#you know how hard those bitches are to clean?

[pandalavalamp]

You know that daunting task that you’ve put off for years that you think is gonna suck and take hours to do but ends up taking 10 minutes?

Yea I WISH it were like that, I just finished my daunting task and it was just as tedious and annoying as I thought it would be… if not worse. (Cause I don’t have the right cleaning supplies)

[lologoinsolo]

Main Masterlist, Cats and Their Men Masterlist, Part 2

Thinking about Simon with a runt of a kitten and it’s barely the size of his palm. Also thinking about the poor cashier that’s stumbling over her words when that hulking man has a kitten fisted in his palm and he just jerks it forward.

“U-Uh, sir, we can’t— I can’t keep that.” His eyes make you shrivel up and you delicately hold the little kitten in your hands. “We uh— the store can’t hold animals we only sell the stuff that animals need.”

He looks at you like that’s not what he’s wanted to hear. Granted you’ve had a couple people come up to try and surrender or drop of their animals like it’s a pound. “I need things for the cat.” He says and you feel like maybe you shot yourself in the foot.

You have a line piling up behind him but no one seems to dare speak up. Why would they when this guy could lay them flat out? Jesus what are they feeding this guy? Steroids and protein powders? You think before swallowing thickly. “I can… I can get my coworkers to—“

“No.” He reaches forward and you flinch when he picks up the kitten and holds it to his chest. “You’ll help.” Nodding off and he starts to walk leaving you dumbfounded and confused. He walks a couple steps before he turns to you with a ‘well?’ look on his face.

You hurriedly grab your pager and call for someone to go through the line while you help this guy. Leading him down the aisle for the litter and you list off the different types. “There’s crystal litter, wood pellets and those are pretty good when it comes to smell. We have tofu litter and that—“

“Does it need something fancy to shit in?” He cuts off the beginning of your speech with a huff. He sounds a mix of annoyed and amused with how you bristle from his remark. You’re tempted to leave, your manager can bitch later about you doing that butttt the kitten against his chest meows and you find that you can’t leave the little thing to suffer because their dad’s a right prick.

“Sir,” you take a breath, “the litter is moreso about preference. Do you want to hide the smell of their… ya know… poop better? Or would you prefer something that clumps or something that’s easy to clean?” You wait… and wait some more before he finally says.

“Pick one.”

You blink at him and he mimics it that bastard. He just stares the entire time you have this little contest. You’re starting to feel like you should’ve called out of work. You knew today would be horrible, your instincts never lie. “Okay,” taking a deep breath and spitefully picking the most expensive and heaviest litter that your store sells. You yank it off the shelf with a groan. If it’s hard for you to lift then he’ll probably have the time of his life having to lug this home. He doesn’t seem to care about the pricing nor the weight though as he grabs the litter from your struggling arms. He shoves the kitten back to your empty hands. “I—“ you stumble over your words, trying to come up with something but he beats you to it.

“Where’s the food she need?” Lifting it onto his shoulders, the muscles bulging as he holds that thing with ease.

“Well she,“ you cough to keep from ogling too much. “Will need some kitten food and maybe some wet food later on. A good kibble would be good to add later on once she gets older,” holding the kitten up gently and her little green eyes blink at you. You prod softly at her teeth to make sure she can handle those foods. You’re hoping she’s not to young or she’ll need kitten formula. You then check her ears and see some red marks. Noticing the little black specs moving about her neck and you cringe. “And a good flea bath. Poor thing,” petting the little baby as you walk off to grab a flea comb. He’ll have to buy it anyways so you’ll make use of it now. You pick at her fur with the comb and squish whatever fleas that you find, you hate those little fuckers. “What’s her name?”

You’ve noticed he’s as silent as a grave this customer of yours. He’s hardly said a peep besides caveman grunts and nods. If it wasn’t for him nearly against your side then you would’ve thought he ran off. That black surgical mask makes him look like he’s something important. Maybe mafia or something possibly dangerous. But… he did come in holding this tiny kitten and isn’t batting an eye at the things you’ve been telling him he’ll need to get for his new pet. Perhaps he’s nicer than your judgement of him is.

You clear your throat, he probably didn’t hear you since he hasn’t tilted his head down. “Does she have a name?” You ask once more and he pulls to a stop, he had came back with a cart earlier when there were too many things for him to hold in his tree trunk arms. It was comical seeing him try to hold a litter box, scratching post, and various foods though.

He doesn’t answer save for the roll of his shoulders that looks like it could be counted as a shrug. You mouth an ‘oh’ before you mind your business. He probably just found her or he’s gonna foster and send her off. Better to not get attached…

You chatter off the things he’ll need to do. See a vet, get her spayed, make sure she has no health problems, the usual things that you mention to pet parents. The little thing in your hands is a curious thing, she wiggles about constantly. Eager to move and escape your hands and arms. Tiny tail flicking about and the meowing and pawing is cute, makes your heart squeeze when he plucks her from your hands and he holds her close. You push the cart along and stop at the toys and bowl aisle.

“Well,” you pull some toys off the shelf, crinkle toys and mouses that should help with those prey instincts. “She’s a sweetheart. I’d probably call her Bailey,” you smile fondly and his brows furrow at your advice. Grabbing the kitten shaped bowls and hurriedly putting them in the cart when you squirm under his eyes. “Oh uh, my brother always wanted a cat named Bailey. It’s a nice name but if you don’t want to call her—“

“Bailey,” he holds her up a little and the kitten paws at his face. Her little nails snag on the fibers of his mask and he pulls them off quickly. “Better than garbage, yeah?” He speaks to the kitten like a human. There’s a crinkle besides his eyes and you realize he’s smiling but when you catch what he said you drop this cactus scratcher you thought he should buy her by accident.

“Garbage?” You look aghast. You’ve heard all kinds of names but never something like that. Quickly picking the cactus scratcher back up and placing it in the piling up cart. “You’d call her that?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders again. “S’where I found ‘er.” Grumbling his reasoning. He glares at the kitten like she’s the cause of his problems. “Couldn’t sleep with’er howling and rummaging about. Made a mess that I had to clean.”

You blink a bit and now it makes some sense why he’s so… snappy? “Well… maybe she knew you’d get her if she was loud enough.”

He scoffs, “she bit and hissed at me.” He rubs his finger over her head and you notice the little red marks on his hands. “Feisty little shit shoulda left ya out in the cold.” She nips at him and he chuckles something deep.

You can’t help the smile that reaches your face. She plays with his fingers and he doesn’t flinch when she bites hard or digs her nails in. He just looks down at her with something akin to wonder and begrudged responsibility.

You pull him to your cash register and his kitten racks up a pretty hefty bill but he pays for it with wads of cash. You don’t speak on the weird crumbled bills nor the faint reddish brown color. You simply bag his items and put them in his cart. “If you need anything, sir. Come find me and I’ll help, okay?” You can’t believe you said it AND actually ment it. What can you say, you love cats more than people and that little thing won your heart as easily as she won his.

He gives a gruff nod and pushes his cart out with on hand. The kitten is pushed into his coat pocket to hide her most likely from the cold outside. She pokes her head out to give a complaint but he just gently pushes her back in. He leaves without waving and you’re left to wonder if he’ll come back. You kinda hope he does come back.

[motomamita]

JUST HAD A THOUGHT !

König as a rising underground boxer, with his cute little nurse that comes with him whenever he goes. He lets no one else look after him and all his bandages have cute symbols on it.

Media is all over him and he just can’t help but brag about his cutie patootie nurse that only cares for him, and no other boxer has eye candy like he does.😵‍💫

boxer!könig × nurse!reader

warnings: +18, smut, sex!

you needed money urgently and you were in your last year of nursing. that's when you met könig, who was a friend of a friend of yours and who needed your services in exchange for good pay.

your first meeting with him was in the basement of a bar far from the city, late at night. könig showed up in the locker room, shirtless and wearing boxer shorts. his face and entire body had bruises and scars that seemed to have healed not very well. that's when you knew you were going to have a very hard job there.

in his following fights, könig managed to win and take first place in the standings. After each fight, both received a good amount of money that you shared equally. you spent hours with him in the locker room, cleaning his bloody face and placing bandages on his bruised knuckles. sometimes you got so late that könig invited you to his small apartment, where you took care of him until you inevitably fell asleep in his bed. könig took advantage and pulled you towards him, letting you sleep on his chest.

soon König gained recognition and was invited to fight in the best competitions in the city. both became a team and had to show yourselves as such. now you were wearing a matching shirt and skirt with the inscription "property of könig" on the back, so everyone would know that you were HIS nurse. könig dressed to match you, choosing the same colors of shorts that you choose for your little skirts.

the media began to take an interest in both, calling you "the little nurse" and praising the good chemistry you both had. noticing how your face became worried every time könig received a hit or how you jumped with excitement every time he won, without caring that your panties were visible under your skirt.

you also caught the attention of the other boxers who did not miss the opportunity to look up your skirt or try to talk to you. unfortunately for them, könig was always next to you, hugging you around the waist and growling almost like a dog when any of those sons of bitches tried to get close to you.

everyone understood that it was in vain to try to separate you, you were both there for each other. könig wore a chain around his neck along with a sign with your name on it that he always kissed before entering the ring because, according to him, it gave him luck. and every time he won, he would run up to you to hug and kiss you, not caring that he was dripping with blood and sweat.

dor your part, you massaged his muscles before each fight and even sucked his cock to make him more "relaxed." könig just let you do whatever you want with him just by feeling your skin on his and not going too far away.

today könig had fought the final against another guy, for a lot, a lot of money. in a fight straight out of a movie, könig had managed to establish himself as the supreme winner. the photos of you two hugging and kissing didn't take long, as did the glasses of champagne to celebrate. once the celebrations had calmed down, you took könig to the locker room, you had to clean his bleeding nose and a large open scar on his right cheekbone. but, he had other plans.

"that's it, keep it up.. c'mon.."

könig moaned, lying on a bench, while you rode his thick, sweaty cock. in your hand you still had the gauze with which you were trying to clean his wounds but it was difficult for you to stop in the face of so much pleasure.

at your waist you wore the könig winner's belt and several bills clutched in your short skirt. you couldn't stop releasing on him, feeling how your moisture fell down the length of his cock and wet his sweaty balls. the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust while your clits slapped against his happy trail.

"keep jumping, fuck you, fuck... my little nurse, always taking care of me, huh?"

könig brought his big hands to your breasts, breaking the buttons on your shirt and moving your bra, leaving your breasts in the air. you moaned at the change in temperature and your warm walls squeezed könig's throbbing cock. the breaths and moans of both of you echoed in the locker room as did the sound of your skin colliding.

"come on, make me cum, i know you can..."

he asked, now bringing his hands to your hips, helping you continue bouncing his cock. könig couldn't resist and raised his hips, fucking you hard and finishing inside you.

that night you returned home with the prize and with even more energy to fuck until the next morning.

[whirlybirbs]

— BRUISED EGO ; PART ONE ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: you & toshinori have a great working relationship. all might is like a mentor. a great guy. a real, stand-up dude. a hero who inevitably has to help you deal with the side-effects of being hit with a love quirk. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 3.6k of pure smut tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (female receiving), piv, denying feelings, toshi being a genuine lover-boy, someone has a praise kink, surprise it's me, minors dni a/n: i love young dumb full of cum late-twenties all might the tag | next →

"You don't look well—"

"Don't."

You could fry him right now. You could totally, absolutely, blast him with ten thousand volts and call it a night — but you can't, really, because he's fucking All Might. He's All Might and even worse, he's Toshinori Yagi. 

He's... kind. And gentle. And patient. And levelheaded... If not the single reason your entire life fell apart seven years ago.

(That is not true. You know it. You and your therapist have worked through that stuck point — but, it sounds a hell of a lot better than explaining the reason you ended up in prison was by your own actions, not being caught by All Might.)

You're reformed.

Blah, blah, blah, you're the Villain Rehabilitation Program's star graduate. 

They loved using your imagery — the ones of you before you got clean off those Quirk enhancers and put on the straight and narrow —in their PR packages. They love that picture of you — the ones with hands behind your back — cuffed by All Might as you're effectively muzzled by the local law enforcement.

Your lip catches in a snarl.

Don't think about that. 

Don't think about his hands on your wrists. Don't think about the way his boot nudged your leg apart for the frisk — don't think about the way he threatened you, so low and so dangerous, not to move. 

Don't think about how All Might is a bastard, and the media just doesn't know it. 

He's cheeky. Sly. When he's out of the limelight, that eerie #1 smile drops and he's almost normal — if not nearly five hundred and sixty pounds of muscle.  

Like now, on this rooftop, he's more like Toshinori Yagi. Your impromptu mentor in all things heroic. After all, the Hero Commission thought it would be great for the program's image if All Might, the man who arrested you countless times, was the one to integrate you into a more heroic notion. Never mind the dozens of times you went head-to-head with the man, never mind the handful of times you almost won. 

"Derecho, I'm serious," comes his voice; it's softer, almost like he's in his smaller form — the one you always find yourself being partial to, "You look feverish..."

Static snaps across the air and Toshinori takes it — the way it bites at the skin of his hands is nothing. It's a warning shot. Don't come any closer. 

"I was hit with that guy's quirk," you mutter as you try to square your breathing, "I'm fine, I just... Need some time—"

Son of a bitch. 

You've always been a hard one to shake — and even now, as you climb well into the Top Ten ranks, he's never seen you this out of it. You've taken a crowbar to the ribs and recovered better than being hit by some petty criminal's love quirk. 

Toshinori curses under his breath as he winces at the desperation cracking in your voice. 

"If you need to take the night—"

"Yes."

He was slotted to patrol this prefecture with you for another two hours — but seeing the way your whole body looks like it could collapse is... a bit concerning. Toshinori nods, exhales, and waves you on.

"Should I call Recovery Girl?"

Your boot toes the ledge. You need out of this outfit. It's too tight. You're too hot. Your skin feels like it's on fire and the embarrassing ache between your legs is just getting worse with every low, timbred syllable out of his mouth. Don't think about his mouth. 

"I'm fine." 

You're not fine.

Even when you're back in your apartment, trying desperately to shower off the skin-crawling, mouth-watering heat of desire, you can't even come close to relating to the word 'fine'. You're a mess. You try to stand under the heat of the water for a while, to burn the need off your skin, but that doesn't work. 

You're so not fine. 

You can't stop thinking about Toshinori. Must be something to do with the fact he was closest when you were struck with the quirk. Yea. Totally that.

You have to be fine. You need to be fine. This is just a stupid love quirk that will wear off within a few hours. 

Well, a few hours come and go, and it's just getting worse. 

Come on, you are torturing yourself with the evening news, just breathe it out. 

Because you're a hero, and you were a villain. You know what it's like to get hit with disconcerting quirks like this in the heat of a battle. With just a little time, it goes away. Right? 

Right...?

"I AM CALLING! I AM CALLING!" 

Your phone vibrates on the coffee table. Your pupils, full-blown and big, swivel to the photo that ignites the dark of the room. It's a photo of Toshinori — he's in his smaller form, posed beside you in a ramen booth close to U.A.'s campus. He was hellbent on giving you a tour of his old high school.

You always loved how cute he looked in that picture.

Fuck.

You snatch the phone up and answer the call.

"What?" it comes out snappier than it needs to be. 

"Are you doin' alright?" his voice has lost its persona'd gusto. You can tell, just by the soft way he speaks, he's no longer in uniform or on patrol. All Might has clocked out for the evening, and Toshinori Yagi is in the building, "I haven't heard a peep from you all night, zippy." 

Something in your brain goes blank at the nickname. You usually hate it. Usually, you'd bite at him for it. You don't even realize you're white knuckle gripping the edge of the couch as he continues to speak. 

"Y'know, it's okay — I've been hit by love quirks plenty of times before," he goes on; you can hear him juggle the phone to his other ear, "They aren't fun. I'm sorry you're—"

"Come over."

Toshinori almost drops the can of soda in his hands. In the middle of the convenience store aisle, he feels his entire body lurch. 

"What?"

Your head is back against the couch, your hands covering your face in sheer embarrassment. You grit it out again. "I said come over."

"Derecho—"

"I've tried everything," you mutter defeatedly into the phone; you can't even pull your hand from your face, you're so embarrassed you're even telling him this but you need help, "Fingers, toys, even the Hitachi on the highest speed, Toshinori, and I can't—"

Jesus fucking Christ. 

This is bad.

This is... not you. So not you. This is... fuck, okay, right. He's All Might. He helps people. And you're important to him. You're his enemy turned pseudo-protégé turned colleague turned woman-he's-been-ignoring-his-feelings-for-the-last-seven-months. You're Derecho. Number Eight Hero in Japan, his friend. His...

"Give me ten."

And he hangs up.

Two boxes of XL condoms earn him a severely skeptical look from the cashier, but it's fine. Toshinori has bigger things to worry about — like the fact he has no idea what this is going to do to your working relationship, but it's fine. You need help. He knows what this is like — and he would feel awful if he left you to deal with it alone. 

Fingers, toys, even the Hitachi— 

Maybe he'll die, actually. Maybe he'll just throw himself from the nearest roof. 

The mental image of you, alone in your apartment, hands between your thighs as you try desperately to shake the painful ache in your core has him walking a bit faster — your apartment is three blocks over. 

He makes good time.

His knuckles don't even touch the door before you're yanking it open — and Christ, you're a sight to see.

Wet hair, wild eyes, and a permanent heavy breath. The oversized t-shirt clinging to your shoulders is definitely going to be a topic of discussion for a later date. It's All Might merch. His fucking merch. 

When did you even buy that—?

"I'm sorry," you blurt out, looking pained. 

Toshinori's eyes hold your own. Then:

"I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

He's a bastard. A serious bastard. A bastard who you're dragging in by the neck of his t-shirt — a bastard who doesn't complain in the slightest when your mouth is on his in a flash. With ease, he slams the front door shut with his boot and quickly allows you to guide him through your apartment. Your mouth is still latched to his, your hands digging into his shoulders as his hands chase your waist. 

You recognize in the heated haze of the kiss there's a grocery bag in his hand. It knocks against your hip as you accidentally back into the edge of the couch — your hands fumbling for some purchase in the dark living room. 

You pull your mouth from his just long enough to breathe out another apology. 

"Don't. We'll talk about it after," he says, leaning down over you as you scramble back against the leather couch cushions, "What do you need?"

"What do you think?" you hiss as his body presses against yours; he's still in his boots, still in his shirt and jeans. He's... too clothed. Your body couldn't handle anything except the less-than-flattering pair of cotton underwear and the biggest t-shirt you owned. 

You swear he's smirking in the dark. 

"Mouth? Hands?" he presses, his touch cradling your face as he continues to navigate your steady, bruisingly needy kisses, "Use your words."

"Anything—"

Your voice is a rasp, your hands scaling his back as he nudges your knees apart with his thigh and slots his hips against yours. Even in this smaller form, he's got the tactical advantage — not being near death from a fever so high you can hardly think anymore. 

"I need to know," he says as he leans back, his voice dipping lower as his palms brush the skin of your stomach. His fingertips hesitate at the edge of your waistband, and you whine. 

"Anything, Toshinori, stop jerking me around!" 

...What a brat. He almost laughs. But, then he remembers the one time he was left like this — and how desperate he was even after six hours of exhaustive attempts at self-pleasure. 

"Be nice," he chirps as his fingers slip beneath your underwear; his satisfaction builds when you fist the back of his shirt and gasp — his fingers grace the slick, wet folds of your core with ease. It's a tender movement, one that assesses just how pliable you are at this moment. 

And then, two of his fingers are pushing into you down to his knuckles. 

The babbled thank you bursts from your chest — and Toshi actually laughs at how fast you cling to his chest. He didn't anticipate his night going like this. Not with you, wild-eyed and desperate, pulling him into a kiss that's so bruising he thinks his lip splits.

Hands. Hands. Hands. His hands. One hand is between your folds, working you open, and the other is pressing up your curves and settling along your breast. You can't even think straight. The fact Toshinori is so slick, so eager, so good at whatever he's doing, is making the coil in your abdomen go white hot. 

"Fuck—" you strangle out, your lips parted in a gasp as he wets his own lips and watches your face in the dark, "G-God, okay, th-that's good—"

"Better than your own?" he asks, genuinely worried this isn't the progress you need to shake off the quirk's effects. 

"So much better," you wail, coincidentally fueling his ego in a way he never knew he needed. Because, ha, well — who knew Derecho, little miss spiteful and mysterious, just needed a little bit of him. 

"Is it enough?" he asks against her jaw, his forearm flexing as he works the pace up, his palm rubbing gently against your clit. It's an attempt at a coordinated pace, and it seems to be working from the way you're writhing beneath him. 

"I... I still — I can't — I'm so..." you look like you could cry out of sheer frustration, and Toshi suddenly feels a pang of guilt. He can only imagine how you've done this very thing over and over tonight, trying to just cum. Your voice cracks and you whimper, "I can't. I'm so close, but I just can't—"

"Okay," he breathes, his mind swirling with strategic planning, "So mouth."

"Mouth?" you choke, suddenly looking alarmed, but Toshi doesn't seem to care about the added snare of intimacy that comes with him slipping to his knees before the couch. 

Oh my god, he's on his knees. He's on his knees and he's grappling with your underwear, hauling it down the tops of your thighs before throwing it over his shoulder in a very Toshinori manner. 

You've got All Might on his knees. 

It suddenly hits you as he sits up on his knees and nudges your legs apart. He's a man on a mission — dedicated entirely to the task at hand. 

Making you orgasm. 

You wonder how many people have fantasized about this very thing — granted, he's not costume. Thank god. You can't even imagine what the conversation with his dry-cleaning team would look like. 

Toshi's voice knocks you back to reality. "Is this okay?"

He sounds concerned.

Meanwhile, you could kill him. If he doesn't put his mouth on you right now—

Noted. He sees the spark of annoyance, dumb question, and hauls your leg over his shoulder as he delves in. 

Ohmygod.

This is better — the coil is wound tighter, and a little bit closer to snapping, the second his tongue presses flat against your glistening slick. It's even better when he hums, his voice mumbles against your sex as his hands press your thighs to open a bit farther. 

"Keep 'em open."

"Don't talk," you heave between pants, "With your mouth full."

It's like the two of you are at work — this banter. But, his laugh vibrates your core and you moan. That doesn't happen at work. That doesn't happen, ever. A greedy part of you sure as hell hopes this happens again, because holy hell, he's good at this. Methodical. Strategic. Thorough.

His pace doesn't change, the pressure doesn't lessen. The blonde streaks of his fringe tickle the inside of your thighs as he continues his work — and you swear you almost cum when he slips a look up at you in the dark. 

His eyes are so blue that you feel like you're suddenly lost at sea. 

Then, there are two crooked fingers back inside of you. 

You and he are going to have to have a long talk about where he learned all this — because it's so good you genuinely can't do anything but reach out and grip his hair in a panic. You gasp, your whole body convulses, and you almost... almost cum. Almost.

It's Toshi's turn to moan. 

You're suddenly so oversensitive you swear your heart might stop. 

You're writhing away from him, squirming away, and Toshi's lips are parted as his breath fans across your core. 

"Cock," you're suddenly rambling, "N-Need — I need—"

"Right," he stutters, realizing this is good — you're almost there, he can tell. You're so close he can feel it in the air. The static electricity burning off your quirk leaves the room feeling tingly. 

He's wobbling back upright, cursing as he practically falls around the couch in the dark, and palms at the grocery bag he discarded on the floor. He's not graceful about the way he tears about the small box, or about the way he drops the foil square between his teeth as he leans back to work off his belt. 

"Bedroom?" he asks through gritted teeth.

You're nodding, practically falling over yourself to lead the way. Boots, jeans, belt, shirt — all of it is left scattered along the way, and your bare body hits the sheets after an easy shove from Toshinori. Of course, the boxers clinging to his strong thighs are his brand. The All Might logo is almost comical stretched across his hardness. 

You have the wherewithal to roll your eyes as he tears open the condom with his teeth. 

"What?" he shirks, looking down.

"Seriously?" you grit, legs pressed together tightly to try and stop the empty ache between your legs. It hurts. It hurts so much worse when his mouth and hands aren't on you.

"Don't even start," he rumbles as he rolls down the waistband and his cock springs free — he's quick to roll the condom down the thick length of it and lift a finger to wag in your face, "You answered the door in my merch—" 

"Setting the mood," you offer as he steps out of his underwear.

Toshinori then, unceremoniously, drags your hips to the edge of the bed. You almost shriek. It's a bit rough — a bit sudden — but you can't complain when the head of his cock is suddenly being guided through your folds teasingly. Up and down. Over the swollen bud of your clit, across your wet opening. You prop yourself up on your elbows, lips parted, as you try and nudge your hips closer. 

His large hand presses your hips down to the mattress. 

"Toshinori—"

"You sure this is okay?" he mutters, his pupils full-blown as he watches himself slip through your wetness, "I— If it's too much—"

"If you don't fuck me right now—"

"Right."

And he sinks in.

Ha. 

Yea. 

This is good.

You're so glad you didn't fry him earlier. You're so glad. You're so... oh, this is so so so ridiculously good you might die. You might die, because he's snapping his hips into yours and you can see the ripple of his muscles, even in this smaller form. 

His breath is ragged, his voice low and easy.

"You're doing a great job," he says; your core tightens at the sudden praise, "Y-You're doin' really... good—"

Your chest bounces with each thrust, your legs locked around his hips, your whimpers increasing in frequency with every single in and out of his cock. The feeling is better than any sex you've ever had — you've never been so aware of every inch. 

And then, he's knocking his forehead against yours, leaning over you — you're caged against the mattress, and one arm of his is holding your leg up around his waist. The angle change is minute but it's good. Everything is Toshinori so suddenly, everything is so blue eyes and a bright smile. 

It's thorough, a word you're slowly beginning to realize describes Toshinori to a T. There's not a single falter in his pace, not a single thrust that doesn't wind the white-hot orgasm tighter and tighter in your belly. It's worse when he holds your face, though, worse when he keeps fucking you so well while chattering on about how good you are, how strong you are, how beautiful you are—

Your composure snaps when he rumbles out:

"I know you can cum for me like a good girl."

The coil snaps.

Finally. 

After four hours of torture. After four hours of trying. Finally, you cum — and hard. The sort that robs you of your vision and hearing, the sort that has your whole body arching off the bed. The kind you haven't had in a long time. The kind that, of course, Toshinori Yagi would be the man to provide. 

"Fuckfuckfuck—" you babble, gasping, still gripped by the force of the orgasm as his pace quickens.

He's laughing — laughing, and then you're clamping down on him so hard he sees stars. It's all fun and games until he can't stop himself, he can't slow down, he can't breathe, and he's rocked by an orgasm that makes his knees give out. He's wild-eyed, panting, snapping his hips into yours as you whimper and gasp and grip his shoulders so tight he may have bruises. 

Toshinori swallows, then gasps to catch his breath, and then pushes himself up to give you a little room to breathe. His cock is still twitching inside of you.

Your eyes are closed, and your breath is fast. Your hair is spilled across the sheet — and you look content. Satiated. Peaceful. He's rarely ever seen you so tranquil. 

Blindly, and lazily, you reach up to touch his cheek.

At first, he thinks it's going to be tender. Intimate. Romantic.

Then, you roughly pat it twice.

"We're never gonna talk about this again."

Right. 

Because he's All Might. And you're Derecho. You're colleagues. Friends. This was just... him helping you. Like when a friend has a cold. You bring them soup. He... brought you... an orgasm. Just like soup.

Definitely.

...Right. 

"It was just, uh," he breathes, pulling out and cursing at the embarrassingly apparent load in the condom; not like he'd dreamed about this very thing for nights on end, no siree bob, "You needed help. I offered."

That is not what happened. Not even close. But, he's going to tell himself that.

Not like you totally won't think about this every single night ever for the rest of time. Definitely like you won't dream about the way he called you a good girl. Ha. Yea, right. Psh. You're fine. This is fine. Everything is fine.

After all, it's just Toshinori.

He's... kind. And gentle. And patient. And levelheaded... If not the single reason your entire life fell apart seven years ago.

And definitely not the reason your life is falling apart right now as you realize, fuck, you're definitely in love with him, aren't you?

Naaah.

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale is completely ridiculous in the Bastille scene (and I love him so much for it)

A while ago I posted a comparison of Aziraphale and Crowley's costumes in the 1793 flashback in Good Omens and I wanted to add these little tidbits. (Because they haunt me.)

I feel like most people know this but IF YOU DON'T, Paris in 1793 is right in the middle of something called La Terreur.

HISTORY LESSON If you didn't learn this in school the French Revolution was when, after years of escalating social tension, a coalition representing the working classes of France revolted against the monarchy, violently overthrew King Louis XVI, and declared France to be a republic.

The new National Convention governing France ruled that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were traitors to the people of France because of how they had spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxuries for themselves while vast numbers of the lower classes were literally starving to death. (keep the bold in mind - wealth and class disparities were one of the key causes of the whole-ass revolution)

In 1793 (year of the flashback) both the King and Queen were executed by guillotine for their crimes.

This kicks of something called The Reign of Terror (La Terreur if you want to be French about it). A multi-year-long period in which the National Convention goes on a bloody witch hunt for any and every member of the middle or upper classes who could even possibly be considered a traitor by those same standards.

If you A) had money or privilege, and B) had ever used your money or privilege to treat yourself, you were getting executed. Over 25,000 people died during the Reign of Terror, half of them by guillotine. In fact, the iconic guillotine was used because it was physically impossible to keep up with the sheer number of people they were executing in Paris every single day.

Some things that could get you killed (actually and completely seriously) during the Reign of Terror:

Implying in any way you were sympathetic to the monarchy

Having a noble title

Having expensive things

Wearing expensive, luxurious clothes (*cough* AZIRAPHALE)

helping or sympathizing with anyone who did any of the above

a working-class person saying you were mean to them once

And then there's this bitch...

I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME So we have established that Paris in 1793 is in the middle of a frenzied, state-sanctioned bloodbath in which the working classes are massacring everyone even remotely nobility-adjacent. And in the middle of this frenzy, Aziraphale proceeds to roll up in Paris in this outfit:

How will this outfit get him killed? Let me count the ways...

First off- at this point everyone with even the tiniest shred of self- preservation is hiding the fact that they are in any way associated with the monarchy. The wealthy are straight-up abandoning mansions. The middle-class are plastering over decorations to make their house look 'poor'. The only people dressed remotely decent are the guys leading the National Convention and that's just because nobody can stop them. Everyone else is in 24/7 peasant cosplay or else they are covering themselves in cockades and sashes on to show they're pro-Republic.

Aziraphale is basically a giant shiny white sign saying I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME.

First off the lace jabot and lace cuffs are both associated with the old-school wealthy in the 1790's.

His coat is also decorated in gold braid and silver buttons, which are both marks of wealth and luxury.

He basically looks like he works for Louis XIV - not just rich, but old school rich.

We know it's his natural hair color, but hair powdering (with clay and starch) had been a big trend with the rich all throughout the 18th century to get that clean white venerable look . To someone who doesn't know it's natural, it would very much look like he's wearing hair powder.

He's wearing shades of cream and white, which are very hard to keep clean and clearly states that the wearer is rich and can afford the upkeep necessary to keep an outfit like that stain-free.

He's wearing white knee-breeches and stockings, also called culottes. See above about laundry and how rich you had to be to wear white, but also working-class men wore long pants like this:

A large faction involved in the Revolution were the Sans-Culottes (no-culottes aka we wear long pants LIKE GOOD OLD WORKING MEN). Culottes are specifically associated with everything the revolution hated. That's right - Aziraphale is literally wearing The Fanciest of Fancy Pants in a city where a group called The Men Against Fancy Pants are running around murdering people.

And then there are his shoes.

Oh god his shoes

I could do a whole post about Aziraphale's blessed little white satin pumps and how ridiculous they are.

Actually I might just do that because this is getting so long and I still have to talk about the brioche.

So I can't remember if it's in the script book or if it's from Neil Gaiman's tumblr, but it's apparently canon (?) that Aziraphale was going around in that outfit asking people where he could get crepes and brioche when he was arrested.

The Affair of the Brioches

So... uh... we've all heard the line attributed to Marie Antoinette- how when she was told that her people were starving because there was no bread left in Paris, she famously said...

It's morphed into 'let them eat cake', but the line is first recorded as, "Then let them eat brioches."

While it's unlikely she ever actually said it, the important thing is that... people in 1793 would have thought she said it. It was used as political smear to show how arrogant and out of touch the monarchy was. Marie Antoinette in particular was reviled by the people of France, who thought she was the main cause of their economic problems. That's why she was executed too.

Bread and brioche and the lines between poverty and privilege were a big thing in Revolutionary France. There was a lot of political connotation to what you ate. The French Revolution came about because of decades of suffering among the lower classes of France. It wasn't something that some dudes just decided to do. The people of Paris have been through years of the absolute worst, most oppressive poverty and starvation you can imagine, all while watching the rich throw money around crazy.

So let us recap.

Aziraphale is dressed so ridiculously posh that he looks like a joke parody of a nobleman... and he is bumbling around Paris during the Reign of Terror. Asking people. For brioche. How I imagine everyone looked at him:

It is so astoundingly tone deaf and tactless. He is basically cosplaying as Marie Antoinette and then going around asking the poor for cake.

I just.... Aziraphale. babygirl. no. oh no. You're lucky they even bothered to take you to prison. I am amazed Crowley ever let him live that down.

I have no conclusion other than this. Aziraphale is ridiculous and I love him so much.

YES YOU REALLY SHOULD SIR.

[nochepsicodelica]

Part I

"Hey, uh-uh. What did we say about stealth-ing in the house?"

Crap. You stand in the kitchen for a few seconds longer, thinking about how you're going to play this off.

"I didn't even make a sound, your hearing is amazing, baby!" You say, attempting to boost your lover's ego to distract him from this for now.

"Didn't hear you, I saw your shadow scurrying after you into the kitchen. Now quit stalling and come here."

"I reek of sweat and blood. Maybe I should shower first," you divert once again.

"Get over here or I'm coming to you, and I'm not gonna be a teddy bear about it."

You sigh and put your duffel bag down, dragging your tired feet to the living room. Before Toji can get a look at your mug, you put a hand over your mouth, not touching, just hovering over it. Finally, you step out into the bright, warm toned light, and look at Toji, like a bunny in the face of an enormous bear that could crush it with a single paw.

He crooks a finger, beckoning for you to come closer. From where he sits, he can see a scratch beneath your eye and one on your cheek.

"I know you're tired, but I need to see my girl," he says, making your heart shake like a rattle.

You drop your hand and take more purposeful steps towards him, ready to crawl into his embrace like you always do after the day begins to close out.

"Yeah, come here, baby," he says, making room for you on his lap, and sure enough, you weren't lying. As you settle onto his lap, the combination of your sweat and the irony smell of the dried blood on your clothes is potent. Does that stop him from holding you tight? Hell no, he handles you like you're fragile, because he knows you are. Your tiredness allows you to be that way after a long day of showing the contrary. He can't ever stress enough to you how much he understands that.

"What'd you eat for lunch?" Toji asks, rubbing your back while you rest your head on his shoulder.

"Lance and his wife invited me to go get ramen with them, but I wasn't that hungry then, so they gave me a couple granola bars," you mumble.

"Nice people. They really do treat you like you're one of their own kids."

"Mhm," you hum, turning your head to bury your face in his neck. He smells like safety and comfort. You come home to this every day.

"Let me see your face, doll," he murmurs. "I'm not gonna yell at you or get you in trouble or whatever bad thing you think is gonna happen. Just wanna see your pretty face," he says, in response to your hesitance.

You sigh, nervous for no reason. It's really not that bad, but it is noticeable. Slowly, you pull away from his neck and sit up for something you think will be incredibly anticlimactic, but... anything for Toji.

He stares at you, long and hard, inspecting every inch of your face for deep serious cuts. So far the only major damage is your busted lip.

"Are you mad?" You ask, as he runs the pad of his thumb over a thin, jagged cut on your cheek.

"No reason for me to be. Does your lip still hurt?" He asks, unable to look away for too long. Your lips are one of his favorite things to look at and he stares at them plenty, so it's not unusual for you.

"Not really," you respond, shaking your head. "It hurt like a bitch when it happened, but not so much anymore. Lance had some extra disinfecting wipes in his glove compartment so I cleaned it up a little on the way here. I'm fine."

"Hm. Any serious damage to your body?" Toji asks, massaging your shoulder blades, instinctively. "Arms, legs? How's your back?"

"I'm fine, baby," you insist, smiling at all the concern he's showing.

"Any scrapes on your hands or knees?"

"Probably, but i'm okay. Seriously, i'm fine."

"How 'bout a warm bath?" He suggests.

"I'm f--" you start, expecting another question of concern. "Wait, um..."

"A nice... toasty bath," he utters softly, carefully, to further entice you. "with those relaxing bubbles you love so much."

It sounds amazing, but only one thing could make it perfect.

"Can you stay with me? In the tub, I mean," you clarify. "I'll do a pre-wash. Get all the nasty off and... and i'll call you in once i'm done. You don't have to, of course," you add, a sheepish laugh following. "But, I would love you a million, billion, gajillion, if you did.

"Sounds perfect, doll," he agrees, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. Normally he would turn that last bit into a full fledged banter about you loving him when it's convenient to you, but your energy is limited, so he'll put it on hold for now. "You let me know when you're ready."

Despite him asking that of you, he does not let you out of his sight at all. He leans against the doorframe of the bathroom and watches you. Watches you remove your worn, filthy clothes. Watches you scrub your body down, head to toe. Your back has faded scars scattered over it, you have little cuts just below your ribs and scratches on your waist, and yet Toji thinks you've never looked more beautiful. He can't imagine you without a few scuff marks. He met you that way, he knows you that way, but all in all, he loves you in all ways, whether you've been grazed, you're healing, or scarred.

This may be one of his favorite rituals to do with you. Lying back against the tub with you sitting between his legs and resting against his chest, you jump between guessing how you both got your scars...

"Hm... severe rope burn?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?"

"You know the one I have on my ankle? Yeah, rope burn. Your turn."

"That's a blade's doing, isn't it?"

"Nope, this is my chains' doing. Yeah, I know, I know. Laugh it up, doll. Even the best mess up sometimes."

...and appreciating the fact that you're both so good at what you do, that you're still here.

"Gimme a kiss, baby," Toji requests, smirking fiendishly as his gaze darts between your eyes and your lips.

"Mm-mm," you say, shaking your head with a teasing grin. "Not with my lip all ugly like this."

"Not ugly. You look hot as fuck. Now give me a damn kiss."

You give him a quick peck, and he scoffs like you offended him with something so chaste.

"You wanna try that again, and give me a chance to, you know... be ready?"

"No, not really," you jest, gasping when he pinches your butt under the foamy water to show his disapproval of your response. "Alright, alright. Just be gentle," you plead, caving in to his needs, as usual.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, grinning victoriously as he pulls you in closer to get a proper taste of your lips. They're soft as ever, despite their current, temporary appearance, and kissing you is as sweet and satisfying as it's always been. Nothing will ever change that for him.

"Fucking love you," he murmurs, the words a soft breath against your lips.

"Love you, too, baby," you respond, before going in for more.

A/N: Reader and Toji have different handlers. Lance is reader's handler, Toji still works with Shiu.

[ilium-ilia]

Everything You Touch

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | previously known as "soft spot" | masterlist

Chapter One: glass half shattered

tw: verbal abuse, name calling, domestic violence

It’s seven in the morning and you’re already crying. 

Dirty plates and bowls teeter upon one another in your sink, balanced so flippantly you fear your breathing might knock them down. You’re not sure how it’s filled up so quickly. Full to the brim, nearly overflowing. Dried food crusts on every prong of each fork and the rim of each glass—neglected, and not even rinsed before being placed in the sink to rot and fester. An old Halloween themed mug catches tiny drops of water that fall from the rusty faucet, and you find the sight oddly comforting. How relieving it is to know that you are not the only leaky thing within the pallid walls of this apartment. 

“Really, babe? This is fucking ridiculous.” 

Your hazy vision clears slightly when you blink, forcing more tears to roll down your cheeks in a never-ending tidal wave. Choking back a pule, you look at the man in front of you with an irritatingly quivering bottom lip. His eyes are dull—bored. There was a time when he once looked at you with adoration. Those irises used to be so vibrant when he caught sight of you, glistening like the prismatic refractions of stained glass windows. Now, heavy set brows furrow as he gestures to the sink flippantly, as if he has better things to do than be here with you. 

“You can’t be crying over dirty dishes,” Eric says, his voice far from demulcent.

“I’m not crying over dirty dishes, I’m crying because they’re not done,” you correct. 

“So then fucking clean them!” he huffs, exacerbated. He gestures at you with both hands, palms facing up and fingers curling inwards like the rotting legs of dead beetles. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for you. Jesus Christ, you’re crying like a goddamn kid over this and it’s pissing me off.” 

Closing your eyes, you force a deep breath into your lungs. You don’t feel much better when you open them again. “I’m just frustrated because I asked you to clean them last night so I’d have clean dishes for breakfast before work this morning.” 

“Okay, so I forgot! You don’t have to crucify me for it,” Eric snaps. Groaning, he runs a hand through mussed hair which only further disrupts the strands. 

“You forget every time and that’s why it hurts,” you cry, tone all but begging for him to understand. Your hand rests against the countertop as you attempt to stabilize yourself, lest you fall through the floor. “It was the same thing last week! It’s the same thing every damn time! You forget, and I have to do it. I always have to do it!” 

“God forbid you have to pull your fucking weight around here, right?” 

Your quarreling pauses for a split moment and the only sound that dares to sing is the faucet spewing its tears into the sink. Cordolium morphs into bitter shock as your lips part, your heart suddenly struck with an aching sorrow. The shock itself is almost enough to kill you, but the contempt in Eric’s eyes is the final blow. 

“You did not just say that to me,��� you mumble, dumbfounded.  

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Eric challenges. “Look at you. Just woke up and you’ve already found something to bitch about. I have to do everything around here, don’t I? I work, I pay your bills. Hell, you wouldn’t be able to survive without me.”

Incisors chewing on the slick flesh inside your cheek, you tilt your head as you smear your tears off of your cheek. “Eric, you can’t even do the fucking dishes. Don’t pull that shit on me. The apartment is in my name. You moved in with me. All I’m asking for is a little fucking respect and-” 

Your monologue is interrupted by sharp nails and the edge of the counter in your low back. Eric’s face is suddenly inches away from yours and you have no choice but to look at the virulent rage in his eyes as he holds your head still, unforgiving fingers digging into your jaw and hips pinning you to the counter. He snarls like a rabid dog and you can nearly taste the stale cigarette smoke on his breath. He pulls a squeak from your vocal chords as his forehead rests against yours. It’s difficult to tell if he’s going to kiss you or rip you to shreds, but he licks his lips all the same. 

“You get respect when you give it, and all I’m hearing is an awful lot of bitching,” he seethes. “You’re really starting to piss me off, love. If you want to act like a child I’m gonna start treating you like one, you understand?” 

It’s difficult to nod when he’s gripping your face like this, but you manage the movement. Humiliation burns the back of your neck as you let out a shuddering breath. Desperate fingers slowly wrap around his wrist, and you find your thumb rubbing over his wrist as if to soothe him. 

“Let go of me,” you say, words balancing on the edge of an order and a plea. 

Eric contemplates your words as if he doesn’t want to listen. There is an insurmountable amount of power that he holds in the palm of his hand—the soft flesh of your cheek and the brittle bone of your jaw. He could move his hand down to the soft flesh of your throat. All it would take is a little squeeze. Instead, he relents. Bony fingers slip away from your face as he steps back. He stares at you for so long you think he might change his mind; eventually he turns away and scoffs. 

“You think you’re so fucking tough,” he grumbles before leaving you alone in the kitchen. “Can’t even do the fucking dishes.” 

Eric rages through the house, heavy feet stomping on the floor until he reaches the bedroom where he slams the door shut. Trembling fingers rub at your face in an attempt to quell the ache but you can feel the blood begin to pool in your cheeks already. Your downstairs neighbors have turned the TV on again. It’s loud enough to drown out the sound of the argument you were forced into, but the damage is already done. 

You don’t eat breakfast. 

It’s difficult not to lament your lost meal, but as you trudge into work with a forced smile on your face, you remind yourself that it’s for the best. After all, Eric’s right; you really do need him. He might not help around with cleaning as much as you’d like him to, and he spends his weekends god knows where doing who knows what, but he shares the bills. Nothing more than a glorified roommate, he’s always petulant these days—snapping at you for any mere sight of conceived retraction from you. 

A growl gnaws at your stomach, but the pain doesn’t hit. You lost your appetite the moment your boyfriend laid hands on you. 

Computers and cash machines whirl to life as you ready your teller’s station for the morning rush. Within no time everything begins to hum with electricity. You turn on the large television screen on your right where it displays exchange rates and helpful information, and before you settle behind your desk you ensure to straighten out the sign informing patrons of common financial scams and how to avoid them. Everything is up and running. As you log in, you remind yourself to be the blithe, helpful bank teller you always are. 

“Rough morning?” 

The quiet voice of your coworker—Cheryl—scares you out of your skin. Lips parted and heart thumping, you jump and look on your left to find her polite smile and neatly pressed blazer. Cheryl tosses her faux leather purse on the back counter before looking at you expectantly with a raised brow. In the worst of ways, she reminds you of your mother. 

“I’m sorry?” you reply. 

“You’re here extra early. Earlier than I am,” she explains with flapping hands before walking to her desk. “Usually you’re having a bad morning when you’re here before me. Eric isn’t giving you trouble again, is he?” 

Sighing, you give her a gauche chuckle before turning your eyes back to your monitor. Clicking on your mouse, you pretend to do work while the cogs in your mind begin to turn. Your jaw still aches, but you don’t feel like spilling your guts on the floor before work begins. “Oh, not really. Just… had issues with the dishes this morning.” 

Work drones on the way it always does—with a push and pull. It’s a dance that you know well. One that you could do with your eyes closed. A gentle trickle of customers waxes and wanes like the waves of the ocean as your queue begins to fill. It starts out soft before it becomes a flood that forces you to wade through waist-high water. Still, you are amicable. You show an equanimity that most people only dream of achieving as you handle deposits, withdrawals, and everything in between. 

It’s an easy job. Mindless—for you, anyway. Each word you speak flows off your tongue like thick honey as you politely smile at grumbling customers and send them on their way. You’re treated like a brick wall. Nothing more than an object to be barked at until you magically dispense the service they desire. You don’t mind. It’s easier to act this way—like a performer. Completing tasks like a metallic android until—

—until he arrives. 

His name is Simon Riley, and he stands in front of you like a cyclopean statue—unmoving and unbreakable. Surrounding customers eye him with wariness as they soak up his masked face and the drawn hood of his jumper. His bulk is so wide that he blocks out the line behind him like the moon eclipses the sun. It’s fitting, you realize. He is mysterious like the moon; dressed in black with eyes as stygian as the streets at night. A medical style fabric mask obscures his face, but you can still see the way his jaw dances beneath it as he slides his ID face down across the counter. 

“Hey there,” you greet him with a smile. It feels like the first authentic simper you’ve given anyone all day today. 

“Morning,” he hums. 

“The usual?” 

“Yeah.” 

Simon is your inconsistent consistency. At least, you like to think of him as much. He arrives every Thursday around mid-morning to withdraw the same amount of cash—enough for what you assume he uses in the week. He refuses to use any sort of ATM, and he always chooses your lane. At least, he does while he’s here. Internal records logged on his account show he’s a military man; a soldier. He is volatile in where he is in the world, but so long as he’s in London, you can always count on him to end up in front of your desk somehow. 

He watches you with quiet eyes as you ignore his ID and go straight to retrieving his cash. You’ve only seen that picture of him once when he first started banking, and ever since then you’ve refused to look at it again—as if you’re doing him a favor for not witnessing what he tries so hard to obscure. Each movement of your fingers is scrutinized as he slips a thumb into the pocket of his jeans. Simon always feels like such a stain in places like this—around people like you. The people with bright smiles; who wear clean clothes and attend the perfect nine to five. Each wall in the room glistens with power and wealth, something that he’s never really felt like he can come close to without it tarnishing. 

If it wasn’t for you, he would have switched banks a long time ago. 

“Here you go!” you say, your voice chipper as you hold out the envelope for him. 

Large hands threaten to engulf yours as he reaches for the money, but his fingers never do so much as graze your skin. Simon doesn’t bother counting the cash before folding the envelope and shoving it into the pocket of his jumper. He’s been banking with you for quite some time, and you’ve never miscounted before; he trusts you with that much, at least. 

“Thanks.” It’s short, gruff—to the point. He gathers his ID off of the counter and stows that away next to his envelope before turning to leave. Several wary looks burn into the back of his skull, but he ignores them. 

“Have a good one!” you call after him. 

Have a good one. It’s the same farewell you always give him. Of course, there’s a factitious answer that burns the tip of his tongue every time you say it. Have a good what? But he knows better than to be a smart ass. Though really, the question is a valid one in his mind. Have a good what? Day? Afternoon? Life? 

Would you still say that to him if you knew how far gone he is? 

After that short interaction, Simon doesn’t see you again for a few weeks. He’s off doing what he does best—being a soldier. At times, it feels like it’s all he knows how to do. Run. Shoot. Kill. Stab. He’s long since made peace with his contriteness. The bodies stack up behind him like a pyre waiting to be lit and the stench of it doesn’t even bother him anymore. All he does is wash the blood from his uniform and repeat it all the next day if he even lives long enough to see it. 

But he always does, even when he knows he shouldn’t. Which means he always returns back home to his small studio apartment. It’s not much, but it’s not on the ground floor, and it’s quaint enough for a man who’s never home to enjoy it anyway. The walls are tawny and forever ooze stale nicotine from every pore due to some asshole who couldn’t be arsed to open a window when they smoked. The wood floor is scratched to the point Simon’s certain someone was murdered here, which would explain the odd stain outside of the bathroom door. The only item worse for wear than he is, is the ugly nightstand sitting next to his bed that he bought off of some old man at a car boot sale for a fiver. 

Some nights it feels too cramped. Like there’s not enough elbow room and the ceiling scrapes too close to his head for comfort. Sometimes it’s as if the walls are closing in around him like the tight confines of a coffin, and his mouth goes dry as if he’s choking on dirt. Everything—every detail, every crack in that damn apartment suffocates him as he lays in bed and stares at the water damaged ceiling above him. 

His only solace is his training. Countless years spent wading through gore and limbless bodies has chipped at him just as much as it’s built him back up. Thick fingers curl into the sheets as he grounds himself—he tells himself he’s far away from his grave; far away from Mexico and those reprobates. By the time his heart stills, the alarm clock on his nightstand glares at him in unforgiving crimson light. 

05:23

He has to go to the bank soon. 

Simon manages to get two hours of sleep before the morning sun peeks through his window and rouses him. He wakes himself up with a frigid shower before washing the dishes and making breakfast for himself as he watches the morning news with dull eyes. There’s a segment on rising tensions between Russia and Urzikstan that makes him chuckle, and he finds himself savoring his tea, glad to not be in the field fighting off terrorists. 

After breakfast, he sets off across London for a walk to the bank. He splits crowds like a razor before he broods for a bit on public transport. He sits at the back of his bus with his eyes scanning every person trudging their way to work. There’s not a single face on that vehicle that he has not committed to his temporary memory, or an exit that’s out of view. He likes it this way—being able to watch. Never leaving his back exposed. 

He breathes easier when he gets off at his stop and his bank is within view. The structure glistens with freshly washed windows, and customers keep the doors swinging as they come and go like schools of fish.

When Simon enters the building, he’s able to immediately sense that something is off. 

Shaking off his discomfort, he stands in line with his ID ready for viewing, but as he waits with his head tilted down he realizes what’s missing. There’s no sign of your usual winsome voice—the same one that’s so saccharine that it makes him feel queasy at the mere sound. Your voice is hoarse; raw and dry as if you’re spewing sand from your mouth with each word you speak. 

Keeping his eyes trained at the exits, Simon passes it off as you having a cold until he’s the next person in line. Standing before you, he’s able to witness your appearance and he feels apoplectic bile begin to rise in his throat. It sears his tongue into submission, forcing him to keep quiet as he looks at your face. 

Bright as always, you greet him with your standard the usual? but your words sound clogged in his ears. He doesn’t answer you. All Simon can look at is your smile, and how lopsided it is because of the deep cut that slices the corner of your mouth and the swelling that consumes your left cheek.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

[mulloey]

over the line • yunho

yunho is the perfect boyfriend; kind, loving and an utter gentleman. but there’s something darker, hidden beneath the gentle exterior— and you’re going to prove it.

warnings: dom breaking, hard dom!yunho, sub!reader, heavy degradation, pussy slapping, face fucking, under-negotiated kink but it’s fiction so it’s fine but don’t do it, names (slut, bitch, little girl, sir)

word count: 1.7k

-

from the moment you met, yunho was an absolute gentleman. so much so that you didn’t believe it at first— you thought surely his years as an idol, putting on a happy, adoring face to his fans no matter his mood, had merely taught him to wear a persona, and you were simply waiting for it to break. but it didn’t— as your relationship progressed you saw just how kind, generous and utterly perfect he really was.

but you saw something else, too. a darkness. a glint. a hint of something else, bubbling beneath the surface. if he even knew about it, he definitely didn’t know you knew; it was so subtle that most people wouldn’t have picked up on it— but you’re not most people. you picked up on it.

it was the twitch of his jaw when you spoke back to him. the way his eyes flashed, just for a moment, when you teased or challenged him— picking fights and daring him to retaliate knowing he wouldn’t. it was the way he held you in public; the tightening of his grip when he’d catch another man looking at you. it was the calm, collected way he did things— the control he held over every situation. it was him. you knew there was something in there, deep inside of him; a hunger, a restraint. something simmering. you wanted it.

you’d always joked around with yunho; like any other couple, you messed with each other. so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary when you ramped it up. when you challenged him more, just to see how he’d react. when you’d playfully slap him, just to see if he’d break. when you’d dare him to show you what he’s got.

what finally breaks the dam isn’t what you’d have guessed; then again, few things about yunho are what you’d have guessed. it’s a friday evening, a long-overdue quiet night-in after a hectic few weeks of promotions and awards. your boyfriend has been exhausted. you’ve seen it on his face the whole time, in the slumping of his shoulders as though his own body weight is too much to carry when he shuffles into the house at an unholy hour. but it’s over now, finally, and he’s quickly bouncing back. you’ve been so worried about him and his health that your little mission — release the kraken, your best friend had termed it when you’d discussed it with her — has completely slipped your mind. looking back, maybe that’s what he was waiting for. you to let your guard down. make it easier for him to pounce.

stepping out of the shower, you elect not to bother getting changed— the towel is warm and fluffy, fresh out the dryer, and you’re feeling lazy after a day of cleaning. seeing you prance into the living room, yunho cocks a brow from his seat on the couch, curious. “where’s your pjs, honey?” he asks.

you shrug, flopping down next to him and swinging your legs over his lap. his hand curls around your ankle instinctively, rubbing the soft skin of your leg. you sigh contentedly. you could happily stay like this forever.

but you don’t. a few minutes and some futile channel surfing later, and you find yourself in a stalemate over what to watch. you want to find a chick flick on netflix; he wants some stupid sports thing, and while you rant about how utterly stupid those sport shows are and how utterly stupid he is for wanting to watch them when devil wears prada is right there, he watches you with the same small, cool smile as always until finally, before either of you know what’s happening, he snaps.

“enough.”

it happens before you even register it; yunho moves quickly and in a moment he’s on top of you, face inches from yours with his hand on your neck. caught off guard, you yelp, struggling in his hold until his other hand comes down to grip your waist with a strength that invites no discussion and you finally still. “predictable,” he chuckles. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them and he looks completely irate.

“yunho—”

“this is what you wanted, right?” he asks, grip tightening around your neck. you make a noise, though a noise of what you aren’t quite sure, and he chuckles. his smile fades as quickly as it came. “fucking slut,” he snarls. “you think i didn’t know what you were doing? you think i’m stupid or something?”

you shake your head, too stunned to speak. you don’t… fuck. your brain is going fucking numb already. less than a minute and you’re complete and utter putty in his hands. he smirks, clearly thinking the same thing and you swallow a laugh. you fucking knew it.

“you wanted me to be mean to you,” he says, “you wanted me to take control. didn’t you?”

you say nothing— you don’t know what you’d say even if your mouth didn’t feel glued shut. you’re actually, genuinely speechless.

you nod and he stares at you for a second, face blank. his lips twitch, gaze flickering down for a moment before returning to meet your eyes. “open your legs.”

you don’t know why you don’t obey. you always obey yunho, from his simplest requests to those (formerly, you dare to hope) rare moments where he was a little more firm; you always listen to him. but now, with him exactly where you want him and you exactly where you’ve dreamed of being, you feel… stuck. frozen. maybe it’s the nerves; the excitement; or the helpless feeling of being under his gaze— of being prey. but your legs just. don’t. move.

yunho snorts. “pathetic.” you don’t have time to savour the way that word sounds from your sweet, gentle boyfriend’s mouth before said sweet, gentle boyfriend is grabbing your knees and yanking them apart hard. you squeak, blushing red from being fully exposed (the towel being long forgotten) and, judging by the look on his face, soaking wet.

“i’ve never seen you this turned on,” he says, “without even being touched. sick little girl.”

he releases one of your legs, hand travelling downwards until you feel something warm pressing against you; his long, thick finger, running through your folds and gathering your wetness. you jolt, caught by surprise, and the movement stops. he turns his gaze back to you, looking displeased. “bad girl,” he tuts. you don’t even have time to apologise before he’s wound his hand back and slapped your pussy with his open palm. you yell, aroused and pained— yunho hits hard. the smirk on his face tells you he knows it.

“you liked that,” he says. “you’re a painslut.”

“yunho,” you whine.

his brows furrow, displeased again. “hm, no,” he says, shaking his head. “i think ‘sir’ sounds better, don’t you?”

fuck. you’re pretty sure you’d let this man do anything to you right now. you nod. “yes, sir.”

“get down,” he says, pointing to the floor. “you’re gonna earn my forgiveness.”

whining softly, you shuffle off the couch and let yourself fall down to your knees until you’re face to face with his clothed bulge— a familiar position, but not usually so… intense. not usually with such anger and hunger in your boyfriend's eyes. he pulls his dick out, already hard and weeping as he beckons you closer. “suck,” he orders.

“yes, sir,” you whisper. you reach to hold his shaft in your hand as you usually do and he slaps you away. “i didn’t tell you to touch me,” he says, “that mouth is the only thing i have use for now. so use it.”

when this is over, you’re going to gloat, you think— gloat that you were right all a-fucking-long, you’re always right, you’re a genius, and your scheme was a success. and if that makes yunho angry like this again, so be it.

the feeling of his cock slamming against the back of your throat makes you forget everything else. you scream, as much as one can scream with a cock in their mouth, and try to pull away from it until yunho grabs your hair, forcing you back down onto it. “keep it in your mouth, bitch,” he growls. “make me feel good.”

tears already clouding your vision, you nod, beginning to work his dick with your tongue the way you’re used to. he grunts and moans, grip in your hair growing tighter and tighter as he holds your face firmly down on his cock. within a few minutes he’s fucking your face, hitting your throat again and again and you feel the drool pooling in your lap.

“stop fucking choking on it,” he grunts. “i trained you better than that, fucking act like it.”

you know you’re fully crying now; you feel the tears streaming down your face as you struggle to take him in your mouth, gagging and spluttering while he fucks your throat faster and faster. “fuck,” he says, “fuck, i should’ve whored you out like this so fucking long ago. keep fucking taking it.”

so you do; you take it with everything you have. all your focus is on yunho now; on making him feel good the way he’d ordered you too. and if he’s noticed the way you’re grinding against the floor, desperate for friction against your sopping pussy, then you’re doing such a good job that he’s chosen not to mention it. when he finally comes down your throat, unloading with a yell, you’re both on the brink of collapse and desperate for more. “swallow,” yunho says as he pulls out. he watches as you obey and when your vision finally clears and you come back down to earth, he has that same gentle expression he always does. he leans down to gather you up, lifting you into his arms and running his hand up and down your back.

“well,” he says, “that’s what you wanted, right?”

“yes— fuck,” you breathe. “yes, yunho.”

“good girl,” he smiles. he strokes your tear-streaked cheeks tenderly, watching as your eyes begin to droop and he chuckles. “go to sleep, baby,” he whispers. “and when you’re up, i’ll fuck that little hole until you see stars.”

-

reblog and comment if you enjoyed. requests open. love🖤🖤🖤

[lologoinsolo]

Cats and Their Men Masterlist, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

You can’t seem to think without debating over what you said to Kyle. Needless to say, you feel like you got in your head over it. Maybe he meant it and it wasn’t a pity ask or maybe it was. You don’t know. Kyle doesn’t seem like the type to do that to a lady. He’s sweet, and genuinely funny and handsome and kind an—

“Dude,” Jess comes from the grooming salon as you bang your head against the reception table. You were cold calling but your mind had other ideas. “You look like shit.” Normally you’re more focused on your work but it’s just Kyle, Kyle, Kyle— Remember what you said to Kyle?

Sighing defeatedly, “gee, thanks.” Hitting your head again and again on the firm table. Your forehead throbs when you finally give it rest. “I feel like shit.” You’ve been a zombie at work, you don’t speak much about your home life. You try to keep that separate from the job because you don’t want to drag it in here. It’s not your fault that a stupidly handsome man with an equally stupidly charming smile looked at you the way he did. So why do you feel so hung up about it?

“So…” She asks after a moment of far too much silence. “How’s the calling going?”

“Oh, it’s going.” Groaning softly, “not many people are answering. Some said they wanted to come in but not for today.” Some even started bitching about their previous grooms but you muted them until they finished and still asked if they wanted to come in for an appointment. Funnily enough, they said no.

“Surprised it’s slow for a Saturday.” One of the pains of a grooming salon is that it’ll be filled with clients or it’ll be deader than a western movie scene of a tumbleweed blowing in the wind. “You wanna leave early today?” Nudging you a little as she asks maybe to brighten you up. You’ve been a little cloud of gloom and the other groomers are getting worried.

You think it over, maybe you can ask Connor to let you take a shift on the floor? They still haven’t hired anyone but it would be nice to get home earlier than you usually do. Kyle hasn’t come back… maybe you did fuck yourself over. Wouldn’t be the first time you shot yourself in the foot. His warm brown eyes flashes through your mind's eye and you stand up quickly. Jess quirks a brow and you give a weak nod, “yeah… yeah, I’ll clock out.”

“Alright, clean up and get going.”

She leaves you to your thoughts, cleaning up some kennels and hurriedly clocking out before one of the groomers can even ask you to bathe one of their dogs. Heading straight for the breakroom and shoving your hoodie back on. Rubbing over your face again when you see your reflection. You do look tired. Why does this bother me so much? Walking out and stuffing your wallet and keys into your hoodies pocket. “Oh wait,” you bite your lip slightly, a man’s voice can be heard milling over the different litters the store sell. The Scottish notes to his voice barely heard when you think about those cats around your apartment that you’ve been feeding. “I could to buy another bag.” Blame your grandma for your love of cats, that woman is THE old cat lady and you love that for her.

You waltz down the familiar aisle, looking from the 25 pound bag to the 50 pound bag… It might be best to get the smaller one since you ride the bus but the big one would feed the cats longer. “hmm, alright,” you go for the heavier one after weighing your options. Heaving it onto your shoulders, you wobble a bit when you bend back too far. Shit… Shit! Your world starts to flip and you’re bracing for a hard fall.

“Woah!” A hand settles heavy on your back and steadies you. “Ye need help, lass?” Sparkling blue eyes look down at you. He doesn’t even wait for an answer as he pulls it over his shoulder with ease.

“You— hey!” He doesn’t let you take it from him even when you try to reach for it. In fact, he steps back towards his cart that pokes out from behind him. “I can handle it.” You’re just tired and sluggish, you can lug those things in your sleep.

“Nearly took a tumble,” he winks and you get a better look at him as your lips purse. He’s handsome in a charming, farmer boy way. His hair’s cut into a mohawk and you’d make fun of it if it didn’t actually fit his appearance. There’s a jagged pink scar that’s hard not to notice on his face, your stomach churns at what he must’ve gone through to survive that. The other thing that worries you is that he’s wearing no jacket or hoodie and his face, arms, and hands look like he’s been run through a human sized blender.

“I’m— are you okay?” You point to his arms first and he looks down. He grins something wild and you take the tiniest step back.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “this one just needed some convincing.” You tilt to the side and nearly squeal when he pulls his cart to his side. A bundled up cat in a thick, dark blue jacket is nestled over some litter bags. Orange fur poking out to the fluffiest extent and what’s something of a coincidence… The cat looks like they got an orange looking mohawk of their own. “Bugger didnae want to be caught.”

You blink once and then twice, “oh… oh?!” He laughs a little when it starts to make sense on those cuts of his. The cat doesn’t look like they’d do that from where you’re standing though. They’re sitting quietly in the jacket save for the tiniest flicker of its orange fluffy tail. Slowly blinking their eyes as if the noises from your conversation has woken them up. “They did that?” Gesturing to him once more, “really?”

He nods, doesn’t seem strained at all with how he still holds your bag of cat food. “He’s been around my house for the longest. Took a lot of convincing to grab him.” And you can see the effects of that convincing. Poor, little guy he must’ve tried so hard escape the Scot’s arms from how beat up the man looks. Wait… Scot?

“Johnny?” You blurt and his shoulders tense. His smile drops, the blue of his eyes switches to something sharp. “I— sorry, are you Johnny?” Stammering a little as he eyes you up and down.

His eyes squint and he stands a little more in front of his cart, blocking your view of his cat. “Aye, that’s me,” his accent thicker and just a bit on edge. “Have we met?” No… no you have not and he knows that.

“No, I— uh, Kyle? Are you friends with Kyle and John?” Stammering out your words.

It starts to click in his head and whatever tense moment that was there is gone immediately. “Bonnie?!” You flinch at his boom, “I ken who ye are,” puzzles all connecting finally in his head now, “boys been yappin’ about ye, was wonderin’ when I’d met this cashier of theirs.” Boys? Plural? Theirs? “Can ye help me, lass? I’ve an idea on how to take care of my boy but m’not against asking for help. Been told ye ken what yer doin’.”

The complete 180 is a whiplash, he acted like you were gonna hurt him. Like you could, all the men you’ve been meeting recently look like they can easily hold themselves alone in a fight. “Yeah,” shuffling around, the boys he mentioned are probably the three you’ve met already. Small world… “I can help you out. I don’t mind.” You smile and he returns it happily, granted you are off the clock but… you have a feeling he’ll need some pointers. Damn your heart of hearts. “I can hold tha—“

“Nonsense,” waving his hand with a shrug of his shoulder when try once more to grab the bag. “I’d never let a bonnie thing like ye lift anything heavy. S’what these are for, yeah?” He flexes his arms and you try to not ogle at the muscles. “Mind pushing the cart though?” You nod and step closer to push. His cat seems to not even care at all about the movement. Just sits and stares, calm as can be despite the terror he must’ve caused Johnny.

“He’s a pretty fluffy cat, I’d recommend a good comb.” Cats can get matted and knotted despite being self-groomers, you’ve seen some get groomed at the salon. Usually longhair cats like this one. His paws are big, ears pointed more, “I think your boys a maine coon cat.” The lion’s mane also helps in your thought process. “At least he could be?”

“I think so too,” Johnny looks positively happy in his capture. He worked hard to catch and chase. “He’s been eating what I’ve been leaving out, I checked for a collar but found none.” Though… you doubt he’d care about that from the way he’s speaking. “Guess he’s all mine, Kyle owes me money.” You perk up at the mention of Kyle.

“Poor lad, seemed sad the other day.”

You deflate a little, looking away and you miss the knowing look that Johnny gives you. “Yeah…” you mutter and leave the cart to pull items for his cat. If you had his number then maybe you could talk to him. Or maybe you wouldn’t… “here,” you come back with a cat bed and some toys. You’ve yet to figure out what to say to Kyle when— if. If he comes back. You hope he comes back.

“Careful, hen,” Johnny says worriedly as you put your hand in the cart. Johnny makes a move to grab your arm but it’s too late, your hands already placing the toys down in the cart. There’s a brief pause before his cat tilts his head and moves to sniff as best as he can despite being burrito’d in the jacket. “Oh?” His eyes widened slightly, “I see how it is, hmm? Ye scratch me up but allow the pretty lass to be near ye.” Turning rather green with jealousy as you laugh at his envious expression. To add insult to injury you pet his boy some more and he purrs. Loudly.

“Well…” you pet away at the purring cat, rubbing from his nose to the top of his head. His ears flickering when you thumb over his head to then scratch at his chin. “You did chase him.” Cooing down at the baby, not an ounce of spiciness in those big eyes of his. “Poor boy, you were just scared? Weren’t you?” Baby talking the cat as if he can understand you. “Big scary man came grabbing at you, poor baby.” You’d probably freak out too if Johnny came after you… the man looks like he can definitely toss you around.

“It was for his own good,” Johnny rolls his eyes with indifference. “I couldnae leave ‘im out in the cold.” You flick through the cat’s tufts of hair on the top of his head. Standing them up so it looks more like a mohawk to match his dad’s hairstyle. “He’s too smart, tried to box’im but he ken what I was doin’.” There’s a growing of a smile on his face as he watches you. Can’t be bothered to stay displeased, not with how sweetly you are eing towards his cat. He’s starting to understand the appeal.

You feel eyes on you and you lock eyes with him once you look up. He doesn’t turn from you even as you pull back. The cat doesn’t seem happy about the loss of pets when he tries yet fails to get out of the jacket. “I,” clearing away at your throat and that makes him blink finally. “Well… how did you get him?” A bit curious but it falters when Johnny grins wolfishly. “Oh no, what did you do?”

“Built him a cat house with one of those nice heaters. Only,” he leans closer like he’s telling you a secret, “I made it to where it would shut once he stepped in.” Rolling his shoulder slightly once he stands straight so the bag sits better. “Hardest part was getting him settled cause once I managed to get’em out of it. He ran all around the house knocking things over.” He chuckles, “had to wrap my jacket ‘round him. Clawed me up good.” — ouch! Aw ye stupid wee man! M’tryna help ye, stop bitin’! No, John, m’fine. Finally got my boy.— “He seems calm,” those blue eyes of his squint, “for now.”

Snorting a laugh, “yeah, he does. Just shaken up.” Pivoting on your heel, “come on, need to get you some more things for him. Hope you don’t mind?” He’s already got the litter and the litter box, even has the cat food.

“Not one bit, lass, not one bit.”

You take him around the store to grab what’s needed. His cat is snoozing the entire time, only waking up when a bump gets hit or you laugh a little too hard from Johnny’s jokes. Turns out, the Scot really is bad at naming things. “Firewatch is not a name, Johnny.”

“Ye sound like John.” He muses, cocking a brow at you.

“It’s the truth.” Saying it like a judge’s final answer on a case.

“An Cheddars any be’ter?” Tilting his head down, he’s long since put your bag of cat food in his cart. He would’ve held it longer had you not pestered him so. He liked how flustered you became when he asked if you’re always so worried or if it’s just for him. “Startin’ to think ye donnae ken how to give names.”

“Hey,” looking highly upset that he’d doubt your superior naming abilities. “I can name a cat, you just don’t like any of the names I’ve mentioned.” You’ve both listed off names. Cheddar, Bomb, Apollo, Firestick, Jackie, Blaze, Riley— now that on one, he seemed vehemently against. You don’t know why and he refused to give his reasonings behind it. “What about… Oliver?” He goes to say something but pauses once he chews on it.

“Hmmm,” he looks from your and then downwards, “Oliver, huh? Better than Riley that’s for sure.” Somewhere a big man in a mask that sneezes, “alright,” Johnny concedes, “I like it.”

“Could call him Ol’ Riley for short?” Wiggling your brows.

“Oh, now ye are pushing yer luck, lass.” Pushing the cart to the front to get to paying for everything you told him he’d need. He doesn’t mind the price, pays for it without doubting your knowledge. Even pays for the cat food that you planned on buying much to your surprise. He simply smiled when you tried to offer him your discounts, “s’fine, hen. Least I could do since yer not workin’.” Your cheeks warm a little, those butterflies start fluttering around once more.

“Okay, but, next time?” God, will there be one? “I’m paying for you.” Not taking a no for an answer on the matter.

“S’bad manners if I let ye pay for me, hen.” shaking his head once he walks with you to the exit. “Do ye need help taking this to yer car?”

“What? Oh,” shaking your head no, “I uh,” thinking of a quick excuse. “I need to talk to my manager, gott speak with him on somethings.”

“Ye want me to stay then?” His arms cross as he offers, “I can load it up for ye once yer done.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Coming close and petting Oliver one final time, you reach right for the big bag but Johnny’s hand wraps around your wrist gently to stopping you.

“Ye sure?” You take in a quick gasp, he’s nearly at your side. He’s warm, like a furnace, burns hot even when there’s a chill outside. “S’pretty heavy.”

“Y-Yeah,” tugging back from his grasp, “I’m sure,” you pick it up and he helps settle it on your shoulders. Distributing the weight for you so you don’t have to. “You should get home. It’s too cold out to not be wearing a jacket.”

“Donnae worry yer pretty head, lass.” His hand lands on his hip as he watches to make sure there’s not a wobble to your legs. “I’ll see ye?” Though it doesn’t sound like a question, sounds more like he knows he will sooner rather than later.

“Okay,” watching as he finally leaves to load up his car. You hide in the grooming salon till you think he’s gone and then make the trek up to your bus’s stop. Plopping the bag down and you sit to take a deep breath. There’s sweat on your brow despite the cold but your bus should be coming any minute now. Wiping at your brow, you pick up your phone to look on tiktok to pass the time. Once you hear the hiss of the bus stopping you heave the cat bag up and over your shoulders. Trudging along inside and sitting back in your usual spot.

You don’t notice the pair of eyes thats been watching you from a distance. Taking note of your exhaustion from where he observes you, “hm...” He leaves once your bus gets on moving down its route. It takes you straight home as always.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Onychinus Personal Chef III

ꩇׁׅ݊ You became Sylus' personal chef based off of pure chance. He's picky, he's annoying and he is just so damn fine. ꩇׁׅ݊ fem!reader, sylus x personal-chef!reader pt 3 of a 4 part series

↢ previous ... continue ↣

6 months later…..

You grew to tolerate Sylus as time went by. Who were you kidding you had such a big crush on your boss it was ridiculous. You kept your feelings to yourself though because even though you would let him bend you over his kitchen island this was your job and you needed to draw a professional line somewhere.

Besides he could have any woman he wants there's no way he'd want his personal chef. You needed to remain professional you couldn't afford to lose a once in a lifetime job like this. You blatantly ignored his flirting hoping that would help keep your feelings from growing.

'He’s a calculated man he just enjoys the games' That's what you told yourself whenever he flirted.

“Girl you are quite literally living the life what’s the problem?” Your best friend said over the phone as you were laying in bed after a busy day of back to back orders from your boss and the twins; mainly the twins.

“Yea I know it’s just it’s getting hard having to be around him every day and my thoughts are just getting worse and worse” You palmed your forehead and fell back against your headboard. “Let me guess you were folding an omelet and imagined him folding you like an omelet instead?” You stared at the phone in silence. “Well?”

“Bitch I almost burned the omelet” You two burst into a fit of laughter just as you heard a knock at the door. “I’ll call you back” You quickly hung up the phone and ran to your bedroom door. “Yes?” You cracked the door open and see two faces that always make your day. “Luke! Kieran! Hi what can I do for you?”

“Uhh me and Luke were wondering if you’d be up for making those lemon tarts you made yesterday we know it late and it’s fine if you just want to sleep-”

“Of course I'll make my favorite boys some lemon tarts go start zesting the lemons and I'll be right there I just need to tie my hair back” You always enjoyed cooking and the twins made it all the better. They’d become your closest friends while living here.

Once you’d made one too many lemon tarts and the boys were now yawning after their late night treat you started cleaning up. “Go lay down you know how Sylus gets when you two fall asleep at the counter” They nodded and disappeared out of the kitchen.

You were just finishing up cleaning when you felt someones presence. “You know the cleaners can do all of this for you right?” You kept your back to Sylus as you finished scrubbing the last bowl. “I know, but why give them more work when they already have this entire place to keep clean”

“You made lemon tarts?” Sylus asked seemingly ignoring your response as he picked up one of your tarts. You finally turn to see him standing on the other side of the kitchen in nothing, but a pair of gray sweats. His entire upper half was drool worthy and so was the print in his pants. You had to quickly divert your attention before you actually started drooling. “Yes you can have that one”

“They’re my favorite” His low sultry voice had your skin hot and your heart racing. “There’s only one left?” You nodded as you continuously scrubbed the obviously clean bowl in the sink. “Yes Sir I hope you enjoy it”

“Did you get one?” He asked and you could hear his footsteps getting closer and that heady scent of his beginning to waft around you "and what's with the sudden formality?"

You shook your head as you moved to dry the bowl off by hand. Anything to make space between you and him. "I tasted as I made them and you're my boss sir" You were unsuccessful with the attempt to put any space between you two because once you were done drying the bowl you couldn't reach the shelf that it needed to go on. Suddenly you felt Sylus' hand brush yours as he grabbed the bowl and placed it on the shelf. Just as you were about to run again he turned you to face him.

“Speak. What's wrong?” He questioned with a quirked brow. You looked anywhere, but at him as you searched your brain for anyway to keep this conversation professional. “The twins ate the rest …. they requested them Sir” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out breathy. "That's not what I asked" His voice was as smooth as velvet and it had your stomach doing back flips.

Damn it.

"Sylus it feels like you're playing with my emotions and I'm trying my hardest to remain professional" Your frustration was palpable and all Sylus did was eye you with a smirk before putting his attention on the tart in his hand. A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest as he took a bite; relishing in the taste. “You have some on your lip” You reached up to wipe it and stopped yourself only for Sylus to grab your wrist and use your finger to wipe his lip. He then turned your hand and guided your finger onto your bottom lip smearing the sweet and tangy filling on your lip. Your tongue darted out instinctively tasting it and for some reason it tasted even better this way.

“Is this what they call an indirect kiss?” He questioned as he held onto your wrist and continued to close the distance between you two. “Y-Yea I guess” Your voice was nothing but a breathy whisper. Why was he acting like this? His gaze was so intense it almost seemed like he wanted it to be a direct kiss. That’s when you notice Sylus had you backed up against the counter. You panicked as you realized your composure was starting to slip “I should probably get to bed I have a lot of prep to do tomorrow for a certain someone who likes to give me complicated ass meal requests” You mentally high five yourself for not stuttering considering the fact that his scent was so intoxicating you were damn near melting. You needed to get away from him before you did something you’d regret.

Sylus sat the tart down behind you trapping you between him and the counter. “Complicated?” He said as he tipped your chin up and leaned in closer giving him direct access to a searing kiss if he wanted it. Part of you really hoped he wanted it as much as you did. “Yes you’re very picky Mr. Qin” Sylus could feel your breath on his lips; his gazed snapped down to your lips which immediately parted. “Why do you think I chose you?” Before you could question what he just said he dipped his head connecting his lips with yours in a heated kiss. You froze for a second your brain not wanting to believe what is happening when you felt Sylus swipe his tongue across your bottom lip and you opened up moaning into his mouth as you melted into the kiss.

Sylus held you close to his body, one arm snaking around your waist and his other hand gripping the nape of your neck. You pulled away out of breath; your heavy breaths mingling with his. He placed one last quick kiss on your lips before grabbing his half-eaten tart and turning to leave. Just as he reached the doorway he stopped and glanced over his shoulder “I hope that was clear enough for you about where I stand” and with that he turned and headed down the hall.

You fell to your knees immediately once he was out of sight. “Did that really just happen?”

↢ previous ... continue ↣

ꩇׁׅ݊ taglist ; @mangooes @mourning-into-dancing @ladyparamount @kindalonely-ngl @everythingistaken00

ꩇׁׅ݊ Just realized this could have another part …. I like baby cliffhangers though. Maybe there will be a part 4 no promises MUAH💋 update: y'all got pt 4 outta me love ya

[redtsundere-writes]

We need sukuna brutally murdering another servant because they put reader in a bad mood. ITS NOT A WANT ITS A NEED PLEASE

Blood Bath | Sukuna Ryomen

king!sukuna ryomen x femservant!reader

Sypnosis: The king needs to wash himself after defending his favorite servant. Contents: king x servant, kinda fluffy I guess, murder, a bit of humiliation, nudity. Word count: 2255 words. Author's note: Thanks for the request, anon! I was already writing this fic when I received your message, so it was a great add-in! Beginning. ← Previous | Next →

AO3/WATTPAD VERSION

Sukuna left the castle a week ago. He set out for distant lands to conquer villages, eat its people and spread the terror on his behalf. The absence of his presence was noticeable in the magnificent palace. Peace reigned in the spotless marble hallways, the quiet kitchen and the solitary great hall. Despite not having the pressure of everything being perfect, the servants were making sure the castle would shine for the king's return. The servants walked around at their leisure, pretending they owned the place. They ate at whatever time they wanted, lay down to rest on the lawn of the parade ground, and talked loudly about the rumors that have been surfacing about your relationship with the king.

Recently, it had come to your attention that you were Sukuna's favorite servant, but no one knew exactly why. The consensus had concluded that it was because you were his mistress. Sukuna used to lock himself in his room with you for hours at a time and always came out with a broad smile. The truth is that you didn't sleep with him, you just gave him massages, fixed his outfits and sometimes talked for hours. You tried several times to clear up the rumors, but no one believed you.

It was a rainy summer afternoon. You and a small group of servants were cleaning the great hall, the largest room in the castle. Surrounded by white concrete columns that rose to the ceiling, you sternly swept the red carpet that indicated the center. Diamond chandeliers softly lit the place, statues of the king stood tall and the beautiful hand-painted mural raised on the ceiling harmonized the entire room. The drops fell softly against the giant window in which the green outside could be admired.

“When do you think our king will return?” One servant asked the other as they cleaned the decorative torches that rested on steel bases around the perimeter.

“He won't be long, he has to come back to his mistress,” the other one joked. They both let out small, annoying laughs.

Those kinds of comments had become more recurrent as the days went by. You knew they did it on purpose. They raised their voices every time you entered the room or when you were about to go to sleep. None of the other servants seemed to want to intrude to keep what little peace they had. You slammed the broom down on the carpet hard to take out your frustration.

“How disgusting to be that monster's mistress, don't you think?” the other one asked. You could feel her piercing gaze on the back of your head, waiting for you to react to her uncalled-for comment.

“I know! I don't know how she can sleep with someone as creepy as our king,” she replied with disgust in her voice.

Those two had crossed the line. You firmly grabbed the broomstick to confront them about their lousy topic of conversation. You approached them at a steady pace, dragging the broomstick in case you needed it as a weapon to defend yours and your king’s honor.

“That's enough!” you scolded. “I don't sleep with our king! Besides, he may be a monster, but thanks to him, we can eat fresh food, sleep in comfortable beds and live in a magnificent palace! If I were you, I'd stop barking, bitches!” You exploded after such a long time of having to put up with their out-of-place comments.

“Shut up! You're only defending him because you're his favorite whore!” One of them exclaimed, throwing the feather duster in her face.

“Yeah, shut the fuck up, who-!”

A fine cut echoed throughout the great hall. A large splash of blood fell on your face, blinding you for a couple of seconds. The slight gasp of surprise from the other servants left you speechless. You dropped the broom to scrub your eyes. What had happened? You backed up in desperation until you ran into a wall that wasn't there before. After a crack, it all made sense. You looked up to see Sukuna's sharp jaw. Dried blood tainted his skin, his breath was cut short from exhaustion. He was back home after conquering another empire successfully. 

“Does anyone have anything else to say?” Sukuna asked the other servants, who were kneeling before him, giving him a warm welcome.

You knew you should kneel, but seeing the lifeless bodies of what used to be your gossiping companions made your body freeze. Their heads had been cut in half and the rest of their bodies were shattered. What used to be two women were now small pools of blood and bones. Sukuna had erased their existence with just a couple of his fingers. It was a scene you never thought your eyes would see in the flesh. That would be your fate if you did not obey your master's orders.

“This is a reminder that I can get rid of you just as quickly,” he threatened. His thick voice echoed off the walls. “If I hear that you even dare to speak blasphemies about me or one of your companions, I will not hesitate to kill you. Do you understand?” The servants, still kneeling, said, “Yes, my king,” in unison. 

Coming out of your state of shock, you turned around to kneel at his feet. Sukuna looked at your small figure compared to him. He had heard how you had defended his honor in the face of annoying accusations. He knew you were a good servant, but now you had proven to him that you were loyal. 

“Welcome home, my king,” you greeted in a trembling voice. Your body was still processing the murder your eyes had witnessed. 

“Draw me a bath,” he ordered, brushing past your greeting. 

“Yes, my king.”

You ran as fast as possible to his room to get there before him. Luckily, you had cleaned the bathroom thoroughly the day before, so everything was ready for the king to relax properly. You turned on the faucet to fill the tub with hot water, sprinkled scented bath salts, filled the water with bubbles and lit a few candles to romance the atmosphere. Sukuna soon arrived. Without a word, he began to undress as usual. Obediently, you stood in front of the wall to give her privacy.

“Since when?” He asked you as he untied the knots of his garments and let them fall to the floor. You could only hear the fabric sliding down his Herculean body.

“I don't understand the question, my king,” you answered confused, looking at the wall full of green tiles.

“How long have they been bothering you?” Sukuna completed the question while analyzing your figure from behind. He could tell you were nervous in his presence. It was the first time you saw him kill someone, it must have made quite an impression on you.

“Since a couple of months ago,” you answered.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Sukuna entered the bathtub, which was already bubbling. You closed the bath faucet and approached a stool to begin the most complicated task, washing his hair.

“I didn't want to waste your time.” You prepared the utensils: a sponge, a small wooden bowl and glass bottles filled with the hair products.

“You don't dictate what I do with my time,” he replied sternly.

Sukuna stepped into the tub so you could easily reach his head, drowning his torso into the soapy water. With the help of a soft sponge, you wet his pale pink hair, taking care that the water did not enter his ears. The king closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away by the pleasant sensation after a week of consecutive massacres. Untangling his short hair with a wooden comb, avoiding pulling too much so as not to hurt him. You placed the shampoo directly on his head and massaged the product into the roots.

Sukuna hummed happily every time your fingers gently stroked his scalp. You were so gentle with him even though he was the worst monster ever. You scratched, stroked and massaged his skull to your heart's content. While you let the product work, you focused on his broad shoulders. Your hands roamed his upper body calmly and patiently. The king was tired from having fought day after day and night after night to leave his name high as the greatest conqueror, you could tell by how tense his skin was.

“Answer me a question,” Sukuna asked with his eyes closed.

“As many as you wish, my king.”

“Are you loyal to me because you are afraid of me or because I am powerful?” He asked firmly.

“Both. I am afraid of you because you are powerful,” you replied as you took the bowl of water to rinse his hair.

Sukuna smiled in satisfaction with your answer. That's why you were his favorite servant. You are a perfectionist, shrewd and perceptive. You always managed to surprise him in a different way every time. Something no woman had ever managed to do before. Sukuna twisted his torso to face you. Your face and your white clothes were inked with the blood of your companions. He couldn't let you work like that, after all, it's his fault you were stained.

“Take off your clothes and come in,” he ordered.

“What?” You asked, shocked.

“You're dirty. Come in. I won't repeat myself,” Sukuna demanded.

You nodded and started to undress before his eyes. He had seen hundreds of women undress before. He knows what a pair of striking breasts, sexy hips and long legs look like, but even so, he was mesmerized as he watched you unfold before his eyes. Each garment slid down your body delicately, your hairs bristled from the change in temperature and your nipples stood erect at the lustfulness. No one but your mother had ever seen you naked. You had never been with a man, let alone a monster as imposing as he was.

Sukuna held out his hand to help you into the large tub. You sat in front of him and covered your breasts with the glistening bubbles that floated around you. He took one of the sponges and soaked it with soap to gently clean your face. The now dried blood came off easily. His black claws sometimes scratched your cheeks, but you could tell he was trying to be as gentle as possible with your beautiful face.

“It's not necessary, I can do it myself,” you asked, trying to take the sponge from him.

“I can wash my own hair too, but I prefer you to do it. Let me do it,” he replied before filling the bowl with water and wetting your hair.

He repeats the same process as you. The warm water, the closeness of your bodies and his hands taking care of your hair, transported you to fantasies where you had a relationship beyond king-servant. They were romantic ideas of a Sukuna you didn't quite know. A Sukuna who hugged you every time he saw you, who gave you head pats every time you did something right, and who sat you on his wide lap, demanding attention.

Someone knocked on the door, to which Sukuna allowed access. It was Uraume, who had just heard that the king had returned and what had happened with the reckless maids. What they did not expect was to see you in the bathtub next to his majesty, but even so, they decided not to ask details of how they had come to that situation.

“Welcome home, your majesty.” Uraume bowed from the doorway. “Dinner is ready. You must be hungry after the long journey.”

“I'll be there in a minute,” Sukuna answered. Uraume bowed again and left the room.

“They won't say anything,” Sukuna assured you before getting out of the tub. You were about to get out to give him his towel too, but he stopped you. “The water is still hot, it would be a shame to waste it,” he said before taking the towel and wrapping it around his waist.

“It's my job to do it,” you said.

“Your job is to obey me,” he dictated seriously. You sat back down in the tub and nodded. “Good girl,” he said with a satisfied smile before leaving the bathroom.

Sukuna returned to the bathroom and looked in his closet for what he would wear to dinner. He glanced into the bathroom from time to time to observe you. A small naked human wrapped in the ethereal steam of her innocence. He could have any woman in the world. Why was his mind obsessed with your beauty, your words, and your docility? He didn't know exactly, but he was sure you were completely his, so he didn’t have anything to worry about.

You stood alone with your thoughts in the elegant bath. You plunged your body into the water, submerging your head in the bubbles. Heads cut in half, his big hands stroking your hair, brains strewn across the carpet, his gentle touch as he washed your face. The quick, deep images made you feel confused. Your head went back up to the surface as you realized you were short of breath. You brushed your wet hair back to take a deep breath. What were you doing? Where were you? What kind of person were you serving? Sukuna confused you with his actions, and now you didn't know what to do with your poor heart beating a mile a minute for him.

Next →

Order your own fanfic! (Starting price: $5 USD)

Masterlist.

[ktittycat]

regulus black x female reader | sleeping beauty

———————————————————————

* somnophilia, perv!reggie, masturbating, basically non-con, innocence kink, cuz reggie’s like a brother to you :( he calls u good girl, p in v, unsafe sex …. if there’s more tags tell me

———————————————————————

you were a deep sleeper. it would take more than 5 alarms to wake you up— and if someone were to slap you across the face… you might wake up, but would immediately go back to sleep. it’s 12 AM when your best friend, someone who you view as a brother, enters your dorm room. it’s just you in there, since all your dorm mates had gone out that night.

you don’t even notice, deep asleep and snoring quietly. he smiles lazily at your hello kitty shirt., and fuck, you aren’t even wearing shorts. you’re wearing these cute hello kitty underwear to match. his pants tighten at the sight.

he knows it’s wrong. you’re sleeping and completely unaware of what he’s about to do to you. and regulus knows you view him as a brother. but with your cute frame and those doe eyes— he’s bound to fall in love. he moves a piece of hair out of your face.

“you’re just so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles as he kisses your cheek, tugging up your shirt to reveal those perky boobs he’s been dying to see. “fuck.”

he fondles with them for a bit before pulling down his sweatpants, his hard cock popping out. it’s tip is throbbing with a bright red. he so desperately needs you. he holds your chin gently, positioning your face so he can see you. and he strokes. strokes to the sight of your boobs and your unconscious face.

“fuck,” he lets out a low groan. he squeezes his cock harder. you whimper in your sleep, and turn back around. he smirks and cups your breast, still jerking off to the sight of your body. he moans quietly until he reaches his high, shuddering as his cum spurts all over your chest. he chuckles quietly.

“such an innocent girl,” he whispers. he peppers small kisses down your body as he moves your panties to the side. “you’d be such a good girl for me.”

regulus grunts quietly when he sees your pussy. he’s immediately hard again. his tip teases the entrance of your cunt. he bites his lip. “you won’t mind if i stick it in just a little bit, hm?”

you’re still fast asleep. as he enters just the aching head of his cock inside of you, you unconsciously spread your legs wider. he lets out a small chuckle, rubbing your thighs. he grinds against you desperately, whimpering like a bitch in heat just from your virgin pussy.

oh my god, he thinks as he thrusts, pushing himself inside even more. i’m taking her virginity and she doesn’t even know.

“so fucking tight,” his breath hitches as he bottoms out, his large cock reaching deep inside you. “pretty little virgin.”

he pounds into you desperately, and you stay asleep during all of this. his moans become hoarse as his orgasm comes close. he knows he shouldn’t come inside you… but the way your pussy clenches around him and how warm your insides feel— he spills inside immediately. his head throws back as he comes, mouth wide open and he’s gotten completely reckless. he’s moaning loudly.

regulus pulls out. he takes out his phone and takes a picture of your disheveled state. it’s wrong, and he feels an immense amount of guilt, but oh, he’s gonna jerk off to that later. he spends the next few minutes using his fingers to scoop his cum out, and cleans your cum-covered boobs. just a few minutes later, and you’re back to normal. he kisses your lips softly before leaving your room.

he sees you in the morning, eating breakfast in the great hall. you smile and wave at him, regulus immediately walks over to you.

“hi reggie,” you smile as you eat your food. “how’d you sleep?”

“good…” he chuckles nervously. “and you?”

“i slept good but,” you frown. “i must’ve slept wrong because my legs are so sore.”

“oh. that’s weird. you want reggie to massage your legs for you?” he smiles, feigning innocence. you nod and make plans for him to come over to your dorm later so he can massage your thighs.

pt 2 pt 3

masterlist

[alchemistc]

Donato spots it first - Tommy's been fidgeting with the just-too-short sleeves of his shirt for the past ten minutes, fingers curling into the ends of the arms, thumb sliding along the hem like maybe he could make them long enough to fully cover his wrists just by thinking really hard about it. It's stretched tight across his shoulders, the neck hole feels too high, biting into his skin, and Tommy is absolutely certain it's been hemmed in at the fucking waist, because he can barely keep the damn thing tucked into his pants.

(The cost of having those fucking magnificent gazelle legs is apparently torso space.)

"You shrink your shirt in the wash again, Kinard?"

Tommy's been begging their vendor to switch to a jersey blend for years because 100% cotton undershirts are a goddamn bitch and a half to maintain.

Tommy thinks about ignoring the question entirely. They've been razzing him for weeks about the way every single smile line in his face has been putting in overtime lately.

And then she gets a closer look at it. The merch is usually the same cross-department, but every once in a while some probie will get stuck with the task of ordering a few extras to have as backups around the station and they'll go a little too hard on customization. Like, for example, the one he'd picked off the top of his clean laundry basket without looking in his rush out the door this morning.

Lucy's eyes narrow. She reaches forward, pinches the 118 emblem blazing across the breadth of his shoulder, takes in the color and sturdiness of a shirt he definitely can't play off as being old enough to have been from his own time at the One Eighteen.

Donato grimaces so mockingly Tommy nearly warns her that her face'll get stuck like that. "Christ, Kinard, how fucking domestic are you two?"

(Three days off together after a week of getting by with random texts, their schedules nearly opposite, and when Evan had stared at his overnight bag on day two and realized he didn't have any spare undershirts he'd pouted up a storm about the fact that if he had to go back to his place it didn't make a lick of sense to turn right back around to Tommy's, so Tommy had just thrown Evan's dirty undershirt in with the rest of his own laundry. And then prompted Evan to throw all his other stuff in the wash too. Halfway across the city, Evan is definitely rolling too-long sleeves over his palm with the tips of his fingers and Tommy does not have time to think about how much he likes the idea of that )

"He doesn't even know my how I take my coffee," Tommy snipes, like that avoids the question, and across the locker room Johnson slams his locker shut with a snort.

"Because you've been using his increasingly more desperate attempts to figure it out as some weird intricate mating ritual for three months now."

"It's about --."

"--the journey, not the destination," they both interrupt, eyes rolling, and Tommy doesn't bother to try to hide the grin in his face.

"He just wants to get it right so bad."

Donato's face is unimpressed. "Ugh. Can you please stop being so smitten right in front of me? I'm gonna throw up."

Tommy leans in for the kill. "Your wife ever buy you flowers, Johnson? Because I've been trying to decide how much thought went into the arrangement he brought me on Saturday, and I figure -." He dodges the palm Johnson extends towards his face with a bark of bright laughter.

---

Evan 2:15 PM

Boyfriend privileges are a SCAM

Evan 2:15 PM

Why is YOUR NAME on the back of this shirt? There's no way that's standard

Evan 2:16 PM

Chimney's being homophobic

Evan 2:19 PM

Nvm Gerrard saw it and now I'm just sad he didn't actually have a heart attack about it

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Cain (p2)

tw: violence, Cain is fluent in profanity, you're getting harassed, catcalling, Cain is mean as hell to you, he's also a pretty weird guy. Slowburn, but eventually yandere. The reader in this series will be gender neutral, but it was originally designed to be male in mind. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is part 2.

Click here for part 3

Click here for part 1

You beat yourself up for not having the spine to say no. You worked hard to earn enough money so you could have a place you could truly call your own, and now, by having Cain, you're back to square one. But how could you say no to someone who's been beaten up by life? You would feel bad if one day the news said that he died outside, cold and alone. And you knew, with his life like this, he would be met with similar fates as your imagination.

So you promise to show him the way back to your modest apartment. You're in a small town, so it's much easier to be a homeowner here as the prices are much lower than those of a big city.

However, you can only bring him home after work today. And you clearly expressed that. He stayed silent and wouldn't offer his thoughts on that. So you assume that he agrees.

You're already half an hour late, even if you take the next bus.

There were some more awkward moments where neither of you talked. It's hard to get a read of him; you don't know how he feels about you, the world, or himself now.

You hesitantly took some cash out of your wallet and tried giving it to him. You said that it should last him until it gets back, but your good intentions were met with scorn. His mostly neutral face contorted to that of vexation.

"Fuck you, bitch! You think I'm some good-for-nothing scum? Huh? I don't want your money!" He yells at you before hopping off the bench and storming off to nowhere in his usual fashion. You only saw him from the back, but you could tell that he was wiping something off his face.

You were left utterly speechless, with some cash in your hand. Earlier, he seemed to want to avoid the rain. But now, he has no problem marching through it.

So you had a choice to put it back into your wallet. However, you decided to just leave it on the bench... more like slot it between two planks to hide it a bit. You don't really know why you did that, but you knew it would probably help him or someone else who actually needs the money somehow.

As if on cue, the next bus arrived to pick you up. You didn't look back and just headed in.

The doors shut, and you took a seat. A passenger was blocking the window that faced the bus stop. It's a shame that you didn't see him coming back to search the area, eventually finding the money that he truly needed to get through the day on his own.

You had to get through your own day, though. And you decided to work longer hours to compensate for your tardiness. Which meant you had to be the closer to this quaint Café you work at. The promise to bring Cain home slipped your mind, and luckily, it did, or you would feel guilty the entire time you're stuck behind the counter. He must be waiting there cluelessly.

The day consists of, well, coffee making, cleaning... and it's just boring. On a good day, you get to chat up with nice customers to pass your time. On the bad way, you would be hurriedly emptying the cash register while you have the cold barrel of a gun pointed at you. Today is just one of those days where it's neither good nor bad, it's just mundane.

You're not keen on being the closer. This town is somewhat known for their "colourful" personalities. They tend to come out when the sun goes down, and this cafe closes well after that. But you trudge on, as you know life too goes on.

Soon, you found yourself flipping the sign on the door from "OPEN" to "CLOSED". It's the end of the business day and it's time to go home. You did what you have to do and double checked, you wouldn't want to be responsible for any break-ins, damages or spoilages.

You stretched your arms and yawned. Pausing midway when you realized that you probably left Cain waiting aimlessly. You picked up your pace and ran to the bus stop, maybe if you could catch an earlier one, you would get there and not witness too much of his wrath.

"Hey, what's the rush, beautiful?" You ignored the cat caller in favour of catching the bus that's fast approaching. You let your feet propel forward, you felt the burn in your lungs as you ran.

But it wasn't enough. You couldn't catch it. So you slowed down in desolation and panted.

"What's the rush?" You look behind you to see a stranger with a sleazy smile. You felt a little bad for judging his looks, but he doesn't make you feel safe.

"Let's get to know each other a bit." He approached you. Oh god, it's one of them. This is why you hated closing shifts; these creeps are everywhere when it goes dark.

You politely declined and said you have somewhere to be. You began walking away quickly, but he followed you.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't be like that, I just wanna talk." You hastened your pace, but the stranger had no problem catching up. You hissed curses under your breath, as there was no one around at the moment, you didn't think you saw any surveillance cameras either. Why did this Cafe close so late?

You told the stranger to get away from you. But that didn't ward him off. It did the opposite, as he suddenly shot out to grab your wrist. You screamed and began thrashing, but you knew no one was there to save you. But you had to try, you're not in any capacity to fight him off... or even fight through a paper bag.

"Fiesty thing, aren't you?" He sneered, managing to restrain the other wrist. The stranger laughed at your pathetic attempt to free yourself.

You thought you were done for until,

An empty bottle crashed onto his head. You shut your eyes tight as some of the shards got onto you, which managed to loosen his grip on you enough to escape.

"What the f-!" A fist collided against the side of his face as he turned around, causing a crack to resonate in the air, and immediately knocking him out cold. You gasped in horror, looking at your violent, drunken savior.

Of course, who other than Cain would do this for you?

You heard him hiccuping and saw him stumbling a bit as he rummaged through the stranger's body. He took some jewelry and his wallet. You tried saying something about the morality of that, but you were swiftly met with a slurred "Shut up."

You asked him how he knew where you were. His eyebrows scrunched up in annoyance.

"How do you think? I followed you. Stupid." He mumbled, taking the cash out of the stranger's wallet and chucking the empty accessory against the unconscious body. Cain gave him one last kick to the ribs before stumbling towards you.

He slapped the cash against your chest, letting it go before you had the chance to grab it. So it fell to the ground, but you can clearly see that he had given you sixty dollars, triple the amount of cash you tried giving to him earlier today. It looks like Cain still got a bit more cash after giving you that. You wonder how much this stranger was carrying.

You told him that you didn't want this money. He merely ignored you and slowly and unsteadily made his way to the bus stop.

Well. It's a shame for it to go to waste, and this should be compensation for causing you so much distress in the first place. So you picked them up and spared a glance at the stranger who was on the ground. You're afraid that he's heavily injured, or worse-

"He'll fucking live! Move your ass, the bus is here!" You jumped when Cain hollered.

You then ran towards him, who appears to keep the doors open despite beration from the bus driver.

You apologised as soon as you entered the vehicle, even tipping him a bit more money for the trouble and paying for Cain's fare. The driver grumbled something and told you to take a seat.

You did as you were told and decided to sit next to Cain, all the way at the back of the bus. He was resting his head against the glass window, and his eyes were closed.

The ride was mostly uneventful and quiet. Save for the unstable man that you promised to house tonight. But he isn't interacting with you much, focusing on not completely dozing off. There were bruises on his knuckles and fresh cuts, too, no doubt from defending you earlier and probably something else that occurred during the day.

The bus was empty, save for the two of you. So when a woman entered from a stop, and decided to sit too close to you and Cain...

"Sit somewhere else, bitch." He growled, which caught you off guard. You thought that he's mostly unaware of his surroundings.

The woman reacted in surprise, and decided to sit far, far away from the two of you.

And you felt bad. Because she probably just wanted to be in the company of someone, it must be scary for her to be out alone this late. But you decided not to say anything, Cain is actually quite scary and you're really doubting your judgement to let him stay with you tonight.

When it's your stop, you turn to him to wake him up, only to find that he's already standing. Albeit wobbly from the alcohol.

He was the first to leave, you apologized to the bus driver profusely as you followed along. You only received a dismissive grunt.

You found Cain standing there, using the dented bus stop pole for support. Waiting for you to lead the way.

And of course you did, reluctantly. You started walking in the direction of your apartment. Cain followed you without saying a word too.

You eventually reached your apartment, though. Unfortunately for him, there isn't a lift. But fortunately for him, you're living on the ground floor.

Cringing as you let him in, you observed what he's doing first. He simply plopped himself down onto your couch as he caught a breather. You stared at him, but he doesn't seem to be doing anything else.

"What are you doing? Shut the fucking door! Anyone can just get the hell in!" He suddenly snapped at you. Immediately after, you closed your door.

"And lock it too!" You did just that.

Then...

It was just silence. Cain just stares into space as you cautiously move around the room to get to the kitchen.

You asked him if he wanted anything to eat.

No answer. But you know he heard you.

You took that as a yes, so you proceeded to cook two portions of a very simple dish: Egg fried rice. That's all you could cook anyways, you had forgotten to do some grocery shopping this week.

The entire time, he didn't budge from his seat. Not to turn on the TV, not to snoop around. He's just sitting motionless there, you think Cain must be utterly exhausted.

Once it's finished and the aroma of delicious simple cooking filled the air, you plated it. A dish for each person.

You placed one on the coffee table in front of him, while you dug into yours. Cain just averted his gaze away from you or the food and did not attempt to even touch it.

You held your tongue and focused on eating your portion. And you think that it's too much for you because you already felt full despite only eating a quarter of the heaping plate.

Cain still hasn't touched his plate, and you could tell that it went cold. But you're not one to force people to do something.

You just told him to wrap it in cling wrap and put it in the fridge if he's not hungry. You got up to pack away your leftovers, planning to have them for breakfast the next day. This entire time, Cain was almost in a catatonic state, not speaking or moving very much.

You announced that you're going to get ready for bed, and he's free to use the couch. You also told him where to find extra blankets in your various cupboards.

No response. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement.

You sighed. There's not much you could do except lock your bedroom door. You don't think there are a lot of valuable things in your living room anyway, so if he were to rob you, it'll just be nothing more than an inconvenience and a mess to clean up.

And so, you went ahead and did your usual routine to feel fresh and ready to sleep. It didn't take egregiously long, but long enough for Cain to do some damage to your home if he wanted to. However, you tend to see the good in people and prefer not to think of them in that light. You had a strong belief that he wouldn't do that to you out of courtesy... right?

You feel an extra washing of dread as you scrub yourself with soap, letting your mind race about him. Please, please, please don't prove you wrong, and turn up to be the biggest mistake of your life. You begged internally, hoping hard that he would just go to sleep and disappear on his own the next morning. Maybe leaving a note telling you that he's going to be fine.

Once you're done freshening up, you get out of your bathroom to see... the lights were still on. However, it seems like Cain was already out cold.

Strangely, there were signs of use in your kitchen. You quietly made your way to the sink and saw that there were more dirty dishes and containers that you hadn't accounted for. Baffled, you checked the fridge to see that every and any foodstuffs that were half-opened, half-eaten from prior dinners were gone. Some of which were old and were supposed to be thrown out today, but it's gone, and the bin showed no signs of solid food waste. Even sodas that you sipped a bit of and forgot about for days are gone. The only thing that was left untouched was anything that had its packaging intact, and his pristinely kept portion of egg fried rice, which is still in its original plate and covered in cling wrap, like how you asked him to.

You were perplexed at his choices. Why would he eat stale leftovers and not freshly prepared or untampered-with food? You tried thinking hard about it, and the only conclusion that sounds plausible enough to you is that... he thinks they aren't poisoned. Logically, if you were evil, you probably wouldn't poison your own unwanted leftovers but would instead do so to enticing, fresh, and delicious batches. Like the dish you prepared for him outside his supervision.

With the short time that he could have possibly done this, he must have eaten everything cold. You don't think he could have cleared out most of your fridge from unappetizing leftovers if he took the time to microwave each thing. You felt bad for the man, but it's not like you forced him to do it. Neither could you stop him.

You're too tired to do the dishes now. And it's going to wake him up, so you're planning to do them sometime tomorrow. Though he should have done it instead.

You tiptoed to where he was lying and saw that his eyes were fully closed. His arms were crossed, and his chest rose up and down as he breathed. You know that it can get quite cold at night, so you went and took out a folded blanket. It would be a nice gesture to drape the fabric over him, but seeing that he probably wouldn't appreciate that, you placed it near him instead. He will put it on himself whenever he wants to.

You switched the lights off before retreating back into your room, locking the door behind you.

You unfortunately couldn't get much sleep that night. Worrying about what Cain might do to you or your beloved home, you became hypervigilant. Every little noise causes you to jerk in place, and you perceive everything as danger now. Luckily, tomorrow is your off day, and you wouldn't really need to worry about responsibilities. Maybe you should ask him to come with you to the grocery store and figure out what he wants to eat.

And here comes the sunrise. You felt groggy and completely like shit. But you're alive and well. Exhaling a breath of relief, you got out of bed and opened the door with caution, expecting to see that the state of your living room had been turned upside down. But no.

It's pretty much the same as how it was left last night, with the dirty dishes, except Cain isn't to be found anywhere, and the blanket was messily strewn on the couch. No notes, no indication as to where he might be at this time of day.

You noted that a pot was used. Checking your freezer, it seems like he ate a good chunk of its contents. Again, the only things that were missing were freezer-burnt leftovers. Oddly didn't use up the chicken nuggets or fish fingers. The fried rice was still untouched in the fridge.

The day went by uneventfully, aside from having more dishes than usual to wash, you spent your time doing what you would usually do. Cain was still out there, somewhere. You hope that he's not getting in any more fights, but you knew that a free, fiery spirit like him can never find himself outside of trouble.

At one point, you got ready to go to the grocery store.

You left your room and locked the door. Then, you began walking towards the direction of the bus stop with your eyes glued onto your cracked smartphone. You were making a list of things that you're supposed to buy, but it seems like you didn't learn your lesson since the last time you biked and texted. As you kept going, and going, and going--

You choked when you felt a powerful tug on the back of the neckline of your shirt. This inevitably made your phone slip out of your hand and hit the asphalt, where a car that's been sounding its horn continuously ran over it and utterly destroyed it this time. You stumbled as you tried to regain your balance.

"Watch where you're fucking going!" You heard that familiar yell in your ear, but you couldn't escape it as he held you tightly by the shirt. "You're no better than the deaf and blind with that damn thing, good that it's fucking destroyed now, maybe then you'll learn to pay attention!"

You stammered apologies as he gave you an earful, you tried to pry his grip away from your shirt, but to no avail. He lets out an exasperated groan before letting you go. You immediately tried retrieving whatever is left of your pancaked phone, but Cain grabbed you by the shirt again to prevent you from getting hit by an oncoming truck. Which also further flattened your beloved device.

"Leave it! You can't do shit with it anymore." He dragged you away from the electronic gore scene. You frowned, feeling a sense of despair, and were about to cry from your loss, until-

"Where the hell are you even going, anyway?" He lets you go, but grabs onto both your shoulders. Probably to prevent you from turning around and making a mad dash for your pulverised phone.

You told him that you wanted to go to the grocery store. You then asked where he went, which doesn't seem like a good idea because it sets him off further.

"Mind your own fucking business! I do what I want, I go wherever the hell I want." He barked.

Hypocrite, you thought.

Before you could say anything, Cain dragged you along with him. You struggled to keep up with his large strides. You wondered where he was taking you until you saw the bus in sight. Oh. Not the exact bus that you wanted to take, but it still brings you to a grocery store nonetheless.

He made you get on the bus first, you greeted the bus driver, paid for your and Cain's fare. You knew he probably would just pick a fight with the driver if you didn't.

The ride wasn't very riveting. Neither of you talked, and you get the sense that he probably wouldn't appreciate you prying into his life. You noticed that Cain was carrying a duffle bag that wasn't there yesterday; it's not yours either. The curiosity was killing you, but you're too afraid to ask.

The bus dropped the two of you in front of a suburban shopping mall. Not only does it have a supermarket, but it also has a bunch of other stores; the only thing you can afford there is to leave.

You looked at Cain. He looked at you. And he gestured with a jerk of his head to move along. He is definitely someone who isn't big on words.

He followed behind you, and you wonder if he has a goal here. You deduced that he doesn't like walking next to or ahead of you unless he knows where to go. As you tried to match your pace with him, Cain would slow himself accordingly. There were many times when you would peek over your shoulder to see how Cain was doing, and you always caught him staring ahead, around him, not necessarily at you, with a neutral look. His hands would be tucked into the pockets of his ripped jeans with his duffel bag slung over his shoulders.

However, each time you looked behind you, Cain appeared more and more visibly irritated.

"Might as well walk backwards!" He was loud enough to garner some attention nearby. You quickened your pace and stopped looking over your shoulder.

"What? Think I can't handle myself? Huh? You think I'm some fucking pervert? Huh?" He continued snarling at you, but now in a quieter tone, nonetheless still threatening. "Just keep walking, don't piss me off." You were so relieved that he didn't demand an answer to that question, and the rest of the journey, it was as if your head was locked to face only forward.

You're terrified of him, even such a simple, small thing as this sets him off. At first, you thought that he didn't have any rhyme or reason to his outbursts. Until you noticed that people all around you are avoiding eye contact with Cain, and he seems content. You wonder if he just doesn't like to be perceived, either in a good or bad light. Perhaps that's why he gets neurotic over certain types of help- unsolicited and pushy ones are met with great resistance, but if you just leave it out with the implication that he is free to use it, he would take it with no fuss.

You're still a bit salty over your umbrella. Maybe that's why you're psychoanalyzing him in broad daylight; it feels better to think that you're helping a mentally ill person instead of someone taking advantage of you.

Upon reaching the supermarket buried deep inside the mall, you took a trolley with you, but made the mistake of asking him to put his heavy-looking duffel bag in it.

"Fuck off." He hissed before stomping away into one of the aisles. Well. You should have known, no good deed goes unpunished.

You made your rounds, buying whatever you could remember from your list, feeling that fear of accidentally making eye contact with him and getting yelled at in public. So, to other customers and staff, you just looked so engrossed in picking your fresh produce. Each time, you instinctively reached for your phone in your pocket, only to remember that it's been destroyed. It felt painful, you almost wished that you were flattened instead of your electronic companion.

You think that he had passed you and your trolley multiple times, but you kept your gaze down in fear of accidentally inciting a one-sided fight with him. But you recognize him from his tattered shoes, ripped jeans, and duffle bag. You don't know what the hell he is doing, periodically standing next to your trolley for a few seconds before leaving you on your own again.

And finally, you're done. You decided to look up and search for him. Think of the devil, he emerged from the snack aisle. But with nothing to buy.

You told him that you're ready to check out. He stayed silent, but gestured for you to lead the way.

It went by without a hitch. Cain wasn't with you at the cash registers; you don't know where he was until you left the supermarket and saw him waiting there, leaning against a pillar and looking terribly unapproachable.

You told him that you're heading to the food court to grab something to eat. You were about to ask what he wanted to have for lunch, until you realized that it probably isn't a good idea. So you left it at that.

"Go." He ordered.

You hope that over time, he becomes nicer to you.

So you took multiple escalators up, window shopping on the way to the food court, pretending that you do not have a live grenade of a human man trailing behind you.

You were half expecting him to yell at you for taking too long to get there, as he seems like he's the type to not like beating around the bush. But even if you were staring at a clothed mannequin, a gaming console, a flat screen TV, or otherwise for a ridiculous amount of time, he didn't complain. It was only when you accidentally looked at him directly does he had a problem with it. You quickly learned to just ignore his presence as a self-preservation measure.

Upon reaching the food court, you made a beeline for the nearest stall. It happened to be a company that sells typical Western fast food: burgers, fries, and the lot. You decided to conduct an experiment that involves you buying two burgers, nothing else. No drinks and no sides. You hypothesize that if you give him something as a token of appreciation, he would accept it.

So when your food came, you and Cain sat down at a table.

You told him that this burger is for him. Almost instantly, he snapped, "I don't want it."

Then you said that it was to thank him for not letting you get hit by a car and a truck earlier today.

He became silent.

You unwrapped your burger and took a bite. As soon as you swallowed that bite, Cain snatched it out of your hands and began munching on it, pushing his unwrapped burger towards you.

You couldn't help but ask why he only eats the things you've already eaten.

He, too, couldn't help but ask: "Why are you up in my business all the time?" This time, there wasn't too much hostility. It was more neutral sounding, a bit more bored than usual. You noticed that he's a fast eater; he had already finished half of it at the end of his question.

You chose your answer carefully, even considering not answering at all, but ultimately you said that you think he is interesting to you.

He scoffed and shook his head, scrunching the empty wrapper. "Nothing is interesting about me." You think he's somewhat flattered despite hiding it under layers upon layers of rudeness.

You opened your mouth to disagree and make your case, but he cuts you off:

"Eat your damn burger." He aggressively pointed at it.

You took that as a signal to end the conversation.

But he decided to add in a bit more precious information:

"Give it to me if you can't finish it."

And you took that as a reward for your bountiful patience.

[lets-get-kraken-boys]

Gojo and Geto with bad bitch Chubby Reader

Guys, I tried to avoid being a Gojo stan...I tried so hard to hate him...but the pull was too strong. He got my ass. He's too silly. He's too cute the little shit. He's too perfect. Geto's great too before he lost his shit and went psycho the two are just too great to pass up.

2024 WILL BE THE YEAR THAT I GET YOU BITCHES TO PREACH STRONG, CONFIDENT, INDEPENDENT but not too independent bc these men are still yummy af CHUBBY READER! No longer will I be insecure about my weight because these men LOVE to see me coming AND going, I can tell you that.

WARNING: Fatphobia (happens when first meeting Gojo & Geto—they’re teens trying to bully Reader, but she handles herself because they’re idiots), A little angst with the small amount of bullying but I hope I made up for it, Cursing

✧༺♥༻✧

Imagine you, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko being classmates and friends during their schooling at Jujutsu High. All of you are powerful threats not to be taken lightly. The boys were undoubtedly freaks of nature with how strong they were—though, you had doubled over laughing alongside Shoko a couple of times when you heard them deem themselves "the strongest duo", as if they were some cool loner wolf types. Shoko was a master in the medicinal field; she made any injury look like a breeze to clean. She'd stitch them up no problem with her cursed energy and send them merrily on their way with a swift kick to their backside.

You definitely have more proficiency with cursed energy usage for combat more so than healing, but you could manage healing yourself just fine. You’d been born into a clan, not as highly revered as the Zenin or Gojo clans but still notable, so you’ve been taught from an early age how to wield cursed energy. Sacrificing yourself for the greater good of the world has been drilled into your head since birth, and you agreed with it. The world’s innocence needs to be protected from the cursed dangers life creates. Sure, there are bad people in the world, but the good people make life worth living. At least, that’s what you choose to believe.

While you’re just a normal—aside from the slight infinite power and jaw-dropping strength—girl, you are different in one more physical way. You’re chubbier than most, and not by a small bit.

Are you insecure about it?

Hell fucking no!

You’re a bad bitch. Fantastic face, banging body, stunning smile, bright eyes, a kind but strong heart, and even a cute butt to top it off. You knew this world inside out with how cruel it could be to plus sized folk, and while you took the beating for far too long without fighting back, you took a couple of steps back a few years ago to look at the situation. Why let people push you around like you didn’t matter? Why let them speak to you like you’re lesser than them simply because you weigh more? You were done being talked to like you were filth underneath their boots.

Since that new perspective, you’ve chosen the road of self love and hands rated E for everyone. You’re kind and sweet to those who reciprocate the respect. To those who try you, you beat their asses with a smile. “Education on Human Decency” is what you’ve begun to call the smackdowns since many want to try casting judgment in snide remarks or sneering looks. They can try these hands instead :)

That’s where Jujutsu High and the headaches you know as Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru fit into this philosophy of yours.

You were homeschooled by your clan in the first year of your sorcery high school. Though, after much begging for a change of scenery and yearning for social interactions other than your family and neighbors, they allowed you to go to a high school centered on jujutsu sorcery the next school year.

When you started Jujutsu High in your second year, that is where you met Shoko, Gojo, and Geto, your classmates. The first thought to cross your mind was how small this crowd was. Sure, it wasn’t like the classes you’ve had before had many students in them either; the world of curses and cursed energy wasn’t exactly a booming population to start with, especially when every year is the same class roster composed of the few brothers and sisters you had. Considering that, three new faces was much better than before! You introduced yourself with a joyful tone and an eager handshake.

You started with Shoko since she was the only other girl. You’re glad you did. Shoko, who you originally thought would be tricky to get along with since she gave off “rebel” vibes with that unlit cigarette dangling from her lips and you were nothing of the sort, held a grin and took your handshake with grace. She told you she liked your spunk, that it was nice to be around another girl rather than more stinking boys. You agreed with her with a relieved sigh. You two shared a laugh and chatted some more, each of you discussing your thoughts of the school and figuring out your mutual interests.

Soon enough, you were interrupted by someone giving a very noticeable and forced cough behind you. You turned and were met with two boys, one with jet black hair and a sly grin and the other one with silvery moonlight colored strands sharing the same expression hidden behind circular sunglasses. The white haired boy was leaning heavily on the black haired boy with one arm propped on his shoulder as the black-haired boy crossed his arms in front of himself. Seems like the two are close. No matter.

You stuck your hand out, another smile—admittedly, this one was a little more forced than the one you shared with Shoko—and gave your name. Suguru was the first to bite. He grabbed your hand with a smooth, warm grip, and exchanged his name. His shake felt sincere, though the cunning smirk still laid on his lips.

You tried to shake the other boy’s hand after letting Suguru go, but he decided otherwise. He swiftly with no mercy said he wasn’t going to shake hands with the likes of “you”. You raised an eyebrow, already sensing the insult he would try to hurl at you. One thing bullies are is predictable. None of them have any creative bone in their body, they’re like leeches, in a way. Mooching off other clever remarks they’ve heard used before through the Internet or their idiot friends. Though, they alway reproduce it much shitter than the first time they heard it.

He leaned in with a smile and yapped about how if he touches you, some of your fat might rub off on him. Gojo tries to drag Geto into bullying you too by shamelessly asking if Geto is worried that will happen to him now that he’s so brazenly touched you. As much as you wanted Suguru to be his own person, to be better than the loser clinging to him like a koala, he chimed in that while Gojo’s afraid of that, that that could never happen to him. He sneered while looking down at you that he actually has the discipline to keep the weight off. The two of them share an evil snicker together.

Oh, so that’s how they wanna play it.

Okay. You don’t mind showing a bitch their place.

As Shoko pipes up and tells them to shut the hell up, you stop her. You give her a kind smile that says “I love you, but please back the fuck up as I rock these bitches world”. Her eyebrows jump up in surprise, but she gives you a nod. She quiets down.

You choose to laugh with them. They slowly shut their mouths, finding laughing at you not that funny when you don’t crumple under their taunts like they’d expected. You then explain to them that what you find so funny is that punks like them are so easy to read and, subsequently, ruin. You told them they need to find better insults to steal if they wanna cackle like they’re some kind of drunk hyenas and, unless they get more creative, they’re not worth the air they take from others. You turned to walk away, but since you just couldn’t help yourself, you gave the both of them a swift kick to the chest. Unprepared for the action, they both were sent careening back, but remained standing. You also snarkily nagged that being “undisciplined in weight loss” gave you the extra weight to knock their scrawny asses back that far.

Shoko gave you a hearty high five while laughing at them getting what they deserve. Gojo, though baffled at your defiance, is ready to start throwing punches, as he spews half-assed insults left and right. Geto manages to keep his thoughts to himself, but you do note his expression has definitely become sour. This little scrap is swiftly interrupted by your new teacher, Masamichi Yaga, when he enters and orders the class to settle down. He also snuffs Gojo’s babbling tantrum with a merciless smack to his forehead.

You give a small grin stuck your tongue out at the two when Mr. Masamichi turned his back. From then on, it was war.

You, Geto, and Gojo fought constantly in the beginning

When they (mostly Gojo now) tried to stir shit with you, you’d fling their rudeness right back at them

Whether they tried to pick on your weight, or cheery personality, or strength (which they couldn’t make too much fun off since you were only a little less strong than they were, but so was everyone else compared to their insane powers), you were always ready to kick their asses

You didn’t resent them for their teasing, mostly since you had a good head on your shoulders and you know that Gojo’s only deflecting all the shit he hates about himself onto other people, but they sure got on your nerves sometimes

So, you decided soon into your acquaintance with these dopes that instead of simply beating their asses every time they said some wack shit and never correcting the behavior, you’re going put an end to their bullying of based on others appearances

Because, who knows. You have enough self love and confidence to defend yourself against their rude remarks, but not everyone does. What happens if they target other plus sized people who maybe can’t or won’t defend themselves?

So, when they’d try to make fun of you, you’d correct them with sincerity and help them understand why that would hurt to someone

Geto pretty much never made a passing comment like that again towards you. You’re happy to see that change in him

Gojo huffed and puffed after what he called “your lecture”, but you also saw change in him

After that, it was slow progress to all be friends

Shoko and you were doing great! Hanging out outside of school, dragging her along with you to do some window shopping, eating a sit down lunch together, going to the nearest bookstore, grabbing a yummy sweet treat, stargazing—you did it all together!

She always made a fuss that she had “no interest” in what you would force her to do, but you could secretly tell she liked doing girly stuff together. As long as she could have a smoke break in between these hang outs, she was all good

The first time you, Geto, and Gojo made a recovery in your rocky relationship was when they asked if they could come along with the two of you to get a treat together

You were a bit hesitant to share the thing that brings you joy with the two people who tried to make you the butt of the joke, but you threw them bone and agreed

You four walked down the sidewalk, mostly you chit chatting with Shoko, when Gojo butted his way into the conversation at your mention of Kikufuku.

You and him bonded over your mutual love of the delicate, bouncy sweet treat and you watched as his eyes sparkled like a little kid when you said the place you were going to had an excellent Kikufuku

You know, when Gojo isn’t being a menace, he’s actually nice to share a conversation with

Geto teased Gojo for his astounding sweet tooth, and explained to you an embarrassing story of Gojo losing his mind one time when a dog stole one of his dorayaki treats and ran off

You laughed as Gojo tried to hit Geto as payback for sharing the “secret” but Geto fended off his flailing

Maybe I'll come back to this idea one day when I'm not hung up on the bullying. If you guys like this idea, I might continue it with less bullying. I am a baby when it comes to angst lol. I really do love these boys, I just don't think my heart is ready for the subject matter I wrote.

✧༺♥༻✧

[postmoe]

In the Next Moment:

Yandere/Alpha Gojo Satoru x Omega Reader

I can't even tell you how long ago I started this. I had no idea how to end it and I took away and added a bunch of things haha. Here is your alpha Gojo Satoru, here to save the day and take you for himself!

omegas are lesser creatures, familial abuse, self-deprecation, like your father in this is literal scum

.

What kind of God deals a life like this? Where status is given the moment you’re born. Where you can be cast away at birth and shoved into a home just for having the wrong scent. It used to be that families would wait until puberty before they knew what breed their child would be. Now? Now they have the technology to make accurate guesses. Not one hundred percent, but, accurate enough.

              In your case, call it lucky or not, your family didn’t send you away to a home. Omega’s aren’t completely useless, and can fetch quite a high penny on the market. Every day you were reminded of your failures as their daughter, that being bred by them should have produced an alpha.

              “This is all your fault,” your mother would say to your father, “Your cousin is an omega, it runs in your bloodline!”

              “How was I supposed to know?! No one ever spoke of them I had no idea until we did the test!” He would shout back.

              It’s a common argument you heard growing up. One that would seep into the marrow of your bones and claw its way into your dreams. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Even though they argued with each other, at the end of the day it came out to you being wrong. You were a curse.

              Eventually, your mother left. Being an alpha with you in the home, it was irredeemable. She had not bonded with an omega like her DNA screamed, your father a Beta and those relationships were never to last if an Omega came into the picture. Just an example of the homewrecker in your genes.

              He would drink and smoke on the couch all day and night. “We had such a happy family, such high hopes for you…” Another swig of the bottle in his hand, “It’s your job to take care of us now. Your mother did everything. Go make some money and bring it back home.”

              Quivering, afraid to even speak in front of him, you had to ask, “B-But what if people find out I’m a- AH!”

              You cower as the bottle smashes against the brick wall next to your head, glass and liquor breaking around while your father stands and screams, “You stupid bitch! Go get blockers, fuck! How hard is it to come up with things on your own? You’re so fucking pathetic, stupid fucking omega,” he continues to grumble as he storms past you, “Clean up this fucking mess.”

              Of course, you’ve thought about running away, thought about life outside of your home. The realism of it is not pretty, though. You’ve seen how omegas are treated on the streets if they get caught, they’re not allowed in the city because their scent can be such a disturbance. You have to be really taken care of to live amongst others. If you weren’t so rare then it wouldn’t be an issue, but unfortunately omegas can’t be shared around to every alpha.

              Getting blockers is probably the hardest job. Most doctors don’t want to sell them to you unless you have a good reason for being an omega, ie; rich spouse, breeding bitch, selling, etc. Anything on the black market is a gamble between being really good or really shit. Eventually, another omega you came across in passing had recommended a ‘hole in the wall’ doctor. They hide down an alleyway in the slums of the city but are open to helping omegas. When you went there it had ignited your fear and you started releasing poor, omega pheromones. Many, hungry looks your way were cast, though thankfully you made it out in one piece.

              Now you were left to try and survive in the wild.

.

“Yo!” Your head shoots up from the stall oven, seeing a familiar head of white hair and blindfolded head.

              Honestly, you were shocked, once people found out the ‘lovely’ attendant at the crepe stall was an omega, they generally never returned. “Ah,” you try not to gape at him, “You’re back. You didn’t come with your, um, students?”

              It’s been a little over a year now that you’ve manned the crepe stall in a deserted park. You think that’s why your boss put you here, because not many people came by so business wasn’t that great; it also gave him a good excuse to berate you when you didn’t meet income quota. Earlier this week you were met with a unique set of customers, one of them being this man and then two younger boys and a girl to whom he introduced as his students – very proud of them. In that same interaction, whilst the students were enjoying each other’s crepes and you were making his, he had suddenly leaned in and inhaled a few times, sniffing you and grinning cheekily, “You’re an omega, aren’t ya?” It shocked you because you shouldn’t be smelling like anything right now, the sugary crepes usually enough to hide and scent that seems to waft from you. Now, he had returned alone, acting as if you were buddies, “My dear students are in a fierce battle! I have made some time to see my favourite crepe omega.”

              His words were too loud, you had to look around in fear that maybe he was trying to let others know, trying to get you boycott. However, no one was there. Was he trying to bait you? Maybe you should just go along with it, “Did you really like them that much?”

              He perked up, arms open in a welcoming stance, “Of course! The food, the chef, both are a delicious snack~.”

              Flirting?! Definitely a joke.

              Your shocked expression must’ve spoke volumes as he laughed at you, wiping a faux tear from his blindfolded eyes, “Don’t be so unsure of yourself. Surely a treat like you gets hit on all the time.”

              “Are you hearing yourself,” you blurt out without thinking. How could he be so casual about this if he weren’t planning something sinister. All the memories of manipulation and abuse from strangers in your life come flooding back, your body subconsciously recoiling in on itself in defence. Your voice is meeker now, “Please, if you’re going to do something just get over with it.”

              The man’s footsteps sound calm as he strides towards you, his hand reaching forward. You cringe in on yourself, awaiting a slap or a hit, only for your body to be taken over by surprise when he speaks, his index finger pointing towards the flat stove-surface of the kiosk, “Your crepe is burning.”

              “Oh no!” You squeal, quickly going to flip it off the surface and onto a serviette. Tears start to collect in your eyes as you think of all the different ways you’ll be punished, “Shit shit shit. He’s going to know! He always knows and I can’t hide it, I’m screwed-“

              Silence engulfs you as you watch, stunned, at the man who picks up the hot and charred crepe, worms out his tongue and opens his mouth, before scoffing it down in a single gulp. He pulls out a few bills and sets them on the kiosk counter, “Whew! In hindsight I should have put cream or something on it. Definitely not as good as the first one I had.” Honestly… What was his deal? He didn’t question your shocked expression, only smiling and reaching out his finger to wipe at a stray tear, using the kiosk to lean over and reach you, “Name’s Satoru. Or, well, Gojo is my last name and tends to be what others go by. For you, cutie, I’d rather be addressed by something more to heart. So, you free after this? I know a great restaurant near here.”

              Your mouth opens and closes, gaping like a dehydrated fish. You didn’t need to look down to see his arms begin to sizzle on the pan, the sound and smell enough to alert you both. Ven so, you informed him with ghostly words, “Your arm is cooking.”

              “Not gonna move it ‘til you say yes!”

              … You couldn’t believe what your day has come to, “Okay.”

.

The restaurant he had decided to take you to was something way out of your budget, and just as you were about to voice your concerns for it, he quickly put his finger to your lips and spoke, “Shh, I know what you’re going to say and don’t worry. I’ve got us covered.”

              Neither of you were particularly dressed for this place, he wearing a black uniform with the neck of it covering his chin, and you in your small, ripped (not by design) shorts and oversized t-shirt. Even with this, the waiter at the front smiled widely at Satoru, “Gojo-sama! What a pleasant surprise. Table for two?”

              You were thankful that the waiter didn’t acknowledge you. No greeting yet no glare or scowl either. Satoru flicked his fingers into guns and pointed at him, “You betch’ya! One of those cosy, independent booths, please.”

              “Of course, right this way.” The waiter lead you through the open area of the restaurant, many patrons idly enjoying their dinner with their loved ones by quiet candlelight, whilst the ones you walked slightly too close to were able to smell you and tell just what breed you were, some even trying to complain to their designated waiter. You just hung your head in shame until you got to the booth, following Satoru’s lead until you heard a door being slid shut.

              Quickly, you turned to face him, seeing that he had shut you both in a secluded area with a table, the walls made of a deep coloured screen that didn’t quite go to the ceiling, yet provided all the privacy one could need in a place like this. “Don’t worry,” he says, walking around to pull out a chair for you, “The owner and I get along real well. I’ve helped them out a few times.”

              He slides the seat in as you sit, and you still can’t get over the fact that he hasn’t done anything bad to you yet. This man has singlehandedly given you the most kindness you have received in your entire life. Perhaps he wants to break your heart in the end, at least you might get a free meal out of it. “I see… Are you a chef? Is that why your hair is up like that and you didn’t flinch when you got burnt?” You knew some chefs were godly in the kitchen and a little stove sizzle wouldn’t quit them.

              Satoru laughed, bringing his hands up to act as a resting spot for his chin, “Nooo~ Not a chef, and my hair just sits this way with the blindfold.”

              Which brings you on to your next question, “Why do you wear a blindfold? How can you navigate like that?”

              His cheeky grin only widens, his hands now moving to sit flat on the table so he can lean forward and whisper, “Would you believe I have… Special powers?”

              This made you quirk your eyebrow, now you were unintentionally leaning in as well, “Huh? Behind your blindfold?”

              Satoru chuckled, leaning back again in his chair as he nonchalantly waves the discussion away in the air, “Ah, I don’t think you can handle this conversation just yet. Oh! I know, how about this,” he holds his hand up, five fingers pointing towards the sky. Using his other hand, brings down his thumb so he was only showing four fingers, “Four more dates and I’ll reveal my eyes to you.”

              Another flustered expression overcame you. You hadn’t even finished this date – this is a date?! – and yet he was already planning more. Subconsciously, you tilt your head away from him, shoulders coming inwards as you mutter, “I don’t have anything to offer you, Satoru.”

              “I just,” he falters, and for the first time he sounds a little unsure of how to say something. Easily, his motions fluid and controlled, like he knows exactly what he wants to do, he reaches for your upper arms and pulls them forward, sliding down the length of your arms until he can comfortably hold your hands, “I just need you to be there. That’s all I want.”

              You swallow thickly, thinking it over. It wouldn’t hurt to see how tonight turned out, and even if you said no, he knows where you work. You suppose you can see where this takes you, until it falls flat like it should for an omega.

.

That night, you managed to tip toe back into your home, your father snoring on the couch. It was a miracle you weren’t berated, at least you had thought so until the morning.

              Cooking breakfast for him, he had decided now was prime time to slam his fist into the archway of the room, making you flinch as he roared, “You stupid bitch, don’t think I didn’t notice you not home last night. Where the fuck were you?”

              What to say… Could you lie? You’d have to lie, he would accuse you of trying to do something shady if you said you had a date. No omega would get a date, especially you, and so that would mean you were planning something bad. Or maybe it was your catastrophising thoughts that made you see it this way, a defence mechanism, if you will. “I was working late,” you tell him, quietly, “My boss is trying to extend the crepe business into later hours for couples on dates.”

              To this, your father scoffs, planting his body at the table as he awaits his meal, “No couple would want an omega to serve them, you might try to make off with their mate.”

              You really did try to hold your tongue, but maybe Satoru’s easy-going behaviour had mellowed you out a bit, “I just thought you might want the extra money.” It wasn’t a smart-ass comment, but no matter what you’d say he would take it as one.

              This morning, he seemed to have had a bad hangover, as he could only growl out, “What was that, you runt? Know your place.”

              Oh, how you desired to spit in his food. You gazed longingly at the bacon and eggs you were making, such a simple meal. Last night you had come home to see new pizza boxes laid around. Honestly, you felt a sort of betterment from that. You had dined like royalty, and he was stuck here eating shit from a sole. If only for last night, you were better than him.

…

“A curse?” You questioned, your wide eyes looking over your teacup. It was an authentic, British set, Satoru had taken you out to a little garden café on the other side of the city. It was amongst some of the historic temples around, the trees making you seem far away from the city and the food a kind of exquisite you had never been privy of knowing.

              He grinned at you, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling from behind his dark glasses, “That’s right! Kind of like a ghost or a monster. They feast on collective, negative energy and such, I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

              You tried to keep an open mind, “And you… Hunt them?”

              “Yeah! See, now you’re getting it,” he grins, excitedly.

              With a smile, you set your cup down and ask, “Are you an author, Satoru?”

              He waved his hand dramatically in the air, “Oh, you flatterer, you. I’m not that creative, it’s just my job.”

              As much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t help the creeping feeling that he was lying to you. Like, this was your third ‘date’ together and he still had yet to bully you or do something horrible. This wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to make you scared and freak out. Maybe he wants to laugh at the weak, little omega and her fear smell. Is that why you were in a crowded café?

              “Hey, hey,” he reaches over, holding your hands in his, “I can sense you’re troubled but not for the reason I’d think. You still don’t trust me, do you, (Y/n)?”

              Your mouth opens and closes, unsure how to word your thoughts. You were caught in a predicament you didn’t want to be in. Of course you still didn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust him after everything you’ve been through. Would he take such offense to that?

              Satoru seems to take your shock as his answer, smiling sincerely at you, “I don’t blame you, it’s okay. That’s why we’re doing these dates! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from now on.”

              Flaming heat erupts on your cheeks, the feeling of his thumbs caressing your skin feeling like an iron, “How can you just say that? You don’t know me and I’m-“ you stop suddenly, looking around you to notice the faces of disgust, you really didn’t need to finish that sentence. Your blockers had grown thin, so now you were cutting them in half to try and spread it out since your doctor was on holiday. Unfortunately, they didn’t prevent the smell of your pheromones enough, it was painfully obvious everywhere you went.

              “Ah, my darling omega, you truly are sweet,” he inhales, smiling contentedly, “Once you realise the world is your playground, nothing else matters. I could kill everyone here and take you away, and as long as no one can stop me – and trust me, they can’t -, anything is possible, and your dreams really can come true.”

              You didn’t know what to say to that, his words always bordering on genuine and humour. Even with the knowledge of Satoru’s like to play, the undeniable dark truth of a true alpha manages to waft in the air.

              Like a switch, he grins widely, all teeth and charisma, “That’s not saying I will, but it’s such a nice feeling, don’t you think?”

              It’s quiet as his words sink in. You think about your life so far, how you couldn’t even get away with greeting someone without a knife to your throat and spitting words of how an omega doesn’t get to speak without their alpha allowing them to do so. As much as you’d like to punch them in the gut, you don’t think you’d really want to kill them, everyone growing under their own circumstance. Instead of getting into political debates, you think you don’t want anymore stares and judgement for today, deciding that even if Satoru is okay to talk to, you’re still uncomfortable, “I suppose so, it must be nice having such strength, and being able to see… Curses.”

The rest of the date was enjoyable, and he even answered some of your questions about the creatures he hunts. Apparently, omegas are prime suspects, easy to feast upon and no one questions when they go crazy, the second lot of victims being alphas that had an omega as a child. You’re honestly surprised you and your father haven’t been attacked yet if that’s the case.

              Satoru drives you home and it’s relatively quiet in the car, the thrumming of the almost noiseless engine enough to fill the silence. You go back to what Satoru says during your date, and now you’re memorising the smells he emitted during your conversation. Before, it was hard to really tell since you were stressing, and the restaurant was full of blooming alphas and betas. However, now it was lingering through the car. He had spoken so easily about death and killing, like it was second nature to him next to breathing. Some curses were sentient, able to talk and think, and then there was the comment about killing everyone else in the restaurant, who were definitely not curses. He was happy, proud even, to have that kind of strength and show it off to you. Tonka bean and vetiver… Perhaps even an orange blossom. It was nice, even if the reason behind it was a little morbid, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and indulge.

              The scent got stronger, and suddenly you were startled by a low chuckle, your eyes flashing open to see you were leaning towards him. Satoru had slowed down in front of your house and turned the car off, his cheeks a flush in the dim light, “Having you relax around me like that feels so nice. I can’t tell you enough how happy you’ve just made me.”

              You open your mouth immediately to say sorry, only to close it after a moment’s thought. He doesn’t smell like he’s trying to bully you or mad that you thought you could get so close to him without repercussions. How much longer can you hold out from someone who is being so kind to you?

              “You don’t have to reply to that,” he tells you, saving you from thinking of an acceptable response. Satoru gets out first, hurrying to your side while you unbuckle yourself to let you out. You smile at him and let him take your hand, holding you close as he closes the door and pushes you against the car. A small gasp is pushed from you, surprised at his boldness. You’re lucky that this neighbourhood was relatively quiet, no one being awake at this hour to see you with anyone. “I really want to kiss you,” he says, face inching closer to you, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to hold back in the car.”

              Your eyes shift in nervousness, hands coming to press to Satoru’s chest, “W-wait, s’too soon-“

              “It’s fine,” he cuts, not letting you get another word out, smashing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss. Your eyes dilate, his scent and taste making your heart jump with a certain anxiety – excitement – you’re letting your shoulders relax and clenching the front of his shirt as he takes the lead. Maybe… Maybe this isn’t so bad… His leg finds its way between the both of yours and gently grinds down, a small moan slipping from your mouth at the electric feeling. Next, he starts to slowly introduce his tongue to your mouth, the wet muscle a new sensation to you.

              Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain, your gut tightening and your eyes watering as you double over into his chest. Your body is hot, panting, you lean into him and can hardly hear anything. Satoru is speaking, saying something, ‘sorry’ and ‘test’ are two words you think you understand but you can’t focus on sounds. What does help you, though, is the gentle caress his hand brings to your head. He holds you tight, safe, his pheromones echoing security and comfort through your mind. You mumble into his clothes once you feel you’re able to talk again, “Wh-what was that? That hurt so much…”          

              Satoru hums, both hands coming to your face which he cradles and regards you with loving eyes, “Have you ever been in heat, (Y/n)?”

              You sniffle, shaking your head, “No, I’ve taken suppressants since the day they found out what I was. It made puberty really difficult…”

              Satoru’s lips curl into a frown, “I imagine it would. It seems your body jumped into overdrive, the stimulation from kissing alone too much for you.”

              Your arms curled around yourself for some comfort, “My suppressants, they’re running low so I’ve been halving them to spread them out but they’re just making me feel sick.”

              “When did you start halving them?” He asks, eyes now wide with worry.

              “Uhm, I think about a few days ago? But I can’t get a hold of my doctor and it’s hard to find anyone that will willingly prescribe suppressants.” Your head falls into his chest, a feeling of defeat washing over you.

              Satoru pets your head, quiet in thought before he says, “Why not just stop taking them?”

              You have to laugh at that, tilting your head to look up at him, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

              “I’m not,” he closes his eyes, burying his nose in your neck and holding you close, “You’ve got me now, I’ll look after you. Fuck, you smell so good.”

              “Satoru-“ Your wrists are caught in his as he stares you down.

              Or, at least that is what he appears to be doing. You’re stuck in his grasp as you wait for him to make his statement, which he does once your lips smacks shut, “You don’t need to hide who you are anymore. Just think about it, ‘kay?”

              To get him off your back you give an exhale of defeat, rolling your eyes to the side and complying, “Fine. I’ll think about it. Cool?”

              His charming grin is almost enough to even fool you into thinking it was okay to relinquish your omega self to him, “Cool.”

.

Things were not cool. Not long after getting inside, your father had waited to pounce once the car Satoru drove was out of sight. Your vision had waned with the punch he threw at you, your body colliding with the hallway wall. “Disgusting!” He had spat, literally, his saliva landing on your cheek and barely missing your eye. His foot was next to make contact, kicking you hard enough in the stomach that you threw up a little of your dinner, “You reek of a fucking omega! I see you whoring yourself out, slut. Tryna hide the money from me, eh?”

              Another kick had you crying out, this one on your bicep and knocking you back to the ground. You wailed as he bent down and held your hair in a tight and painful grasp, “I’m not! I swear, I have no money!”

              He ignored you, his breath badly stained with alcohol, however, you were certain even without the influence he wouldn’t hold back, “Tryna seduce me? Hm? Your own father? You fucking wretch. If you don’t stop that smell right now I swear to whatever fucking God is out there…”

              You were bawling now, you could only assume your hormones were worse, your own senses dull to the smell of you. It hurt internally as well, your omega working overdrive as you try in vain to calm down so you didn’t have to endure the full impact of emitting such helpless hormones. It may not have worked the way you wanted it to, but, your father seemed to calm down with a sneer.

He threw your head to the floor and began walking away, “If you don’t get back on those fucking meds by tomorrow then I will kill you. I promise you that.”

You didn’t dare reply to that, thankful that he decided to walk away while you were still breathing tonight.

..

How fitting the weather is today, the clouds a dark grey and the skies pouring with rain. You had one umbrella with a hole between two of the spines but it was better than nothing. This morning you left the house with a bag packed and a small suitcase, only the essentials.

              You were on a bus ride to the other side of town to see your doctor. If they weren’t going to pick up the phone then you’d have to arrive suddenly. If he didn’t have the suppressors then you weren’t going to go home, in fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you were going to go back anyway. Perhaps a life on the street was better than this. A woman’s shelter wouldn’t take you in for the fact that you were an omega, and an omega shelter had an 80% chance of being a front for something worse than illegal.

              The bus stops where you need to be, the passengers loudly exclaiming that they’re happy you’re finally leaving. It doesn’t hurt so much today, you just have one thing on your mind.

              ‘Why not just kill yourself?’

              You stop at the thought, in the middle of opening your umbrella, standing in the rain. It was a thought, right? Ending it was always a nice joke but holy shit that voice sounded like it was right by your ear and… genuine. You weren’t exactly scared, a little shocked, sure but, maybe you should bring that up with your doctor, too.

              However, as you got closer and closer to the clinic, you began to think they weren’t open. Though there was the receptionist’s and the doctor’s cars outside, the curtains were drawn, the lights were off and the sign, once you got close enough to read, was saying ‘Closed’.

              Your hand reaches to your heart as you feel it thumping hard in anxiety, your pheromones beginning to linger around you as a thick, steady aura. Thank goodness this place was off the city boarder, not many people around to subject you to bullying and hatred. You look back to the cars again, both of them parked neatly in the small lot. Even if it’s closed, you need to push past your nervousness and gently demand your medication. If you didn’t… Well, he knows just as well as you do.

              You knock on the glass with a firm hit, calling out for good measure, “Dr. Kodoka, it’s me, (Y/n).”

              Silence.

              You knock again, if they don’t want to be disturbed then the earlier they open up to you the better. “Dr. Kodoka, please, I really need to talk to you. It’s an emergency,” you plead, hoping he could tell by the sound of your voice how desperate you were.

              Your gut drops as more silence is your only response. You probably should have tried this first, grabbing the long handle of the door and trying to open it. No surprise, it’s locked. Perhaps there’s a back entrance? Oh, you feel so seedy scrounging around a doctor’s office.

              Past the skip bins there’s a narrow entrance just wide enough for one person between the building and a wired fence. You’re not sure why the wired fence is even here, it’s not attached to anything and only separates a portion of the office from an open wheat field. Luck smiles upon you as you try this door, the entrance clicking open and allowing you to step into the darkness.

              One deep breath before you call out has you positively gagging at the disgusting scent that assaults you nose and mouth. It’s unavoidable, the little bit of vomit that works its way up your throat is involuntarily spat out onto the linoleum floor. What. The. Fuck.

              This has to be the worst experience you’ve ever been through, the tears in your eyes falling freely as you persevere through the smell. You know you need to call the police, you know something like this isn’t normal. However, if you do, and they find out you’re an omega here to purchase suppressants then there’s a good chance you’ll both be dead. It’s happened before, police getting trigger happy or beating up omegas and any allies. Of course, society doesn’t care. More filth off the streets.

              There’s a sound towards the entrance, something being knocked over, as well as some sort of ‘sludging’ noise. Could it be one of them trying to get to the door? Someone must be alive! You quietly move towards the entrance, past the main office, the break room, and peak through the broken door of the reception. It’s horrendous.

              All the gore has been maintained in this area. Limbs, a spine, half a head that has been poorly cut from the top of their skull through their chin- and that’s only the background. In the middle of it all, this giant, wrinkly, slug-like creature appears to be waking up. It has an amass of arms and hands over it’s back and sides, and one twitching on the tip of its tail. The stalks that would be its eyes slowly raise, turning in all directions as if looking around.

              You fall against the door, your entire being freezing up in a shock mode. The thud of your body hitting the floor alerts it to you, and you notice now that instead of eyes, it was wearing the distraught faces of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist still had one of her eyes hanging from their socket, whilst the doctor was completely eyeless, with only a couple of teeth and the tip of his tongue drooping from the gaping mouth.

              It hones in on your position and starts charging at an alarming pace, the only thing you can do is scream your throat raw as your end nears. It’s too horrifying, too real to be a dream you can escape. The creature splits its mouth with human-like teeth in mismatched rows and thrashing hands over its body and you can’t look away from your demise.

              You don’t blink, and because you don’t blink it’s hard to believe anything happened.

              As fast as light itself, a man appears and slashes the slug in half, horizontally through its open mouth with a light so white there’s a tint of blue to it. The guttural scream it lets out is so closely related to a human’s that you are only filled with more fear. The man, who turns to give you a cocky wink and that you can now see is Satoru Gojo, makes a crude display of holding his index and middle finger in front of his face and slowly licking his digits with the flat of his tongue; before slicing the creature up into smaller pieces until it bursts into sprays of blood and nothingness.

              Your hearing was skewed, you barely recognise his footsteps as he walks towards you and bends down to hold his hand out. You tell your mind to grab it, to accept his kindness after saving you but you’re caught in your own sense of dread and confusion as not a speck of blood is seen on Satoru or his white hair, or his devilish smile, or that black coat with the collar sticking around his neck.

              Satoru’s smile softens and he’s sure you can’t hear him when speaks to you, “Ah, I see we’ll have to cut our deal short. That’s okay, we’re only one date off anyway.” He reaches for your hands, placing them both in one of his and stroking the backs with his thumb. He then slowly removes his blindfold and tilts your chin with his free hand to force you to meet his silvery gaze, “(Y/n), sweetheart, look at me. Everything is okay now.”

              His eyes are so blue… White… Silver… They’re like crystals or diamonds or two pools of galaxies – they’re out of this world. His lashes are gorgeous too, and for some reason you feel a ping of jealousy amongst all this chaos because how can a man be so beautiful just by taking off his blindfold. Like a character taking off their glasses to reveal they were beautiful all along. Wait, what are these thoughts? In this horrible situation you suddenly feel like giggling.

              Satoru chuckles, keeping your focus solely on him as he lifts you in his arms to carry you out. People in suits run past you but neither of you pay them no mind as he keeps talking, “What silly thoughts are going through that omega mind of yours?” You laugh incredulously, feeling your body fall heavier in his arms he adjusts you, “There it is, there’s that adrenaline leaving you. I gotcha, sweetheart.”

.

You’re sat on the back of an ambulance with a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water wedged between your legs. A few feet away is Satoru, talking to someone so casually you wouldn’t think he just killed a monster with his own hands; literally. You watch as he dismisses the person and walks back over to you with a smile, his blindfold back on and his hands coming from his pockets to bring you into a side embrace, “How are you feeling? That was quite an experience, huh?”

              Trauma makes people react differently to things, so if this was his job then it makes sense he wouldn’t be so distressed. “I smell of decay,” you sigh, though you weren’t covered in filth you definitely had some stains. Even without the mess, the stale air in the clinic was enough to cling to you. You squeeze the blanket tighter around you, “How could something like this happen? They were generous people. Kind; caring.”

              Satoru seemed to think for a moment, as if deciding what the best thing to say right now would be. Whether it was helpful or not, he opted for the truth, placing one of his large hands below your neck for comfort, “They were helping omegas, and regardless of their personality, a lot of stigma comes from there. Constant stress to keep a secret, harsh words from the few friends and family that know, it all adds up and creates the perfect scent for a curse to trail.”

              “I remember you saying you that they are attracted to negative energy. So, rather than feeding off the energy itself they eat the humans?” You ask, though you already know the answer to that. You just can’t wrap your head around how this is even possible. You recall his eyes, how pretty they are beneath the blindfold, “Is that why your eyes are so striking, because you have the power to fight them?”

              A laugh bubbles from his chest, his hand squeezing your back, “Sort of. Not everyone is like me, though. In fact, no one is like me.” He steps back, arms open wide and head tilted towards the sky, “I’m the most powerful sorcerer to exist! Killing that creature used nothing but a flick of my wrist.” When he looks back to you there is a strange, powerful feeling that emanates from him, even some of the detectives around you seem to tense, “Nothing can touch me. In turn, nothing will ever touch you.”

              What he says should be something kind, words of protection and safety. However, as his gaze burns through the blindfold and into your own, you feel like your breath has been whisked away and your body is being pulled to the ground, trapping you in place for him. It only lets up when your phone begins to ring, and to get out of this awkward feeling of a situation you answer it, “Hello, this is (Y/n).”

              The voice on the other side of the phone makes you almost vomit, your father sounding almost melancholic, “(Y/n)… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that. Come home.”

              You’re at a loss for words. He wants you home? No, that’s a lie, you can’t understand what is going on with him. Something tickles your ear and you jump to see Satoru leaning close so he can listen to your conversation. He smiles at you and nods, whispering, “Say yes.”

              Satoru saved you and promised to protect you. He wouldn’t be telling you to agree if you were going to get hurt, you’d like to believe. So, swallowing your hesitation you reply, “O-Okay, dad. I’ll come home.”

              He breathes a huge sigh of relief, “Thank god, thank you, (Y/n). Thank you so much.”

              You hang up and look to Satoru with worry, “Do you think he’s going to kill me?”

              “Nah, I won’t let him,” Satoru says, confidently. You think you can trust him, especially since you watched him take down a strong monster, your angry alpha of a father would be no match for him. He sees you’re still worried, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand and his smile doing its best to calm you, “Let’s finish up here.”

.

By the time you two are at your house the sun was low in the sky. Satoru had parked down the street this time, the two of you walking slowly down footpath to avoid suspicion. You were already on edge, however, when Satoru told you he wanted you to go in alone, you froze up completely.

              He just stood there, allowing you to process what he said. You started by shaking your head, grabbing onto his hand, “No. No, please, you said-“

              “-I said I’d protect you and I will. I’m going to go around the back, you just walk up like everything is hunky-dory, ‘kay?”

              With a squeeze of your shoulder, he skips around, his carefree attitude not exactly lifting your anxiety. One thing is for certain, though, and that’s that you’ve seen him kill the other curse before. You know he can do it. You trust him. Alpha status aside, if you have any friend in this world then it’s Satoru Gojo.

              You take your time going up to the front door, hand trembling as you reach for the knob. It’s unlocked, the door creaking open ominously. You get a cold rush through your body, the inside at freezing temperatures. It’s unnatural, making you step back in shock and shivering in what you could only describe as unease.

              But it’s okay, because Satoru is here. He said he would protect you and the prospect has you feeling your cheeks flush. He’s like… your alpha.

              The inside is quiet, save for the humming of electricity coming from the fridge. You walk slowly in and look around, spying your father in lounge room on his recliner, hands intertwined as he leans forward. You don’t shut the door, feeling just a tad easier with the escape route.

              It isn’t until you’re standing before him that a whistling of wind causes the door to slam shut on its own, the locks clicking in place unnaturally. Your confused look in that direction has him huffing a laugh. Your father doesn’t give you the courtesy of eye contact, “You know that on the day you were born, your mother and I were at our happiest?”

              It’s an odd way to start a conversation, and though you were certain this was a trap of some kind, you don’t know what else to do except respond meekly, “I didn’t know that no.”

              A humourless laugh accompanies the way he sits up, shoulders slumped, and eyes dazed behind you, “No, of course you don’t. We only told you once when you were just a newborn. Once you got your status in life, well… It was too shameful to ever bring up again. We were completely embarrassed we every felt that way about an omega.”

              He’s not just staring off into nothing, you notice the way his eyes look specifically behind you. Is it Satoru, did he come inside? You turn your head, only to go rigid and fall back in fear. Not another one… Not another curse.

              It was too tall for the ceiling, curving over like a hook with its head twisted to be partially upright. Tiny mouths were strewn over its face and down its neck, human teeth in all sorts of odd places like the lips and cheeks of the creature. The main mouth was skewed to the side and grinning openly down at you, and the eyes that are sunken, almost giving a hollow effect, were as dark as a black hole; though you knew instantly that it had its gaze locked on you. Four lanky arms reach from its shoulders, the body a crooked mass of black and its fingers twitching in all the wrong directions with painful cracks of possible bone.

              The worst part that solidified its presence was when it spoke, his voice raspy and words barely tangible, “Dau…ght…er… Path..et..ic ome…gck.a. Delectabblle—dinn….eerrr.”

              You jumped at the firm hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place as the curse limped forwards. Your father spoke in a neutral tone, “It appeared not long after your mother left. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, who to contact or what to do. Eventually, I started nurturing it. It grew with every argument we had, relished in my anger and pain. I let it feed off me and now it wants more. Now it wants you. You’ll do this, right? It’s the only good thing you’re for, after all. It’ll save me, your family.”

              Tears streamed down your face, head shaking as you shifted back. Even with the bit of adrenaline you were able to muster, you were no match for your father, forced to endure the visual of this creature’s fingers itching to get a hold of your flesh. You could only sob, no words coming out, not even to call for Satoru.

              Thankfully, you didn’t have to. Your saviour appears once more, and as though the curse is nothing but a guy on the street, he places his hand on its back and gives a low whistle, “Low blow, dad. And here I was excited to finally meet my father-in-law.”

              There’s a pressure now in the air, one that has you curling in on yourself, and causing the curse’s open smile to turn into a low hanging frown. Its head spins on its neck, trying to get a look at the man that has it. Your father is more concerned about the words Satoru spoke, though, the tips of his fingers digging painfully into your skin, “’Father-in-law’? You whore. I knew you were out selling yourself. Looks like even to the end, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. That’s all going to change, though. Now you and your boy toy can die together.”

              Satoru laughs, and before you can even blink, he appears behind your father and grabs his wrist, easily shattering the bones and causing him to let go of you. You shift to the side, away from both him and the curse as he screams. Satoru tuts at him, waggling his finger nonchalantly in the air, “Parents should protect their children, not sacrifice them. Honestly…” His voice lowers into something almost sad, though you’re wondering if Gojo Satoru was actually privy to that emotion in the first place or if he was just a really good actor, “People like you disgust me.”

              A bright light that radiates such an intense heat envelops the lounge room. Your arm comes up to cover your face, eyes squinting, all you can hear are the pained cries of your father and the garbled curse. It sends fear coursing through your body, even if Satoru is on your side, just what sort of power does he control? The carnage you expect to see once your eyes adjust isn’t anywhere. The light is gone, everyone else in the room is gone, thin burn marks are left where your father and the curse once was.

              You jump at the hand on your shoulder, your saviour appearing once again out of nowhere. He smirks, acting a little flustered, “Sorry, are your eyes okay? I just wanted to show off a little bit.”

              Again, he’s able to treat this like it’s any other menial task. You ask him, voice quiet, “Where are they?”

              He tilts his head at you, a little pouty that your first concern was them and not the praise you should be heaping on your hero. He squeezes your shoulder, comfortingly, “What do you mean? They’re gone, does it really matter where?”

              It takes a few goes on shaky legs, but, you’re able to stand and face him, “I’m just a little concerned what even happened. Watching you fight the other one, I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and now this- … Are they…?”

              “Dead? Yes.”

              You exhale at his blatant response. Is this something you should blame yourself for, the killing of your father and that… thing? Or is that just your life-long need to put any negative responsibility on you for merely being born an omega.

              Satoru wraps his arm around you and leads you out of the lounge room to help your overclocked mind, "Here’s what would have happened if I didn’t do that: The curse would eat you, devour your father, and then go on a rampage hunting primarily other poor omegas. It’s happened before, baby. Besides,” he cups your face in his hands, making you look up at him, “He was a horrible man. No loss. Can you really say you loved him?”

              The only love you had for your father was before your scent kicked in. After that, he was worse than a stranger to you. You fiddle with your fingers, abashedly looking away, “What happens now?”

              “Now,” he excitedly jostles you, the smile on his face huge, “You come with me!”

              Your eyebrows furrow, his goofy attitude somehow lessening the severity of the situation for you, “I can’t just do that.”

              “Sure you can! Where else are you gonna go?” He questions, awaiting an answer he knows you won’t be able to think of. He takes your hands in his and gets down on one knee, “(Y/n), I know it hasn’t been very long, but when I say I’ve finally found the love of my life-“

              Cheeks burning, you push away from him, trying to cover up his teasing laugh with your hands to your ears, “Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop. Fine, I’ll come along with you.” You don’t think you can ever get used to being flirted with, especially in the unique ways that Satoru comes up with.

              He gives you a gentle push, “Go grab some valuables, baby. We’ll leave once you’re ready.”

              Satoru watches as you move up the stairs, grumbling about the sudden use of ‘baby’ he’s started getting attached to. Hah, how he really does love you. His hand comes to the straining of his cock in his pants, palming the ache that’s been prevalent for a while now. Not long now, he can’t way to absolutely ruin you. An omega that’s never had a proper heat, and he gets to be your first toy, just as much as you are his. His luck truly is divine, if anyone deserves it, it’s definitely him.