tomura appears to be having the same luck, his clothes are so wet they’re sticking to his skin. He doesn’t even bother to avoid the puddle.

Your teeth chatter as you shiver uncontrollably. Every step you take is shaky. You clench your jaw but it only makes your cheek sore. The cold hurts through your bones.

A driveway cuts to the right of you. Down the dark bit of road, you make out a cabin. A small one. No cars parked in front, no lights on either. It looks promising.

Without saying a word, the two of you turn in unison and make your way to the shelter. Once you’re close enough to see that it’s vacant, you pick up the pace. Practically running up a set of stairs, yet you remain quiet out of habit.

It’s locked; of course it’s locked. You glance at Tomura’s face and you know that expression. It’s one you’ve seen him wear many times and you can read him pretty well at this point.

“Don’t,” you whisper, knowing it wouldn’t make much of a difference if he did destroy one doorknob but it’s probably best to avoid leaving a trail of crumbs leading to the hideout if you’re planning on staying there for very long. “We can find another way in,” you jump down the stairs and walk around the corner to a window just barely out of reach. Climbing up the side of an adjacent tree, you reach out to the window and give it a push.

It moves.

Since they’re rentals, no one ever bothers to check if every window is locked when they leave. Nor do the maid services get paid enough to care. This works out well for you though.

You straddle a tree branch, feet slipping slightly against the wet bark below you. It doesn’t help that your toes are numb. Your hands both move to grip the window frame and you press the sash up. You manage to open a you-sized gap. Holding the sill tightly, you swing a foot back against the tree trunk and push yourself in. Once your first half goes, you basically summersault through with your legs flinging awkwardly onto the floor. It’s not pretty, but it gets you inside. You’re about to run to the door to let Tomura in when he stumbles through another window, much the same way you did. The two of you make eye contact from across the room, breaking it quickly - like you always do.

The cabin is one big open room with a ladder leading to a loft. For the sake of the plumbing, the heating is almost always left on in these but never as high as you’d prefer. You twist the thermostat knob and wait for the warm air to circulate through the space. Nothing happens. When you flick a light switch on and are met with the same lack of response, you realize why: the storm must have taken the power out.

At least you aren’t outside in the rain anymore.

Taking off your shoes, socks, and jacket, you leave them to dry on the back of a chair. They’re dripping and leaving puddles all over the floor so you don’t expect them to dry much, but hope they’re at least a little less heavy by the morning. 

Tomura is bolder than you, stripping down to his underwear immediately. Still frozen, a heat rises in your face and neck. He’s not someone who likes to show off, he’s just practical. You’ve only seen him with his shirt off once. Both times now, you’ve struggled to keep your eyes from locking onto him. You find yourself wanting to memorize ever line of his body. His abs. His chest. His back. The way the muscles above his hips slide in a v into the little fabric left covering him. You peel your eyes away, trying to focus on anything else. He's your boss and your best friend. These aren't thoughts you can allow yourself to have.

“You’re not sleeping in that,” he says gesturing to the wet clothes still hanging off you. “If we’re going to huddle for warmth, you can’t be drenched. It doesn't work that way,” he states plainly.

Up to this moment, you hadn’t considered that. The cold overtook your senses earlier, making it hard to think of anything else. Now that it’s mentioned, the prospect of him keeping you warm all night sets butterflies free in your stomach. Swallowing hard, you do your best to contain your excitement. It’s not about that. This is just the most logical way to handle coming in from a storm into a power outage. He's being normal about it, you should too.

You take off the top layers of your clothes, leaving on your undergarments. Heading to the bathroom, you grab a towel to dry off as much as you can before wrapping it around you and bringing one out to him. He dries himself while you work out how to climb the ladder to the loft without losing your towel. It’s not easy, but you manage.

Leaving the damp towel on the floor, you climb into the bed quickly. Your underwear leave wet splotches on the blanket but you’re already warming up a bit. Toes painfully regaining feeling. 

With a few creaks, Tomura makes his way up the loft to the bed by your side. Your heart leaps as he slides in beside you. Initially. Then, the human equivalent of an icicle jostles into you. Every muscle in your body tenses as you recoil. “argh- you’re freezing!” you exclaim as Tomura’s ice cold body presses into yours, following you across the bed. You didn’t know it was possible for a living human to be so cold. 

“Are you a black hole or something? You’re seriously sucking all the heat out of the bed.”

“I am not.”

“You are too! Seriously,” you continue, “you’re colder than they’re keeping Walt Disney’s corpse.”

“Then stop being an asshole and warm me up,” he grumbles, scooting in closer to you. Begrudgingly, you do. 

This isn’t what you expected when you thought about keeping each other warm all night. You assumed the plan involved you being warmed as well and maybe things heating up in other ways too, but it’s what you can do to survive the night. You reluctantly pull your arms from your chest, inviting him into your small bubble of body heat. He rests his face against your neck, wrapping his arms around you. It feels almost too natural, too easy. Both of you sense it. You try to think of something to say to relieve the tension in the situation before you let your mind take things too far. 

“Don’t fall in love with me,” he whispers in your ear, in the grey area way you always tease each other without knowing if you’re flirting or just making a joke. You don’t miss the way his lips graze the shell of your ear, holding back a shudder.

“You don't have to worry about that. You’re obnoxious,” you quip back, but there’s no bite in your voice. “Besides, what would I do about it anyways? If I kissed you tonight, my lips would get stuck to yours like licking a frozen pole.”

“Ughhh, you’re the worst,” he grumbles into you, burying his nose further into the crook of your neck. 

The two of you can’t have been asleep for more than a few hours when the rain slows and the wind stops whistling through the roof. You wake up to the lights flickering back on and find yourself half jumping out of bed in shock before remembering that you forgot to switch them off when you realized the power was out. Tomura grumbles against your chest, pulling you back down to him. 

“You’re making it cold,” he moans, “stop it.”

His head had been fully under the blanket so he wouldn’t have realized the lights came on at all. He still doesn’t care, pulling you closer with closed fists. 

You notice how he wraps his thumbs over the top of his middle fingers to keep them in while sleeping. It’s something you probably should have asked about before spending the evening curled up in the arms of someone with a decay quirk, had you been more concerned with your safety. But the cold and your crush on him clouded your senses and made it too hard to think straight. It’s probably fine anyways, you think. He’s moved the same blankets between hideouts since you met him and he hasn’t decayed them yet. 

“Just a second,” you will yourself to get out of bed. The cold air stings your still damp skin as you rush to the nearest switch adjacent to the foot of the bed. You hear the heaters kick on but it only makes the chill worse, circulating unheated air around the space. 

Fortunately, the switch works and you don’t have to climb all the way down the ladder to turn off the lights.

“Come back,” he mumbles at you from under the sheets. 

“Pretty needy now that your personal heater left, huh?” you retort. He only groans at you.

You slide deeper into the bed when you return, taking in the heat you can get. He’s warmed up a lot, or maybe it just feels that way in comparison to the near freezing temperature of the room. Hands still in fists, Tomuras knuckles lightly graze your spine, making their way to the small of your back before stopping. A shiver runs through you, and not from the cold. You pull him closer, wrapping your own hands over his ribs. Feeling where the skin gently stretches over bones. He sighs, falling back asleep.

When you wake up again, it’s morning. Birds are chirping, the warmed air is tolerable, and light begins to make its way through the windows downstairs. 

“We should go,” you whisper softly, barely waking him.

“‘s fine,”he mumbles, adjusting his hold on your back. “The road’s too flooded for any cars to get through. We’re safe in here.” 

He holds you close, even with the heating system back on. At this point, it’s a choice.  You settle back into the bed. Moving a strand of his hair from his face, you find yourself staring at his sleeping face. He looks so peaceful like this. Stirring slightly, he looks up at you grogilly before moving in closer. His eyes fall closed again.

The tip of his nose is cold as it slides along yours. He pauses. His lips hover, as if he’s waiting for any indication you’re on board with this. 

You are. 

Sliding your hand up his neck into his still damp hair, you gently lean into him. Your lips dance over his, softly. Neither of you rush for more, happy to stay in this moment for as long as you can have it. It’s dizzying and exciting and somehow still feels completely normal. Like this is just what was supposed to happen. 

When you break apart for air, his cheek comes to rest on your forehead. Everything about him is softer up close and you wish you could stay here forever.

The world resumes outside. Trees rustle in the wind. You’re absolutely certain at least one league member is worried sick about the two of you having not returned yet. But none of that matters right now. Not the muddy trails you’ll stumble your way up later in the day or the jokes you’ll make trying to pretend you haven’t been in love with each other for months. 

Right now, all you can bring yourself to care about is between these sheets and wrapped around you. You can worry about the rest of it later.

masterlist

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 24) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Chapter 24

Your phone is buzzing in your pocket, but you ignore it. You’ve set special ringtones for the important people, to let you know exactly who’s calling, and everybody important knows to call you rather than text if it’s urgent. Even if there was a phone call, you’d think twice about answering it today. The last quirk was transplanted into Tomura three weeks ago, and he’s been in stasis ever since. And this morning when you arrived at Jaku hospital to work on the bullets, the doctor informed you that he’s ready to wake Tomura up.

The doctor is anxious about it — he’s referred to Tomura more than once as his greatest achievement, his magnum opus — but you’re terrified. The instant Tomura opens his eyes, the clock will begin to tick, counting down the hours or minutes or seconds until the doctor realizes that the body theft he and All For One were trying to pull off didn’t work, or worked by half, or something. You’re not sure exactly how much the personality imprint of a copied quirk is reduced by. All you know is that if the doctor was confident that giving you a copy of Overhaul’s quirk wouldn’t influence your personality the same as the original, you can be confident that the same is true for a copy of All For One.

“Let’s review the procedure again,” the doctor says, and you nod, even though you’ve reviewed it twice already. “I will pass electric current through the fluid in the capsule, which will revive Shigaraki. After that, the fluid will drain from the capsule, the walls will retract, and he will be accessible to us. He is likely to be disoriented when he wakes, which means that the task of removing his rebreathing mask will fall to you rather than me. He’s less likely to kill you.”

You nod. “After he awakens and the mask has been removed, we’ll review the procedures he’s undergone and proceed to testing the efficacy of his new quirks,” the doctor continues. “Then the two of you may return to the Paranormal Liberation Front and begin the work of destroying this hero-saturated society.”

You nod again. The doctor studies you. “This is a great accomplishment, you know. You should be proud of the part you played in it.”

One part of it. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, then.” The doctor lifts the phone he’s been using to monitor the capsule and Tomura’s vitals, swipes past a few screens, and enters a command. “Wake up, Shigaraki Tomura!”

Of course he’d choose right now to act like a mad scientist. You catch yourself just in time to avoid rolling your eyes; you aren’t wearing your veil right now, and it’s not the kind of thing you want to get caught doing. At the doctor’s command, electricity charges the fluid inside the capsule, and Tomura’s body jerks, hands clenched into fists and back thrown into an impossible arch. It looks agonizing. It looks too much like he’s looked during the torture sessions of the last few months, even before his eyes open. The doctor enters another command, and the fluid levels begin to drop, followed by the walls of the capsule retracting. Tomura tries to get his feet under him as the fluid drains, but his legs give out, and he pitches sideways. You race forward to catch him, getting there just in time. “Tomura –”

He seizes you in an iron grip and holds on tight. He was strong before, but you were keeping track of each strength quirk as they were transplanted into him, and you know that there’s no breaking out of his hold if he doesn’t want to let you go. His shoulders are heaving. He’s trying to breathe, but the mask won’t allow it. You have one arm free, and you reach up behind his head, undoing the clasps holding it in place. It falls away, and Tomura sucks down one ragged breath, then another.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Is it over?”

“The transplantation of quirks is over, my liege,” the doctor says. Tomura’s shoulders stiffen. “Your reign over this world is just beginning.”

Tomura draws back slightly, looks up at you. He looks weirded out, and it gets worse as the doctor comes closer. “How do you feel, Shigaraki?”

“Cold.” Tomura sinks back against you. He’s shivering.

“That’s to be expected. Saintess will get you cleaned up.” The doctor gives you a meaningful look. “Hurry. There’s much to do.”

You set out towels and clean clothes beforehand, but when you try to get to them, Tomura won’t let you go. “Don’t,” he says. “I feel — weird. What happened?”

“You’ve been in stasis for three weeks, my liege. Some adjustment is required.” The doctor’s being a hell of a lot nicer to Tomura than he’s been in the past, probably because he doesn’t think Tomura is Tomura anymore. “You can let go of Saintess. Her loyalty to you is absolute. There’s no question that she’ll return to you.”

Tomura loosens his grip on you reluctantly, and only long enough for you to pick up the towels and wrap one around his shoulders. His teeth are chattering as he pulls the towel tight, and you hurry to drape another one over his head. The doctor comes closer, opens his mouth, and Tomura speaks up without looking at him. “Leave.”

“My liege?”

“You have other things to do, don’t you? You promised me Nomus.”

“Of course,” the doctor says, scrambling. “I have several completed. Let me retrieve them.”

“Now.”

“Yes, my liege.” The doctor scurries off. As soon as he vanishes around the corner, Tomura kisses you.

It’s not a great kiss. The fluid he was submerged in during stasis tastes terrible, and drops of it have run down his face from his hair. His lips are cracked from three weeks of recycled air moving over them, splitting with the slightest pressure of his mouth against yours, and he’s shivering so badly that you’re at constant risk of catching a bite. Even so, it’s him. He’s awake, and for the first time in months, he’s not in agony — and he’s not angry with you for helping the doctor. Your eyes well up and you squeeze them shut. You don’t want to cry because you’re happy. He won’t understand.

But the person kissing you was someone else before he was Shigaraki Tomura, and he used to cry all the time. Tenko draws back, grinning that too-wide grin. “It worked,” he says, and you nod. “Do you want to kill him, or should I?”

A laugh startles out of you. “That was fast.”

“He wants stuff. I don’t give a shit about it.” Tenko doesn’t look like he gives a shit about much of anything at the moment. He’s wiping tears off your face with the corner of a towel. “We don’t need him anymore. We can do whatever we want to do. What do you want to do first?”

Now that you know he’s okay, that he’s still himself, what you really want is to curl up with him and take a nap. You can’t remember the last time you slept well. But there’s something you need to tell Tenko first, something important. “I did something,” you say.

“Overhaul’s bullets. You told me about those.” Tenko’s still grinning. “He had to torture a kid to make them and you figured it out on your own. How many did you get?”

“Lots,” you say, “but that’s not what I mean. I, um –”

“What?” Tenko looks a little closer at you, his brow furrowing. “What happened?”

You have to get this out fast, and you have to do it before the doctor gets back. “It’s about the quirk. All For One,” you say. “I –”

“My liege!” The doctor’s back, and you shut your mouth, shake your head when Tomura tells you keep talking. “I have six High End Nomus ready for your use. I’ve keyed them to your voice already, but a field test would be in order.”

You know about the High Ends. A few times the doctor’s left you in charge of supervising them post-transplant, and you hate it. No matter how many times someone reminds you that you aren’t quirkless anymore, you’re still acutely aware of the difference in power between yourself and everyone else — and it’s never more apparent than when you’re dealing with the High Ends. Tomura is nodding along to the idea of a field test, but once it’s tested, he floats an idea that makes the doctor’s jaw drop. “I want them to answer to the rest of the League, too.”

“What?”

“If they only answer to me, and some hero shuts me up, then we’re in trouble.” Tomura is squeezing stasis fluid out of his hair. He seems surprised by how long it’s gotten. “The League fights as a team. If one of us is out of commission, the rest need to be able to step in. Start with her.”

He gestures at you, and the doctor’s eyes narrow. “My authority over them has ceded to you, my liege. If you’d like the Nomu to answer to Saintess, give them the order.”

“You answer to me,” Tomura says to the Nomu. They nod. “Now you answer to her, too.”

He points at you. “You’ll need to use her name,” the doctor says. Tomura says your name. It feels odd to hear. It’s been a long time since someone used it. “There. Saintess, give an order.”

“Um –” You think about ordering them to kill the doctor, then chicken out. “Uh, say something.”

“Something,” they say in unison, and Tomura snorts.

He looks to the doctor next. “Bring the rest of the League here. Does that Nomu with the Warp quirk answer to me now, too?”

“Yes,” the doctor says, “but you shouldn’t need it. You were given a copy of the Warp quirk as well.”

Tomura glances at you, grins, and it kicks off a feeling you remember from forever ago. You aren’t proud a lot, and when you are, it’s not usually of yourself. But you were always proud when you came up with the perfect twist for one of yours and Tenko’s games, proud when you made him laugh, proud when the story you were telling let you save him and he was just as enthusiastic as he was all the times he got to save you. You did something right. You helped him. You get to be proud.

“Okay,” he says, “how do I do it?”

That’s your job, too. You scurry to his side, resolutely ignoring your phone buzzing in your pocket, bringing with you the binder where you’ve accumulated the fact sheets and diagrams for every quirk Tomura received. Warp lets Tomura bring people from a fixed point to his own location, and it requires a certain familiarity with the people in question. Something occurs to you as Tomura’s extending one hand, turning it this way and that. “Should we warn them?”

“No,” Tomura says. He’s smirking now. “They could use a surprise.”

The smirk fades and his brow furrows as he tries to activate the quirk, and you’re so busy watching him, reveling in the fact that he’s alive, that he’s awake, that he’s on his feet and not in pain and happy, that you don’t notice the doctor sneaking up on you. He taps your shoulder, scaring the hell out of you, then motions for you to lean down so he can speak in your ear. “Something has gone wrong.”

“He seems okay.” You play dumb for all you’re worth. “I know we haven’t tested all the quirks yet, but don’t you think –”

“He’s not taking this seriously. These are the actions of a child, not of the next All For One.”

You feel a surge of triumph. It worked. The doctor was expecting someone else when Tomura awoke. He was expecting All For One, and instead of inhabiting Tomura’s body, All For One is locked in a cell in Tartarus where he belongs. The doctor looks frustrated. Confused. What is he confused about? The only person who could have fucked things up this badly is the only other person who’s had access to the quirk database, to Tomura. Does he think you’re not capable of something like this? You’re more than a little concerned to realize that you feel insulted.

The doctor is pacing, musing to himself. “Perhaps he was deprived of oxygen at some point during the process. Prior to the transplantation of Super-Regeneration — but after All For One was transplanted. Or else I miscalculated the neural load of the quirks. If I had made such a mistake, then there would be evidence in the form of misapplied quirks, and — Shigaraki Tomura, how are you finding Warp?”

“It’s fine,” Tomura says, unconcerned. Five puddles of warp sludge are appearing in midair, hovering before him.

As you watch, the members of the League appear, coughing and gagging as they try to clear the sludge. None of them are facing in the right direction. Compress is wearing pajamas, and not wearing his mask. Toga’s hair is messy and so is Spinner’s, and Twice has the sleep version of his mask on, the one that leaves his mouth and nose uncovered. Tomura looks puzzled. “What time is it?”

“Uh –” You pull out your phone to check and see that your screen is covered in notifications from Mitsuko and Ryuhei. “It’s two am. Everybody must have been asleep.”

Asleep, or in a uniquely terrible situation to be warped out of — Dabi appears last, and appears naked. Tomura takes one look at him and starts wheezing with laughter. “What the fuck?” Dabi demands, and turns around. The fury evaporates into confusion at high speed. “What the hell?”

Tomura throws one of the used towels at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground as the other League members turn to face Tomura as well, and eyes wide and jaws dropped. “Boss?” Twice ventures.

“I got the quirks,” Tomura says, and grins.

Out of everyone, Toga recovers the fastest. “Which quirks did you get, Tomura-kun? Let’s see!”

“You already know which ones,” Tomura says, but you can tell he’s excited to show off a little. “I got — let’s see –”

He crouches, then jumps upwards with enough force to shake the entire room, vanishing for the ceiling at high speed. You hear a muffled curse, and he drops back down hard enough to leave a crater in the floor. There’s a scrape on his head that vanishes a split second after you see it. “Air Walk and Super-Regeneration. That’s two.”

Spinner sidesteps Toga and Twice, headed straight for you. “What’s wrong with him?” he asks. “He’s, like — hyped.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” you say. “This is what he’s like.”

Spinner gives you a weird look. “Then what did you mean when you said –”

Your phone rings with Re-Destro’s ringtone, and you give Spinner an apologetic look before answering it. Re-Destro is already talking when you raise the phone to your ear. “— half the high command disappearing from their beds in the middle of the night is highly concerning no matter whose orders it occurs under! If the Grand Commander requires protection, why did you not summon –”

“Nothing’s gone wrong,” you say, cutting Re-Destro off. “Tomura’s awake.”

“Oh!” Re-Destro’s voice brightens up to an almost ridiculous degree. You hear him announce the news to someone nearby, and then his voice is right back in your ear. “When will he return?”

“We’re running tests to confirm that the quirks are all working properly. Then we’ll be back,” you say. “It shouldn’t be long.”

Re-Destro starts hemming and hawing about how he needs a more accurate deadline if you expect him to put together a proper reception for the Grand Commander’s return, and you cut him off as politely as possible, with mixed results. “I want to talk to the Grand Commander,” Re-Destro says. “Put him on the phone.”

You glance around for Tomura — Tomura won’t feel an ounce of guilt for hanging up on Re-Destro — but he’s nowhere to be found. Then an arm wraps around your waist from behind, and Tomura pulls you back against his chest as he lifts the phone out of your grasp with his other hand. “I’ll be back when I’m done,” he says, and you can hear Re-Destro stammering. “I want to eat something and I want a nap.”

That sounds perfect to you. You lean against him and listening to Re-Destro tripping over himself to order someone to change the sheets on Tomura’s bed. “What would you like to eat?”

“Sushi,” Compress calls from where he and Dabi are inspecting one of the Nomus.

“Ice cream!” Toga adds.

Twice has a request of his own, and so does Spinner, all of which Tomura relays. You know he doesn’t really have a favorite food, and finding him one is one of your projects for the new world. Tomura waits until Re-Destro’s sent who knows how many people scurrying off to make his requests a reality. Then he delivers a final one. “Cake.”

“Cake?” Re-Destro repeats, puzzled.

“Birthday cake,” Tomura clarifies. For a second you’re just as confused as Re-Destro is, trying to figure out if Tomura’s chosen a new birthday for himself. Then Tomura nudges your temple with his chin, and you glance up at him. “Do you still like the same kind?”

Your heart doesn’t lift, exactly. More like a lurch. “Wait, today’s your birthday?” Spinner asks, way too loudly. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot your own birthday?” Toga looks appalled. “That’s so sad.”

“Even if I had remembered, I wouldn’t have said anything. We haven’t celebrated anybody else’s birthdays, either.”

“It’s not too late,” Twice pipes up. “Mine was in May.”

“Mine was in August,” Spinner says.

“Mine, too.” Toga glances at Compress. “What about you, mister?”

“October.”

“I’m not telling you my birthday,” Dabi says, even though no one asked yet. “This is stupid. Shigaraki didn’t say his either.”

It’s quiet for a second. Tomura doesn’t say anything, and the answer comes to you in a bright, painful flash — he doesn’t remember. “It’s in April,” you say.

“You don’t remember your own birthdays but you remember each other’s?” Twice looks surprised. “That’s cute! It’s weird!”

Tomura doesn’t say anything. His grip around your waist tightens, and you cover his hand with yours. “Grand Commander?” Re-Destro ventures.

“Yeah.” Tomura’s voice sounds odd. He clears his throat. “We’re gonna need more than one cake.”

Your phone ends up getting passed from person to person, so everyone can put in their cake order. Dabi comes over just as Tomura’s regained custody of the phone, and when he reaches for it, Tomura holds it just out of reach. “Birthday first.”

“January,” Dabi growls, and snatches the phone. He orders some mix of flavors that shouldn’t go together, then shoves the phone back at you. He clearly has more to say, but he holds off until after Tomura’s hung up on Re-Destro. “You all are insane. You got unlimited power and the first thing you do with it is throw a birthday party for your girlfriend?”

“It’s for everybody,” Tomura says, unruffled. “What’s the point of unlimited power if you can’t do whatever you want with it?”

If you had been worried at all that your sabotage didn’t work, that All For One had taken some grip on Tomura through his copied quirk, this would be enough for you to let it go. You don’t doubt Tomura’s desire to tear down society or his hatred for heroes, don’t disbelieve the brainwashing All For One must have put him through — but at the same time, you think it’s telling that the first thing Tomura decided to do after waking up with enough power to destroy the known world was to throw a party for his friends. His friends. And you.

And if you needed more proof, all you’d have to do is look at the doctor’s face. His bafflement and frustration are written all over it. “Shigaraki, we still have tests to run. And if it’s still your intention to order the Nomus to respond to the others’ voices as well as yours –”

“It is.” Tomura’s arm tightens around your waist a final time, then loosens. “Let’s make it fast. We have a party to go to.”

The other transplanted quirks are in perfect working order, a fact which only seems to confuse the doctor further, and before the doctor can do anything more than make a few noises about wanting to run some more extensive tests, Tomura orders the Nomu to activate Warp and returns you all to the PLF headquarters. You’re not sure why he didn’t do it himself. Re-Destro’s gone overboard with the party, although given all the food and the six different varieties of cake the League ordered, it was already over the top to begin with. You get separated from Tomura in the minor chaos, and waylaid by Skeptic almost immediately. He announces himself by dropping your veil over your head from behind. “Keep that on,” he hisses at you, when you jump out of your skin and move immediately to yank it off. “The spy is somewhere nearby.”

“The spy?” you repeat. “You know who it is?”

“I share your suspicion and Spinner’s.” Skeptic glowers at you. “Don’t act so surprised. My loyalty is to Re-Destro, and through him, the Grand Commander. I have no intention of letting anyone else derail Re-Destro’s dream.”

Anyone else — because the League’s already done it. You add another name to your short list of uneasy allies, all bound together by separate loyalties — the doctor’s loyalty to All For One, Skeptic’s loyalty to Re-Destro, Spinner’s loyalty to the vision Tomura’s sworn to create. It’s a fragile web, one with gaps wide enough to see disaster through, if the doctor finds out what you did, if Skeptic and Re-Destro realize what Tomura really plans to do to the world, if Spinner’s win condition for the war to come changes. But you think it’ll hold together. Tomura can hold it together, and you can help him, just like you’ve done from the beginning.

You nod to Skeptic. “Thank you.”

“Your contact at the HPSC requires specifics to make a query, doesn’t he?” Skeptic doesn’t wait for your answer before he keeps talking, and you have barely a second to realize that the PLF knows who Kazuo is. “Since he can’t ask directly whether the individual in question is the spy, I’ve collected as many dates and times as I can. Give him those and tell him to narrow down what the spy was doing in those time periods.”

Dates and time-stamps should be more than specific enough. Skeptic air-drops the file to you and your phone buzzes in your pocket. You thank him again, glance around to confirm that Tomura is still in the room, and check your phone. There’s the file from Skeptic. There’s also a bunch of texts from your friends.

Mitsuru’s texted the old group chat, the one with Hirono’s and Sho’s numbers, asking if and when the group is having a party for you, and if he can bring his girlfriend. Ryuhei and Mitsuko are asking the same thing in a separate chat, and you have a text from Kazuo, too — happy birthday, plus a notification that your cousin Manami’s been released from jail, charges dropped. He’s got a few misspellings in the text, which is weird. Then again, it is four in the morning.

Tomura sneaks up on you while you’re asking Mitsuko and Ryuhei if one of them can track down Manami, who has absolutely nowhere to stay. He reads over your shoulder. “Your cousin’s out?” he asks. You nod. “Tell your friends to take her to your apartment if you still have it.”

You do. You’ve even been paying rent. It’s not the worst place for your cousin to crash. You send the message, and Ryuhei responds with a thumbs-up, followed by an eye emoji. “Good thinking.”

“Let me know when they’re there,” Tomura says. You twist in his arms, peering at him through the veil. “You should have all your friends at your birthday party.”

“I can’t believe you remembered my birthday.”

“Did you ever forget mine?”

“No.” You always got a little sadder in the first week of April, for reasons you never talked about with anyone. “I could never forget your birthday.”

“Then how come you think I’d forget yours?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t have to. Tomura knows why, and his gaze slides away from yours. “You think I forgot you,” he says. “I didn’t.”

Your mind is totally blank for a second, and a second is all it takes for someone else to swoop in. “Hey, you’re the Grand Commander!” Hawks is grinning as he alights next to you and Tomura. “Welcome back.”

Tomura reacts about how you’d expect him to react to the presence of the Number Two hero. “What are you doing here?”

“Saintess here didn’t tell you about me? I’m hurt.” Hawks slings an arm around your shoulders. “I guess you probably had other things on your mind, huh? You should see it, Grand Commander — Saintess and Spinner are the only ones around here who work harder than I do.”

“You?” Tomura scoffs. “What do you do?”

“Ah, Grand Commander! I see you’ve met our greatest asset.” Re-Destro rolls up in his wheelchair, beaming. “The Number Two hero has been using his platform to spread Liberation ideology far and wide. With every day that passes, more and more people grow sympathetic to our cause. It’s the sort of task only he can complete.”

Tomura’s lip curls. “I don’t need their sympathy. They’ll understand when I make them understand.”

“Hey, easy. I never said we’d get everybody,” Hawks says. “Trust me, Grand Commander — there are still plenty of people in need of a lesson that only you can give.”

He’s still leaning on you, arm around you, and suddenly you’re reminded of another moment, months ago — Overhaul, healing your hand, while Tomura couldn’t do anything but watch and seethe. You duck out carefully from under Hawks’s arm and stand clear. “Why do you care about this?” Tomura asks him. “The way the world works is a pretty sweet deal for you.”

“Just because it’s sweet doesn’t mean it can’t be sweeter,” Hawks says with a shrug. “The world order could use an update, and I’d rather be one of the people doing the updating. And speaking of updates –”

He leans close to Tomura, studying him. “How are those new quirks treating you? Dabi said you were getting the good stuff.”

Your stomach lurches with terror, followed by frustration. You and Spinner put a lot of work into making sure Hawks knew nothing about the quirks Tomura was getting. It turns out that instead of compulsively feather-checking yourselves, you should have been taping Dabi’s mouth shut. “I got the good stuff,” Tomura agrees, without adding any more detail than that. “If you’re waiting for me to put on a show, don’t hold your breath.”

Hawks laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Grand Commander. I just wanted to introduce myself! I’ve been waiting a while to meet you.”

Tomura inclines his head, then turns his back. It’s the kind of dismissal Re-Destro’s gotten used to, based on how quickly he captures Hawks’s attention and steers him away. Tomura opens his mouth the instant Hawks is gone, but you raise a finger to his lips to quiet him. You’ve just spotted a small red feather resting on Tomura’s shoulder, almost hidden by his hair. You pick it off, resisting the urge to crush it, and hurry after Hawks. “Hang on,” you say. “You forgot this.”

“Thanks,” Hawks says. He’s still smiling, but his eyes are wary behind his visor. “Sorry to interrupt back there. You think he hates me?”

“It isn’t you,” Re-Destro says before you can say a word. “The Grand Commander is very protective of his disciples. Particularly her.”

You really wish he hadn’t said that. You hold the feather out for Hawks to take, then hurry back to Tomura as soon as it’s gone. Tomura’s already pissed. “That’s the spy,” he states.

“I think so,” you say. “My HPSC contact hasn’t been able to confirm it yet, but — me and Spinner both think so. And Skeptic –”

“I’ll kill him. And Dabi.” Tomura’s teeth are bared in a sharp smile. “Nobody who benefits from this bullshit system would ever help tear it down. How the hell did he fall for it?”

“Um –” You really don’t know how to say this in a way that won’t result in Tomura Decaying the entire villa just to get to them, and you fall back on a tried-and-true method. “Remember how we said Dabi just needed to get laid? According to Spinner, he, uh, did.”

Tomura stares at you. “And he apparently missed the memo about what we do with heroes,” you continue. Tomura’s mouth twitches. “All that work the rest of us put in making them unfuckable –”

Tomura’s mouth contorts. “This is serious.”

“It won’t stop being serious just because you laugh about it,” you say, and Tomura lets out a reluctant snicker. You come closer to him, hoping he’ll reach for you, and he doesn’t disappoint. “I was more worried about it before you woke up. You’re not as vulnerable now.”

“I’m the same kind of vulnerable all the time.” Tomura’s grip on you is tight. “You and Spinner and Skeptic are working on it?”

You nod. “We can’t move until we’re sure.”

“I’ll move once you’re sure. He’ll be happy — he can see my new quirks up close.” Tomura scoffs. “Heroes think they can go wherever they want, take whatever they want, ruin whatever they want. I can do that now, too.”

“You can do more than that,” you remind him. “That’s why you did this — so you can do whatever you want. And you got through it. I’m so proud of you.”

You’re proud of him, but it’s not just that you’re proud. You’re relieved. You never have to stand helplessly by and watch someone hurt him, forbidden from stopping them. There won’t be any more agonized screams, although the ones you heard will haunt you, are haunting you already. That part’s over. All that’s left is to win the war. You can’t wait for that part to be over, either.

“I want a lot of things,” Tomura says. “You never told me what you want.”

“Hmm?”

“I asked you one time. You just kept talking until I fell asleep,” Tomura says. You’re too surprised to respond. “How much stuff do you think I forget?”

So far since he woke up, you and Tomura haven’t been able to talk for longer than a few minutes without an interruption. This time it’s Toga. “Come on, Tomura-kun,” she says. “We can’t have cake without you!”

“We’re not done with this,” Tomura warns you. But he turns to Toga. “Fine. But Twice has to make a clone of me so we can see if the cakes are poisoned.”

Toga giggles. “They aren’t,” she says. “Spinner made Re-Destro try them all first.”

Tomura laughs at that. You decide, only a little grudgingly, that you forgive Spinner.

It’s almost noon by the time everyone splits up to get some rest. The only person who isn’t even slightly tired is Tomura. His earlier desire for a nap seems to have dissipated, but he follows along with you back to his rooms. You have a feeling you know where he’s going with this, and you’re half-right — as soon as the door shuts behind him, he’s all over you, and for a few minutes, you’re able to lose yourself in kissing him. But then Tenko pulls away and asks the goddamn question again. Or a variant on it. “Why won’t you tell me what you want?”

“Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Because.” Tenko picks you up with shocking ease and drops you on the bed, then climbs on after you. “You never say it. Everybody else says what they want all the time. But you never do. Not even when I ask.”

“I don’t want to be selfish.”

“Wanting stuff is selfish?” Tenko pushes you back down when you try to sit up. You don’t doubt he’d let you up if you asked, but you’re equally sure that he won’t let you up unless you tell him to. “Come on. I couldn’t give you stuff before, but I can now.”

He leans down to kiss you, and even as his lips split, you feel them heal instantly. “It’s your birthday. Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

Tenko rolls his eyes, but you see a hint of that too-wide smile on his face. “What else?”

“Let me think.”

“You said that last time,” Tenko complains. You push lightly at his shoulder and he lets you up — then lets you shove him over onto his back. “Why is this so –”

You cut him off by unzipping the jumpsuit he still hasn’t changed out of, pulling it open from his throat to his navel. Your hands slip inside almost of their own accord, too impatient to go slowly, needing to touch him and prove that he’s in one piece, that he’s all right. Even with Super-Regeneration, the scars he got before he received it are still present, including an enormous one in his abdomen where the vast majority of the equipment went in. You remember wrapping that wound, or draping it with clingfilm so it could be easily accessed for the next procedure, wishing the entire time that you could stitch it and bandage it and let it heal. Before you can stop yourself, you bow your head and kiss the scar.

Tenko’s abdomen flutters beneath your lips as he laughs. “What are you doing?”

“Something I want to do.” You kiss the scar again, and as you’re doing that, you catch sight of another one, a few inches to the right. That one could probably use a kiss, too.

Tenko’s laughing at first, clowning on you for trying to kiss it better when it’s already healed, but then he quiets down — and more importantly, he stays still, letting you examine each scar, running your fingers over them before applying a kiss. You peel him out of the jumpsuit one shoulder at a time, kissing his hands as he draws them from the sleeves, taking your time with each one. This is what you wanted to do, the first time the two of you fooled around — getting to know every inch of him, figuring out what makes him squirm, paying such attention that he can’t doubt how much you want him.

Tenko relaxes beneath you, even as his breathing catches. The single protest he puts up sounds distinctly obligatory. “It’s supposed to be your birthday.”

“I’m getting exactly what I want.” You look up and make eye contact. Tenko’s propped up on the pillows, watching you, his face flushed. The color darkens the longer you keep looking at him. “If you want me to stop –”

“No,” Tenko says immediately. “Don’t do that. It feels good.”

That’s what you wanted. When you bow your head again, it’s a struggle to stop smiling long enough to kiss him.

Tenko stays relaxed for the most part, at least until your lips brush the trail of dark hair leading from his navel to his groin. You follow it, with your mouth and your fingers, and you feel the muscles in his legs go tense. You touch the inside of his thigh through the jumpsuit, run your fingers over the seam, slide one hand up to his chest. Your fingers brush past one of his nipples and he startles. “Does that feel good?”

“No.” It sounds like Tenko’s speaking through gritted teeth, and his body tenses when you do it again. “Fuck –”

His legs shift apart, making more room for your hand, and you keep toying with him. You didn’t plan to tease him, and you don’t think you are — just taking your time, seeing if what he likes has changed at all, figuring out the best ways to wind him up. He’s hard beneath the jumpsuit, and when you trace over the outline of his cock, he lets out a gasp that makes your face flush. “Are you trying to make me come in my pants?”

You wouldn’t be opposed, exactly. “Do you want to come somewhere else?”

“You know where.” Tenko sits up and reaches for you, Decaying your clothes, then his, with two brushes of his fingers. “Here.”

His hand slips between your legs, and a grin crosses his face when he realizes how wet you are. He pulls you into his lap easily, like you don’t weigh anything at all, giving you mere seconds to help guide him before he pushes into you. It’s so sudden that you almost whimper, almost gasp, and Tenko freezes. “Did that –”

“No.” You cut him off in a kiss.

This is the position you and Tenko wind up in most often, but this time, it’s less that you’re riding him and more that he’s fucking you from below. You have so little control that you can’t communicate what you want by moving there, and eventually you lose access even to words. Tenko seems to like that, seems to like teasing different sounds out of you. He’s breathing hard, fighting for his own control, but his eyes never leave your face. There’s nothing you can do but look back.

You see it in Tenko’s eyes when pleasure shifts to desperation. His nails sink into your back, his grip tightens on your hip, and he loses control, coming so hard that you actually see his eyes roll back. You can’t fail to be pleased by that, but your whole body is tied in knots. You don’t like edging. You need him so badly that it almost hurts.

Tenko doesn’t apologize. He pulls out and flips you to your back with shaking hands, stopping for a quick, messy kiss before drawing away, dropping down until he’s sprawled between your legs, propping them over his shoulders one at a time. He came inside you thirty seconds ago, and now he wants to eat you out? “Tenko,” you protest. “That’s messy –”

“I don’t care.” Tenko is breathless, his voice rough. He speaks with his mouth buried in your hip, his hair tickling the insides of your thighs. “I want you.”

He’s never eaten you out before, and he’s picked the worst time to do it — and you feel like you’ll die if he stops. Your legs shake and your back arches and your muscles clench around nothing as he pushes your legs further apart and seals his lips around your clit. You were already close. Heat floods your lower abdomen and you come, gasping Tenko’s name. It’s on the tip of your tongue to beg him not to stop.  

When you look up, you see that his mouth and chin are wet, and he’s grinning at you. “That was hot,” he says, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Your face burns. “You got me going again.”

He’s hard. You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh. “I didn’t do anything.”

Tenko’s lips move against your neck as he sinks into you again. “Yes you did.”

You hear the echo of something you said to him in what feels like another life, but then he rolls his hips forward, and your mind empties instantly of thoughts about anything at all.

The two of you are slower this time. Not so frantic. Almost lazy — and it feels good. In spite of the fact that you can taste yourself and Tenko on his mouth when you kiss him, you can’t stop. Your lips barely detach from his, and your hands never leave his hair, and in spite of being almost too sensitive and a little sore, the orgasm that washes over you is one you barely had to chase. Tenko’s perception of his own self-control is typically skewed. He always looks surprised when he realizes he’s passed the tipping point, and there’s something almost cute about it. Cute enough that you’re laughing as his hips rock forward unevenly for a few more thrusts before he slumps forward against you.

He makes a discontented sound. “What’s funny?”

“You. You always seem like you’re not expecting it.”

“Yeah. Any second now I’m going to wake up and it’ll all have been a dream.”

“Tenko.” You still sound way too out of breath. You take one or two deep ones, wondering if it’ll help clear the lump in your throat. “That’s –”

“I didn’t forget about you,” Tenko says, and you go quiet. “Just because I didn’t recognize you right away didn’t mean I forgot.”

You don’t know what to say. “I didn’t think you forgot who I was. I just didn’t think you remembered what we were like.”

“I remember more than people think I do.” Tenko pulls away from you, then nudges you onto your side so he can wrap himself around you from behind. He presses his face against your shoulder, then jerks back. “You let me scratch you?”

“I had other stuff on my mind.” You reach behind you blindly and pull him close again. “Stay here.”

It takes him a little bit, but Tenko eventually settles back into the same position as before. “Sensei wanted me to remember some things. My family. What they were like. What I did to them.”

“What happened to them,” you correct, and your heart lifts when he doesn’t argue. “Keep talking.”

“Or he wanted me to remember how it felt,” Tenko says. “What it felt like to be in my father’s house. All the worst things that happened were there. That’s what Sensei cared about. What happened outside it didn’t matter to him. I don’t know why.”

You think you might. Keeping Tenko’s attention focused on the house he was tormented in, keeping him focused on his pain and who was responsible for it, would have gone a long way to nurturing the hatred Tenko holds for the world as it is. “He didn’t care about what happened outside the house. So I would think about that sometimes. I talked to Kurogiri sometimes, before they took him away and made him different. I think they thought it was because of him, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t always alone. I had friends.”

He still has them. When Tenko gets to be himself, people are drawn to him. They always have been. “And I had a best friend,” Tenko continues. His grip on you tightens and he wedges himself closer. “I used to wonder what happened to you.”

He yawns. “Nothing much,” you say. “It was just a life. It would have been better with you.”

You feel awful for saying it. It’s not Tenko’s fault that All For One took him away. He doesn’t act like you’re guilt-tripping him, though – he curls up tighter around you. “Hey,” Tenko says, and you bite the inside of your cheek, holding on to your guilt. “You said you had something to tell me before. About Sensei’s quirk. I was supposed to get the original, right? Did the doctor switch it up on me?”

“No,” you say, and Tenko makes a questioning sound. You squeeze your eyes shut and spit it out as fast as possible. “I did.”

“Huh,” Tenko says, after the worst silence you’ve ever heard in your life. “Okay.”

Your heart is hammering, your entire body flooding with adrenaline — but there’s nothing for you to run from. Tenko is still wrapped around you, seemingly unconcerned and based on the way he’s flopped against you, settling in for a nap. “Okay?” you repeat.

“The copied quirks do the same thing as the originals, right?” Tenko yawns. You nod. “Like I said. Okay.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

Tenko yawns again. “You don’t trust the doctor. If you went against him, there was a reason, and —” a third yawn, even bigger than the others “— I trust you.”

“But —”

“You can keep talking about it,” Tenko says. “I’m going to sleep. Love you.”

“Tenko –” you protest, but he kisses your shoulder and shuts his eyes. He’s asleep seconds later.

You can’t believe it. You can’t believe a lot of what’s happened today, from the enormous to the ridiculous — everything from Tenko waking up in one piece to finding out that Dabi spilled his guts and maybe other stuff to Hawks to finding out that Tenko remembered you the whole time. Also that Tenko apparently thinks nothing of eating you out after he’s just come inside you, which is its own circle of weird. But none of that stacks up anywhere close to the fact that Tenko took the news that you switched the original quirk with a copy with absolutely no worries about it whatsoever.

Is it really that weird, though? You know Tenko trusts you. There’s never been a question of that, and he asked you to stay with him during the quirk transplants because he trusted you to look out for him. You did what he asked you to do, and he still has the quirk. Why were you so worried? Maybe because if your swap had failed, the moment you told Tenko would have been the moment you found out he wasn’t Tenko at all.

A shiver runs down your spine, and Tenko, already asleep, tightens his grip on you. You have a feeling you’re not going to be going anywhere without Tenko attached to you for the next few days — or you aren’t going to be anywhere other than this room at all. You don’t mind the thought. The quirk-canceling bullets work, and you have dozens of them. Tenko’s new quirks are in perfect working order, and he’s still himself. He knows about what you did, and he’s not angry. You remind yourself of those things, over and over again, until your heart rate begins to slow.

Tenko finally has the power to do whatever he wants to do, and you’re going to help him. And once it’s over, the two of you can build the world you should have gotten to live in from the beginning. You keep thinking about it as your breathing settles, and as you drift off, it occurs to you that this is doable. Tenko’s not the underdog anymore. The two of you could win, just like in your games as kids. For the first time, it feels like a real possibility. Not just something you can dream about. Something you can hope for.

[starstrider-productions]

Why set Dracula: 2004 in 2004?

Earlier this week, we revealed that our next project will be Dracula: 2004, an exciting new adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula set in the early Noughties. But the question is, why 2004? It can’t just be for Britney Spears, right?

Well, as much as I love Britney Spears, she’s not the only reason I chose the year 2004 as the setting for this version of Dracula. If you want to read a 1,500 word (!) essay on the advancement of technology, the themes of gothic literature, and why I love Dracula, then you’re in the right place. Buckle in for an outpouring of English-teacher-nerdery (yes, I really am an English teacher in real life!) and prepare to be lectured to.

The thing about Dracula is that it’s already been done to death (pun unintended) a thousand times. You’ve got the classic gore of Hammer Horror; the Ye Olde Copyright Issues of Nosferatu; the romance of Coppola’s remake; the odd (but strangely compelling) Van Helsing, starring Hugh Jackman; and more recently, Renfield and Last Voyage of the Demeter. And that’s not even broaching the world of audio fiction, with Murray Mysteries, RE. Dracula, Dracula: The Danse Macabre and The Holmwood Foundation, all of which came out (or are coming out soon) within the past five years. The point is, the market is absolutely swimming with vampires. We’ve got piles of absolutely fantastic vampire fiction coming out of our ears, even only focusing on Dracula content. So why the hell am I making more?

Well, firstly, I am personally of the belief that you can’t have too much of a good thing. I am a particular fan of the “two cakes” metaphor (pictured below) for the precise reason that there is almost certainly a nerd out there who, like me, will look at yet another Dracula audio drama out there and think “Two cakes!” If you are that person, then congratulations: you are my target audience!

(Image credit to Tumblr user @stuffman)

Secondly, most of the settings for Dracula adaptations appear to fit into one of two settings: original time period, or thereabouts (thinking of Danse Macabre here) or modern day (such as Murray Mysteries). To be absolutely clear, I adore these shows and am not in any way criticising them! But when I was rereading Dracula back in 2022, it occurred to me that there was an untapped market: 2000s nostalgia.

Ah, the smell of hair that has been aggressively hairsprayed and backcombed within an inch of its life! The sheer impracticality of wearing a dress over jeans, and doing it anyway just because it looked cool! The technological gleam of the Blackberry phone’s 5000 different keys, ready to incomprehensibly speed-text at a moment’s notice!

Most people are either old enough to remember this, or young enough to want to. The Noughties were an absolutely fascinating time period, one that many people look back on with a certain degree of fondness (especially considering the current state of the world). It also happens to bear a striking resemblance to the late 19th century, for reasons I am about to explain.

Bram Stoker first published his horror novel Dracula in 1897. At this point in history, Britain was a global powerhouse, having colonised half the world and with the British Empire at its height (and, many would argue, at its worst). Stoker explores one of the contemporary anxieties of the British public in great detail: the fear of the Other. While this is a common theme in most Gothic fiction, Stoker characterises the Other through the villainous Count Dracula, a man from the “uncivilised” Eastern Europe who (literally) drains dry the "honourable" people of Britain, taking advantage of their kindness and generosity. He even goes so far as to “invade” the very island, proceeding to torment and prey upon innocent women, and must be driven back and killed by the "noble" British (and Dutch/American) protagonists. Count Dracula could be said to represent the contemporary British fear that the people they had colonised and exploited would turn on them and thus invade their country.

In 2004, Britain was at war with both Afghanistan and Iraq. This involvement in global politics – particularly so soon after 9/11, in 2001 – resulted in public backlash from multiple directions. Immigration was a topical issue: many Brits rejected the notion of refugees seeking asylum in the UK after escaping these war zones, viewing it as an “invasion” (sadly, not much seems to have changed here). This same disconnect between cause and effect is present in both the public of 1897 and 2004, particularly in the treatment of Roma people (although we have taken a detour away from Stoker's more unpalatable views on this topic).

But British politics are not the only connections we can draw between these two time periods. One of the key Gothic themes is science and technology versus religion and belief, and this theme is very heavily explored throughout Dracula, particularly through the character of Van Helsing. Bram Stoker would have been alive to experience ground-breaking inventions such as the traffic light, the telephone, the lightbulb, the steam turbine and fingerprint classification, all before Dracula was even written. With scientists and engineers learning how to play God at every turn, was it any wonder that authors of Gothic literature were inspired to explore this contrast, in other works like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or Frankenstein?

Similarly, 2004 was a time of exciting innovation, particularly relating to communication (a major motif in Dracula!). Not only was it in the thick of the early digital age, where internet access was fast-becoming universal and most people could now afford to carry a mobile phone, but it also signified the beginning of the social media era: Facebook was in development that year, and Myspace was gaining more users by the day. If you could go back in time and explain to your younger self the sheer scope of impact that social media would one day have on the world, would they believe you?

The sheer, terrifying enormity of change that occurred in both of these eras simply cannot be understated. In my opinion, there’s a reason that Buffy was so popular in the 90s and why Twilight burst into life only a few years later: change brings fear of modernity, fear of modernity brings a craving for tradition, and a craving for tradition needs monsters to feed it. I have altered some of the religions of the core cast in order to better reflect a more diverse modern society (there’s a whole different essay to be written on that choice alone) but the principle stays the same: with light comes shadows.

But wait, there’s more! One key reason why I selected 2004, of all the years, as a setting relates sharply to the social issues of Stoker’s time that I felt could not be adequately explored in a more modern Britain. In 1895, Stoker’s contemporary and acquaintance Oscar Wilde was imprisoned for gross indecency (relating to homosexuality), and one month later, Stoker began to write Dracula. Stoker – possibly to protect his own public image – condemned Wilde and ceased contact with him, but it’s plausible that Wilde’s influence remains within the character of Count Dracula.

Certainly, despite Stoker portraying the Count as a villain, who takes advantage of poor Jonathan Harker, he also writes the strangely possessive line “This man belongs to me!” when the three female vampires attempt to seduce Jonathan (and drain him). Count Dracula is both a man to be feared and repelled by… but also attracted to, a conundrum that Stoker (who many theorise to have been a closeted queer man) would have been intimately familiar with.

This brings us back to 2004, the year after Section 28 was repealed. For those of you who don’t know, Section 28 was first implemented by the UK’s Conservative government in 1988, and prohibited the promotion of homosexuality by local authorities. This meant, for example, that teachers weren’t allowed to teach children that being gay was normal and acceptable – they could acknowledge that queer people existed, but were not allowed to frame it positively. While it wasn’t illegal to be gay – and after 2003, it was even legal to promote it – it was still highly stigmatised in the UK, and many people were forced to remain closeted, similar to Wilde and his friends. Sexual repression is a substantial theme of Gothic literature and one that I very much wanted to explore in this adaptation, so I chose this era to reflect the concentrated and systemic efforts to suppress the presence of queer and trans people in the UK.

TLDR: To summarise, I chose the year 2004 as the setting for Dracula: 2004 because I felt that this era poetically reflected Stoker’s own – especially in the areas of global politics, technological innovation and societal repression of homosexuality – and felt that this would be the perfect era to explore some of Gothic literature’s most exciting themes: fear of the Other, science vs religion, and sexual repression. Additionally, 90s/00s music is FIRE and I also really wanted to get a Buffy reference in there. So sue me.

Dracula: 2004 will begin crowdfunding in April 2025! Keep your eyes on our social media for updates.

Care to take a bite?

[mintyys-blog]

Love your Pietro works! 👍 And I've noticed since you like to do AUs for him, what would you think about a flower shop/tattoo parlor AU for Pietro? Like the reader would be the florist and Pietro would be the tattoo artist? 💐🖋️ What say you?

I love it!

FLOWERS & INK— pietro maximoff x reader

WARNINGS: sexual themes, smut.

The first time you met Pietro Maximoff, you knew he was trouble.

Your flower shop, Bloom & Vine, had only been open for a few months when the empty space next door was finally leased. You had hoped for a bookstore, maybe a bakery—something peaceful. Instead, the universe handed you Inked, a tattoo parlor owned by a man who was as loud and reckless as the buzzing of his tattoo gun.

You first saw him on move-in day, leaning against the open doorway of his shop, watching with obvious amusement as you arranged a bouquet in the front display. His arms were covered in ink—bold lines, intricate shading, colors that stood out against his skin. Even with the sleeves of his leather jacket pushed up, you could tell there were more hidden beneath. His hair was silvery-white, disheveled like he’d run a hand through it a thousand times. He had the kind of smirk that made you instantly suspicious.

“You know,” he called out, voice thick with a Sokovian accent, “I think I might like having a flower shop next door. It makes me look softer by comparison.”

You exhaled through your nose, pressing a sunflower deeper into the arrangement. “You need a flower shop for that?”

Pietro let out a short laugh, pushing off the doorway and stepping closer. “No, but it helps. I bet people walk in here expecting someone sweet and delicate.” He scanned you, slow and deliberate, his head tilting slightly. “But you don’t seem all that delicate, Printesa.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” His grin widened. “It suits you. Like a little flower princess, ruling your tiny kingdom.”

You set your bouquet down a little too forcefully and met his gaze, unflinching. “If I’m the princess, that would make you the villain next door.”

Pietro’s eyes flickered with something—interest, maybe—but before he could respond, the loud clang of something falling in his shop pulled his attention away. He sighed, shaking his head. “That’s my cue. Try not to miss me too much, Printesa.”

You watched him disappear into his shop, the faint hum of tattoo machines starting up shortly after.

Pietro Maximoff was trouble. You knew it from the second he smirked at you. And yet, as you turned back to your flowers, you found yourself still thinking about the way his eyes had lingered—like he had already decided this was only the beginning.

It didn’t take long for Pietro to become a daily annoyance.

Every morning, without fail, he showed up at your shop just as you were unlocking the doors, a coffee cup in each hand and that damn smirk on his face.

“Morning, Printesa,” he greeted, handing you a cup before you could refuse. “Figured you needed something strong to survive another day next to me.”

You eyed the drink warily before taking it. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Bribe you? No. Charm you? Maybe.” Pietro leaned against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “How’s business? People buying enough pretty flowers to keep you in this kingdom of yours?”

“Bloom & Vine is doing just fine, thanks.” You pulled out fresh bundles of peonies, ignoring the way his eyes tracked your movements. “I can’t say the same for Inked, though. I haven’t seen a single person walk in there all week.”

Pietro let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over his chest. “You wound me, Printesa. I’ve got appointments lined up. My work is just more… exclusive.”

“Right.” You bit back a smile as you trimmed the stems, enjoying the rare moment of having the upper hand. “Sounds like a slow week to me.”

He studied you for a second, then suddenly reached for one of the peonies. Before you could swat his hand away, he tucked the flower behind your ear.

“There,” he said, stepping back with a satisfied look. “Now you match your shop.”

You froze for half a second, the warmth of his fingertips lingering. Pietro, of course, took full advantage of your silence.

“Speechless, Printesa? Should I be worried?”

You rolled your eyes, plucking the flower from behind your ear and setting it aside. “Go back to your shop, Maximoff.”

He laughed, already halfway to the door. “See you tomorrow, Printesa.”

And he did. Every single day.

The days passed, and with them, Pietro Maximoff became an inescapable part of your routine.

If he wasn’t bringing you coffee in the mornings, he was loitering in your shop, leaning against the counter with that irritating smirk, watching as you arranged bouquets. Sometimes he would make wild guesses about the meanings behind the flowers, getting it wrong on purpose just to hear you correct him. Other times, he would pick one up and twirl it between his fingers, commenting on how delicate it was before smirking at you like he had some inside joke you weren’t in on.

And when he wasn’t in Bloom & Vine, he made damn sure you could hear him from Inked.

Tattoo machines buzzed at all hours, music played too loud, and his clients—equally as loud—came and went, leaving the scent of ink and aftershave trailing behind them. More than once, you caught him watching you from the open doorway of his shop, elbows resting on the frame, like he was waiting for you to snap.

But you didn’t.

Because despite everything, you had learned something about Pietro Maximoff—he wasn’t just all bark and no bite. He was good at what he did.

His tattoo designs were bold, intricate, and, to your surprise, artistic in a way that spoke of someone who put genuine care into his craft. You had seen glimpses of them when clients left his shop, their fresh ink wrapped in protective plastic. You had overheard conversations, the way people praised his steady hand and creative eye.

And, as much as you hated to admit it, you could see it in the way he talked about his work.

There was passion there. A fire.

You just weren’t sure if it was the same fire that burned in his gaze whenever he looked at you.

One evening, just as you were locking up, Pietro appeared in your doorway like a shadow. His jacket was slung over his shoulder, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, revealing hints of ink across his collarbone.

“You should come by the shop sometime,” he said casually, like he wasn’t saying something ridiculous.

You arched a brow. “For what? A tattoo?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe. I bet I could design something pretty for you, Printesa.”

You scoffed. “Not happening.”

“Why not?” He stepped closer, the streetlamp outside casting sharp lines across his face. “Afraid I’ll mark you as mine?”

Your breath caught—just for a second. But Pietro noticed. He always noticed.

“You wish,” you shot back, turning the lock on your door with a little more force than necessary. “Goodnight, Maximoff.”

He didn’t move right away. Instead, he watched you for a beat longer, then grinned like he had already won.

“Goodnight, Printesa.”

Days turned into weeks, and despite your best efforts, Pietro Maximoff had found a way to weave himself into your life.

He was everywhere.

If you stepped outside to water the flowers lining the front of your shop, he was there, leaning against the doorframe of Inked, sipping his coffee like he had nothing better to do. If you left for lunch, he somehow always managed to show up at the same café, flashing a knowing grin as he slid into the seat across from you uninvited. And if you stayed late to finish arrangements, he made a point of stopping by on his way out, flicking the light switch next to your door with an infuriating, “Don’t work too hard, Printesa.”

You told yourself you were used to it. That he was just a nuisance you tolerated.

And then one afternoon, everything changed.

It started with rain.

A storm rolled in fast, dark clouds swallowing the sun, turning the sky a deep shade of blue-gray. You had been so focused on prepping a last-minute bouquet order that you hadn’t noticed the wind picking up outside—hadn’t noticed the first few drops hitting the sidewalk.

By the time you glanced up, the downpour had begun.

“Shit,” you muttered, already moving to pull in the display flowers before the wind could send them toppling over.

The door to Inked swung open at the same time, and before you could react, Pietro was at your side, grabbing the heaviest ceramic pots without hesitation.

“You didn’t check the weather, did you?” he teased, easily lifting a planter into the shop.

You shot him a glare, shoving a smaller bouquet stand inside. “Did you?”

“Nope.” He grinned, rain droplets clinging to his silver hair. “I just like watching you scramble.”

You huffed, reaching for the last set of flowers. Before you could, the wind picked up again, sending the stand tipping dangerously toward the pavement.

Pietro moved before you even registered what was happening.

One second, he was beside you, and the next, he was catching the flowers mid-fall, his reflexes too quick for a normal person. For a moment, you just stood there, heart hammering against your ribs.

Then he smirked. “That impressed, Printesa?”

You snatched the flowers from his hands, shoving them inside. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“And yet,” he drawled, stepping closer, “here I am. Like a knight in inked armor.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way his proximity sent a warmth curling through your chest. “Well, your chivalry is no longer needed. Go home.”

Pietro glanced at the storm still raging outside. Rain pounded against the pavement, the wind howling between the buildings.

“Yeah… no,” he said, stepping fully inside your shop like he belonged there. “I’m staying.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it onto the counter. “Not running through that mess.”

You folded your arms. “So, what? You’re just going to loiter in my shop?”

He grinned. “That a problem?”

Yes. Because now you were stuck inside Bloom & Vine with Pietro Maximoff, and the storm outside wasn’t nearly as dangerous as the one building between the two of you.

The rain lashed against the windows, drowning out the usual hum of the city. Inside Bloom & Vine, the air felt heavier—not because of the storm, but because of the man standing in the middle of your shop, dripping rainwater onto your floor like he belonged there.

Pietro leaned casually against your counter, arms crossed, watching you with a look that made your skin prickle. His shirt clung to him, damp from the rain, outlining the lean muscle underneath. Strands of silver hair stuck to his forehead, but he made no move to fix them. He was too busy watching you.

You busied yourself with adjusting a display, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You’re quiet, Printesa,” he mused. “That storm got you nervous?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Hardly. Just trying to figure out how to get you out of my shop.”

Pietro hummed, tapping his fingers against the countertop. “Could ask nicely.”

“Not happening.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Thought so.”

The storm rattled the windows, and a flicker of lightning illuminated the shop for a split second. You had always loved storms—how they made the world feel small, how they drowned out everything else. But now, trapped inside with him, the feeling was different.

“You know,” Pietro said, his voice lower now, more deliberate, “I think you like having me around.”

You turned, brows raised. “Oh, do you?”

He pushed off the counter and took a slow step toward you. The shift in his posture, the way his eyes darkened—your stomach tightened.

“You never really tell me to leave,” he continued. Another step closer. “You complain, sure. Roll your pretty eyes. Pretend you’re annoyed.”

You exhaled through your nose, standing your ground as he moved into your space. “I’m not pretending.”

Pietro smirked, tilting his head. “No?”

You could smell the rain on his skin, the faintest trace of something sharp and clean underneath. His presence was overwhelming—too much energy coiled beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

“You talk a big game, Printesa,” he murmured. “But I see the way you look at me.”

Your fingers curled into your palm. “And how exactly do I look at you?”

His gaze dropped—your lips, your throat, the rise and fall of your breath.

“Like you want to know what I’d do if you let me.”

The heat pooled low in your stomach, unexpected and unwelcome. Your pulse betrayed you, hammering against your ribs, and Pietro noticed. He always noticed.

Your jaw clenched. “You’re insufferable.”

Pietro grinned like you had just complimented him. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

The storm raged outside, but the real storm was inside—crackling between you like an exposed wire, waiting for something, someone, to make the first move.

The tension between you thickened, wrapping around the space like the storm outside had seeped into the walls. Pietro stood close—too close—his body radiating warmth despite the rain still clinging to him. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flickered between yours, waiting, daring you to break first.

But you didn’t.

Not yet.

“You really think I look at you like that?” you asked, voice steady despite the way your heart pounded against your ribs.

Pietro exhaled a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I know you do.”

His confidence should have irritated you. Should have made you push him away, tell him to leave, end whatever this was before it turned into something dangerous.

But you didn’t move.

His fingers brushed against yours—light, deliberate. A test. You should have pulled back. Should have shut this down before you did something you couldn’t take back.

But you didn’t.

Pietro’s gaze flickered down to your lips, his breath shallow. His fingers traced the inside of your wrist now, a slow, teasing drag that sent heat curling low in your stomach.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t.

And that was all he needed.

Pietro closed the distance in one fluid motion, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It was rough, demanding—like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped against his mouth, giving him the opening he needed to deepen the kiss.

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, the sound sending a sharp jolt of want through you.

The rain pounded against the windows, but all you could hear was the heavy pull of your breaths, the wet slide of his lips against yours. He kissed you like he was trying to make you forget everything but him.

And it was working.

Pietro backed you up until your hips met the edge of the counter, his hands slipping under your shirt, fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was scorching, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“You’ve been driving me insane, Printesa,” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot, hungry. “You act like you hate me, but here you are—” He dipped his head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw, then lower, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Letting me touch you.”

A shudder ran through you, nails digging into his shoulders. “Shut up, Maximoff.”

He chuckled, a dark, knowing sound, before catching your lips in another searing kiss, swallowing whatever comeback you might have had.

The storm raged outside, but inside Bloom & Vine, the real chaos had already begun.

The storm outside grew louder, a thunderous backdrop to the electric tension between you and Pietro. Every inch of the room seemed charged, vibrating with an intensity that neither of you could escape. The rain hammered against the windows, but it wasn’t the weather that had your pulse quickening—it was him.

You stood rooted in place, half of you wanting to escape the growing pressure in the air, the other half secretly wishing for him to close the distance. His eyes were locked on you with a smoldering intensity, daring you to make the next move.

You couldn’t—no, you wouldn’t—give in.

But Pietro had no intention of giving you that luxury.

“Still playing hard to get, huh?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. His steps were deliberate as he slowly closed the distance, like a predator cornering its prey, but there was no malice in it��just that damned, confident smirk you were growing tired of.

Your fingers twitched, wanting to push him away, but your body was betraying you. He was too close now, his body heat mingling with the cool air of the shop, and the air felt thicker than ever.

“You don’t get to do this,” you muttered, even though every part of you screamed to stop talking and feel what was burning between you two.

“I don’t get to do what?” Pietro’s voice dropped even lower, huskier now. He was close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips, so close you could almost taste him. “You don’t get to kiss me, or you don’t get to admit that you want me to kiss you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out. The words stuck in your throat, lost somewhere between desire and defiance. His lips hovered just above yours, the faintest of touches, like a tease. You couldn’t help but tilt your chin, drawn to him like a magnet.

He grinned, reading the shift in your expression with ease. “What’s it going to be, Printesa? I’m standing right here.” His fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, the touch so gentle it made your heart race. “All you have to do is reach for me.”

The challenge hung in the air, thick and undeniable. And for a moment, you almost hated him for making you feel this way—for making you want him with every part of your being, despite the walls you’d built around yourself.

But the truth was, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You leaned in, just a fraction, just enough for him to notice. His eyes darkened, and that grin spread into something more dangerous. Without warning, he crashed his lips to yours, a kiss that was hungry and unrestrained.

For a moment, everything blurred.

The soft press of his lips, the surge of heat flooding your veins, the rough hands pulling you closer—it was like the storm outside had become a part of you, wild and unrelenting. His mouth moved against yours with an intensity that stole your breath, his hands framing your face as if he couldn’t get enough.

Your hands gripped his shirt, tugging him closer, needing more of him, as if you could erase the distance between you two once and for all. The kiss deepened, fierce and raw, as you both fought to take and give in equal measure.

When he finally pulled away, his lips brushed against your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. He tilted his head, voice barely a whisper in the dim light. “Told you. You can’t resist me.”

A sharp breath left your lips, heart pounding in your chest. “You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled low in his throat, his hands moving to your hips, his fingers skimming the curve of your body like he was mapping every inch of you.

“You’re not pushing me away now, are you?”

You shook your head, the last of your resolve slipping away. This wasn’t just about resistance anymore. This was about something deeper. Something you were too aware of.

“I’m not,” you breathed, the words coming out before you could stop them.

And with that, Pietro’s hands slid lower, pulling you even closer, his lips capturing yours again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, as if he was savoring the moment just as much as you were. He was meticulous—every move, every kiss, calculated to make you forget everything except him.

And slowly, without either of you saying a word, the boundaries you had so carefully set crumbled.

You lost yourself in him, in the way his lips moved against yours—tender, yet possessive, coaxing you to lean further into him. His hands slid under your shirt, the coolness of his fingers sending a shiver up your spine, but the heat between you both quickly made you forget any chill.

His touch was a silent promise, one that set your blood on fire, igniting something you didn’t want to feel but couldn’t control. You responded without thinking, your own hands reaching for him, tangling in the wet strands of his hair, tugging him closer. The small, desperate sounds that slipped from your throat didn’t help—only made the fire between you burn hotter.

Pietro pulled back, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes—those damn eyes—locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach drop.

“You’re trying to pretend you don’t want this,” he said, his voice rough, barely above a growl. “But I can feel it. I’ve always been able to feel it.”

You could barely catch your breath, your heart racing in your chest, but you managed to hold his gaze, even as you could feel every nerve in your body pulsing for him. “Don’t think this changes anything, Maximoff,” you spat, but the tremor in your voice betrayed the lie.

He smirked, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, his lips brushing over yours again in a slow, deliberate kiss. “I don’t care what you say, Printesa.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his lips hovering near yours, but not quite touching. “You’re already mine.”

The words hit you like a wave, drowning out everything else, but it was the way he said it—like he knew—that made you pause. You wanted to argue, to shove him away, to remind him that you didn’t belong to anyone, especially not him. But as you opened your mouth to do just that, his lips were on yours again, stealing your words, stealing everything.

His hands slid from your hips to your back, pulling you even tighter against him, the press of his body driving you wild. The rain beat a steady rhythm against the windows, matching the rhythm of your hearts as they both pounded in unison.

You should’ve been pulling away. You should’ve been stopping this before it went any further. But when his lips slid to your neck, his breath hot against your skin, you couldn’t remember why.

“Pietro,” you whispered, your voice strained, the sound of his name slipping from your lips with an ease that startled you. His hands were everywhere, exploring, teasing, until he found the bare skin just beneath your shirt, and you gasped. The sound sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

“Printesa…” His voice was a low growl as he kissed down your throat, each kiss igniting a fire deep inside you. “Let me show you just how much you want this.”

You shivered at the thought, your fingers gripping his arms, pulling him back up to meet your lips. You were done pretending.

The storm outside continued to rage, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside, the chaos that was swirling between you two, too powerful to resist. You couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, where the heat of the kiss turned into something more—something neither of you were prepared for, but both of you needed now.

He was already pulling at your shirt, a little too eager, a little too rough, but you didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

In the midst of the storm, the world outside faded. There was only you, only him, and the frantic urgency of the moment that pulled you both further into a darkness neither of you had anticipated, but both of you had been aching for.

And when his lips found yours again, deep and searing, you couldn’t tell where the kiss ended and the hunger began.

The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a sea of color and scent.

The flowers seemed to close in around you as Pietro's hands roamed over your body, touching every curve and contour with reverence. You felt alive under his fingertips, each caress sending shivers down your spine.

Together, you stumbled towards the back room of the shop, petals scattering beneath your feet like confetti. The door creaked shut behind you, enveloping you in privacy.

Pietro's speed allowed him to undress both himself and you in mere seconds, leaving no barrier between your skin and his. He lifted you onto a counter amidst pots and vases filled with flowers that seemed to lean in as if witnessing something sacred.

As he entered you with one swift motion that took both of your breaths away it felt like time itself had slowed down allowing every sensation every touch every kiss every whisper shared between them magnify exponentially

Your bodies moved together seamlessly driven by an insatiable hunger for more for deeper connection for release from this overwhelming need consuming them whole

Pietro mutters his foreign language; slipped past your ears until can feel warm wash over, trembling sensually.

As you wrapped your legs around Pietro's waist, pulling him deeper into you, he let out a groan that was almost a growl. "More," he muttered, his voice husky with desire, "I need more of you."

You arched your back, pushing against him, urging him on. "Harder," you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Pietro obliged, his movements becoming more aggressive. He grasped your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you with a force that left you breathless. The counter creaked beneath you, threatening to give way under the intensity of their passion.

"Ah, dio mio," Pietro gasped, his eyes locked onto yours. "You feel like heaven and hell all at once."

You dug your nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," you pleaded, your voice trembling with need.

Pietro's response was to drive into you harder, faster. The room around you became a blur of color and sound as he pounded against you. You felt like you were drowning in sensation, unable to catch your breath.

Just when it seemed like it couldn't get any more intense, Pietro reached down and grasped your throat gently but firmly with one hand while using the other to pull one leg higher up on his hip allowing for an even deeper penetration

"Look at me," he commanded roughly

Your eyes snapped up, meeting Pietros burning gaze holding it there for what felt like an eternity before finally everything shattered.

In that moment nothing else existed— just being lost together within swirling storm passion.

As the climax washed over you, Pietro's grip on your throat tightened slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin. "Mine," he growled, his voice low and possessive. "You're mine now."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, a thrill of excitement mixed with a touch of fear. "Yours," you whispered back, the word barely audible.

Pietro's eyes flashed with triumph, and he drove into you again, prolonging the orgasm that still rippled through your body. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough with desire.

"Yours," you repeated, the word tumbling out of your mouth like a prayer.

Pietro's grip on your throat relaxed, and he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "My little flower," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so tight, so perfect. I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk anymore."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks at his words, but you couldn't deny the excitement that coursed through your veins. "Do it," you whispered back, the words tumbling out of your mouth like a challenge.

Pietro's eyes gleamed with excitement, and he pulled out of you for a moment before flipping you over onto your stomach. He grasped your hips and pulled you back onto him roughly impaling himself within.

"Take it" Pietros harsh tone sent shockwaves coursing as began pistoning furiously behind. While simultaneously reaching round to stimulate your swollen nub, sending sparks flying everywhere.

The sensation was almost too much to bear —rough hands gripping your hips pounding mercilessly away while fingers danced expertly across oversensitized nerves pushing limits further than thought possible.

The world came rushing back all at once. The steady pounding of the rain against the windows, the distant hum of city life outside—it all returned, a stark contrast to the chaotic heat of moments before. You lay there, breathing heavily, your body still humming from the intensity of everything that had just happened.

Pietro was beside you, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers were intertwined with yours, a surprising gentleness in the aftermath of everything that had transpired. He didn’t speak, not right away. Neither of you did. It was as though the silence between you two was a cocoon, still thick with the remnants of desire and uncertainty.

You could feel the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you, the reality of what you’d just done settling in. Your skin felt too hot, too exposed, as though the walls you’d so carefully built had come crashing down in a single, reckless moment.

Pietro shifted slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. You didn’t pull away. In fact, you found yourself leaning into the touch despite the whirlwind inside of you.

“You’re not going to push me away now, are you?” His voice was softer now, quieter, though there was still that smug edge to it.

You glanced at him, your heart pounding. There was no denying what had just happened. It wasn’t just physical—there had been something more, something deeper that neither of you had been prepared for.

“I should,” you muttered, the words barely a whisper, but you didn’t move. You didn’t pull away, either.

Pietro’s gaze softened, and for the first time, you saw something other than cocky confidence in his eyes. There was something raw, something vulnerable. “You won’t. Not really.”

The statement hung in the air like a challenge, a promise, and you couldn’t bring yourself to argue with him. What could you say? You didn’t have the answers. You didn’t know what to make of what had just happened between you two.

You could feel him watching you, waiting for some kind of reaction. And you could feel the uncertainty in his touch, like he was almost afraid to push you too far.

“I’m not…” you started, your voice barely above a breath, “I’m not the kind of girl who does this.”

Pietro didn’t say anything, but his thumb continued its slow, soothing circles on your hand. He let you breathe, let you sort through the jumble of emotions that had rushed in the moment the kiss had ended.

And then he said the one thing that made everything suddenly feel a little less complicated.

“You’re not just any girl, Y/N.” His voice was soft, yet somehow more serious than before. “You never were.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, or if you even could. It was enough, for now. For that moment.

So, you just stayed there, letting the silence settle between you, letting the storm outside fade into the background, and allowed yourself to rest in the comfort of his presence. It wasn’t answers you needed right now. It was the feeling of not being alone.

[scvcnofswords]

i'm feeling espresso depresso so i wanna do a game

to ALL MUTUALS, whether we've INTERACTED OR NOT: comment on this post a couple of things that give me the general vibe of your muse (more detailed if we haven't written/if they aren't a canon, but even if they are a canon, give me details that are intrinsic to YOUR portrayal!)

example: litriu is a ranger who is aloof and suspicious, hypervigilant and watchful. she has a soft heart and a wicked temper, but holds herself apart from most people, even when going out of her way to help any that she can. likes: animals, forests, wandering, adventure dislikes: cities, being unable to shield herself, lying, unsolicited touch, people acting like they know her, or acting like they care about her when they don't know her

litriu's canon perfumes: NOSFERATU - heretic perfumes. petrichor, cold stone, moss, lilacs that are just about to wilt, creeping ivy- an eerie, moody sort of natural floral that evokes walking through a floral labyrinth during a misting of rain || LYMPHAE - fantome perfumes. ozone, vanilla, orange blossom, lilacs, spring water - similar vibes but less eerie and moody, brighter- evoking wandering through a naturally floral and overgrown glen in the spring while thunder builds in the distance.

regin is an arcane warrior/storm mage/shapeshifter. she's deeply curious and wondering, can be reckless, loves to explore any and everywhere she can. loves to learn and wickedly clever with politics; masks much of her true nature so as to be able to better wield the Inquisition's power, so no one can begin to guess the level of schemer and chessmaster that she actually is. likes: forests and nature, free-climbing, storm chasing, chess games, studying, writing poetry, debate and discussion of theories wrt life and magic, learning, helping people. dislikes: the chantry, templars, orlais, politicians, the Seeker order, being surrounded by people who she cannot trust and cannot allow to truly know her

regin's canon perfumes: FORET DORMANTE - lvnea perfumes. piñon pine, rose de mai, violet leaf, frankincense, cardamom, lavender, oakmoss, labdanum, rain notes. a heady old-growth forest with a temple burning incense in the vicinity. the forest is either being misted by rain or the rain has just ended, and the woody, herbal, and green floral notes are strong with an almost 'spice' to them that draw you deeper and lure you in closer. BLOOD CEDAR - heretic perfumes. frankincense, spruce, blood cedar, siberian fir tree, cypress, pine, wormwood. a darker, colder, ancient old-growth forest, one that looms and is filled to the seams with secrets of ages, heroes, and villains long gone and long-lost. this is a place to lose yourself in- 'forest bathing' at it's truest, in a forest dark and dense- but with just enough space to watch the stars in the night sky twinkle long ago.

@purposecorrupted's solas: EVERY STORM A SERENADE - imaginary authors. eucalyptus, sea mist, petrichor, calone, ambergris, heather, spruce, vetiver. standing on a forested cliff overlooking the ocean and watching a storm- a symphony of creation and chaos- building in the distance. mournful thoughts as the world rages around you. (when i'm feeling in a Shippy mood i will mix this with blood cedar and write solas and regin headcanons to make bree suffer alongside me)

@berthindeath's gwen ingellvar - CARMILLA - immortal perfumes, Black Cherry, Plum Blossom, Blackberry, Peru Balsam, Cedarwood, Marshmallow, Cinnamon, Bourbon Vanilla, Jasmine, Dried Roses. A heady, intoxicating, dark floral and sweet berry perfume, with a smoky incense note that draws you in and leaves you unable to look away. dark and mysterious, this is a scent that genuinely snares you when it hits your senses- and when it's gone, you long deeply for just a moment more

i've done a couple of these before for people and i've had people later genuinely go buy the perfumes and scents that i've picked for their muses and their ocs.... pls. i wanna do this for people bc i'm having a shit night and this would 1000% fix me i PROMISE

[ilikekidsshows]

Sublimation take that drives me nuts: Omg Marinette is such a disaster bi look at her crushing on Sublime tee hee.

Sure, Jan. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

---

I'm gonna be fully honest: I have, for a long time, absolutely hated the way the Miraculous fandom has coined a queer self-deprecating joke as a defense of possibly the most toxic example of “are the straights okay?” I’ve seen. Like, people have been calling Marinette, or Marinette and Adrien together, “disaster” for years by now, when their relationship is the example of toxic heteronormativity where the girl practically abusing her boyfriend and spying on him constantly is okay just because she's a girl and the boy is expected to man up and take it. Never mind how Marinette’s constant insecurity over other girls being as competent or more competent than her makes her view them as enemies or obstacles every single time. She was 100% convinced that, if she couldn't win over Sublime (and control her), she’d ruin her relationship with Adrien. Marinette is totally straight and she's such a toxic depiction of a straight girl that I’m running out of words to describe it

Also, once again the Marinette standom tries to lie about Marinette’s intentions to make her look better. They genuinely think Marinette having a crush or even just a friend-crush on Sublime would make her behavior acceptable or funny, when people are scooting away from her, visibly uncomfortable, in-universe. The show can’t make up its mind if Marinette is supposed to be creepy or not, because, while everyone is visibly uncomfortable by Marinette's stalkery behavior in ‘Sublimation’, no one who’s not being framed as the villain ever gets mad at her. 'Sublimation' is already enough of a mess without the weirder fans trying to sell the toxic straight girl as bi representation.

This is like the "Marinette is secretly jacked" people telling me it's "different body type representation", when their "representation" doesn't exist in canon and has no hints of ever existing in canon.