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mononijikayu · 3 days

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night we met — ryomen sukuna.

Feeling the gravity of this moment, he tightened his grip on your hand. You looked down at him and smiled—a gesture that sealed his newfound faith in this bond. At that moment, Ryomen Sukuna felt as though he had been reborn. No longer just a boy lost in the festival's chaos, but a person with a role, a duty, and a place in the world. His life, from that moment forward, was to be lived for you, in devotion to the path you would guide him on. You had become his guardian, his mentor—his goddess—and he, in turn, devoted himself to be your loyal follower.

GENRE: Heian Era to Cursed Womb Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

listen: the night we met by lord huron

note: i finally got a break after two exams. i still have one more. but i wanted to pop in and give this to you before i disappear into my books again. i hope you enjoy this little thing~ i love you~

FATHER THOUGHT THAT THERE WOULD BE MORE NEED FOR RETAINERS TO COME WITH THEM. As they navigated the bustling streets of the city, Ryomen Hiromi couldn't shake off a palpable sense of tension, despite the festive atmosphere. The warm glow of lanterns illuminated the cobblestone paths, and the air was filled with lively chatter and laughter. Yet, an underlying unease lingered—perhaps a whisper from the gods, you mused, familiar with the capricious nature of the divine. Your lips tightened into a straight line, your hand unconsciously drifting to the hilt of your sword. Beneath the surface festivity, an undercurrent of anxiety was palpable.

This might explain why your father had insisted on bringing as many men as possible. The Ryomen family was never short of loyal retainers, and Masaomi had been eager to accompany you. Your father's protective instincts weighed heavily on you, his warnings echoing in your mind. As the sole remaining heir of your distinguished family, his concerns were magnified by the elders’ incessant uproar. Though you understood the necessity of your high profile, it sometimes felt stifling.

As you continued through the lively streets, the festival's atmosphere was electrifying. Lanterns hung from every post, casting dancing lights over the faces of the revelers, each absorbed in their own joyous celebration. The air was thick with the scents of street food and a cacophony of laughter and music, creating a chaotic symphony. Yet, despite the jovial chaos, a tug of unease pulled at your consciousness.

You maintained an even pace and a neutral expression, blending seamlessly into the crowd. The presence of your uncle Hiramu was reassuring; his experienced hand rested nonchalantly on his sword, his eyes scanning the crowd with practiced vigilance. His readiness to protect offered comfort and a reminder of the ever-present potential for danger.

Ryomen Hiromi experienced the weight of the festival differently. While others were drawn into the spirit of celebration, your senses were heightened, alert to any discord. The subtle narrowing of your eyes and the stiffness in your shoulders might go unnoticed by an ordinary onlooker, but they were clear indicators of your tension. The flickering shadows cast by the lantern lights seemed to hide potential threats, and every burst of laughter could be masking whispered conspiracies.

You knew you couldn't afford to let down your guard, not when the stakes were so high. This mission was critical, especially to you, marking a step towards your heir’s role, and the weight of this responsibility was heavy on your shoulders. The festival, with its mask of tradition and celebration, might well be a veneer for more sinister undertones.

Navigating through this sea of faces, your gaze occasionally met those of strangers, your deep hazel eyes searching for any hint of recognition or malice. Being with your uncle Hiramu brought some peace, tempering the anxiety that gnawed at your heart, but the persistent unease remained. Something was amiss, and you could not yet pinpoint it. Your instincts screamed for attention, urging vigilance as the night promised to stretch long.

Reports of strange occurrences and unexplained events had been increasing, stirring unrest among the populace and reaching the ears of Lord Isamu. Typically, such critical missions would fall to your elder brother, Akimu, the designated heir tasked with maintaining the safety and stability of Hida's heartland in your father's stead. But now, with Akimu unable to lead, the weight of responsibility had shifted onto your capable yet burdened shoulders.

Each step felt heavy under the scrutinizing gaze of the moon, illuminating the bustling night with a mocking smile. You took a moment to gather your scattered thoughts, steadying the swirling emotions within. As you lifted your gaze, your eyes began to sharpen, honing in on the play of shadows cast by the lantern light, looking beyond the immediate spectacle to the hidden corners and fleeting movements that might betray underlying threats.

This mission was about more than following in Akimu's footsteps; it was about proving that Ryomen Hiromi could stand firm on uneven, unfamiliar ground. You were determined to command respect, to show that despite your gender, you were every bit the Ryomen heir as any man could be.

As you moved away from the main festivities into quieter, dimly lit parts of the town, Uncle Hiramu finally spoke, his voice low and serious, “Little niece, do you sense it too? There’s a heaviness in the air tonight. It must be what your father was speaking of.”

You nodded, your sharp gaze scanning the shadows. “Yes, I feel it. It's as if the air itself is thick with whispers of the past. There’s a disturbance, not just a vengeful spirit, I think. Something older, deeper.”

Hiramu’s eyes narrowed as he looked ahead. “We should be cautious. These kinds of spirits are often bound to old grudges or unresolved tragedies. The festival’s energy could stir it more than usual.”

You turned into a less crowded alley, where the noise of the festival faded into a distant hum. Your elegant robes brushed against the cobblestones, your attire blending traditional beauty with practicality. The layered silk of your fine kimono was dyed in deep blues and purples, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light, mimicking the night sky. Your obi was tightly cinched, supporting the small dagger hidden within—a necessity for any noble venturing into uncertain situations.

Your father insisted that you dress appropriately. It was outlandish, you supposed. The choices were far too simple for taste, unsuitable for any young beauty of such noble stock. But this was as comfortable as it was safe. Pretense of trade being your desire here in these parts, was much easier than to be quite obvious. Anything more than this would have attracted as much attention as retainers.

“Do you think it’s tied to a particular location or event?” you asked, your voice steady despite the creeping chill that seemed to cling to the edges of the night air. “It’s getting me curious…”

“It could be,” Hiramu replied, his hand never straying far from his sword. “These spiteful little cursed spirits often attach themselves to physical locations where significant emotional events occurred. We’ll need to explore the some sites around here—old battlefields, abandoned shrines, places of great loss or betrayal. Someone is deeply angry, little niece."

Your mind raced, piecing together knowledge with the clues of your current environment. “There’s an old well not far from here, sealed up after a great tragedy struck a hundred years ago during a similar festival. A fire had broken out, and many lives were lost. It was said that the well was cursed thereafter.”

Hiramu’s gaze sharpened, his lips just as sharp when he smiled. “That’s a good place to start. Lead the way, little niece.”

IT HAD TAKEN SOME TIME TO FIND THE CURSED SPIRIT. As the moon ascended, bathing the lively festival in its serene, silver luminescence, you and Uncle Hiramu pressed on with your diligent investigation. The festive air, alive with the thrum of activity and the laughter of revelers, contrasted sharply with your growing tension. Underneath the celestial glow, the reality of your mission slowly began to crystallize, taking on a new urgency as unexpected developments unfolded. It had begun with something ever so simple and from there, unpredictable fate intervened and soon enough, the chaos ensued.

The moment of realization struck you with unsettling suddenness. You patted down the side. There was nothing but panic as you looked to the side of the obi and found nothing. One look was enough to confirm that eager suspicion: the coin purse was missing. You looked up towards Uncle Hiramu. You knew that he was trying not to laugh, but his eyes were too obvious. You smacked your uncle which prompted the laugh to bellow from his belly. All you could do was mope in the silence. You supposed that it was alright. Money was not a big deal. But… your eyes widened.

Without hesitating, your eyes swept across the sea of faces swirling around you. The atmosphere was charged with the festival’s energy, yet your focus was razor-sharp. It was then that you had spotted a distinct splash of color that stood out against the earthy tones of the crowd—a young boy with striking pink hair, weaving through the crowd with the agility and desperation of someone fleeing. You looked at Hiramu, and he nodded back at you.

It was then where your instincts kicked in. You tapped your uncle's arm and started mouthing instructions as subtly as one could towards the fleeing figure. Without needing further explanation, Hiramu caught the urgency and nodded. Hiramu took the other direction as you turned to the other.

As you navigated through the dense crowd, the distance between you and the boy closed gradually, you were certain of it. You could sense Hiramu’s cursed energy with each step below against the wide battered ground. You were certain that you were ever so close to bringing a close to the night. But first, you must unravel the night's mysteries. That boy was the key.

Ryomen Hiramu wasted no time as he dashed from stall to stall, street to street. He could feel it, he could feel it too well. That overwhelming power. His seasoned body kicked into high gear, and he swiftly maneuvered through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the pink-haired boy darting through the festival, speeding through the brunt of human bodies. Hiramu cursed under his breath. The child was too clever. With each step, Hiramu's determination as he ran through a corridor of small houses clamped together—one of the poorest sects of life in the quaint area.

As he closed the gap between them, Hiramu noticed an unusual, dark shimmer around the boy—an ominous aura that seemed almost palpable in the moonlit night. This was no mere act of theft; it was clear there was something far more sinister at play. The aura surrounding the boy twisted and writhed like a living thing, a visual manifestation of deep-seated emotional turmoil. It became apparent that this child was not acting alone; he was bound to a cursed spirit, a malevolent force likely fueled by intense feelings of anger, fear, and loneliness.

The realization struck Hiramu with a harsh chill. The spirit's presence suggested that the boy's actions were not entirely his own, that he was under the influence of these dark energies that fed on negative emotions. Such spirits were known to attach themselves to vulnerable souls, magnifying their darkest thoughts and driving them to act in ways they might not otherwise, turning their inner turmoil into outward chaos. Just as he drew his sword, you turned from the corner. Ryomen Hiromi threw that heavy bound haori away, looking at Hiramu.

“Shibaru One! Binding Fate!” you exclaimed, your voice clear and commanding as streaks of luminous energy surged towards the boy. He let out a sharp cry, writhing against the ethereal chains that now ensnared him under your control.

“Be careful!” Hiramu cautioned, moving closer to assist. “He's the source, he's entwined with that cursed spirit!”

You nodded, your focus undeterred by the boy's struggles as you tightened your grip on the energy that bound him. The spectral chains glowed brighter, each pulse of light strengthening the hold over the chaotic spirit within him. Your uncle's warning echoed in your mind, reinforcing your burning resolve to act with both precision and caution.

The boy’s eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and confusion, met yours. You could see the turmoil swirling within him, the innocent caught in the grip of something far beyond his control. “Hold on, just a little longer,” you murmured, your voice a blend of firmness and reassurance intended to pierce through the haze of his panic. A faint smile blossomed from your lips. “Trust me, okay?”

Hiramu understood the gravity of the situation—they were dealing with a phenomenon that was both a danger to the boy and to all those attending the festival. The cursed spirit needed to be dealt with delicately and decisively, for the safety of the boy and the peace of the community. There were too many people here that would not understand what was going on.

There was no need to make a bigger ruckus. With this understanding, Ryomen Hiramu pressed on, his resolve hardened, knowing that he and you must act swiftly to intervene and dispel the darkness that had taken hold of the young boy.

As Hiramu closed in, the cursed spirit sensed the threat and began to lash out, manifesting as tendrils of dark energy. You, realizing the severity of the situation, knew immediate action was required. "Start the purification ritual!" Hiramu shouted over his shoulder as he dodged a swipe from the spirit. "I'll hold it off! Just go and do your job!”

You crossed the tips of your fingers, your eyes narrowing deeper into the soul of the boy. You began to chant softly, the words of an ancient purification rite falling rhythmically from your lips. The boy looked frightened by all means, as the white light did what it could, purging one dark fabric from the boy one after the other.

The air around you seemed to hum with power as your words wove through the currents of energy emanating from your firm hands. The glowing chains tightened further, and the dark aura around the boy began to dissipate, sucked away into the void created by your spell. But as with all things, it tried to keep alive.

Meanwhile, Hiramu engaged the spirit, his sword movements precise, each strike intended not to harm the boy but to distract the spirit and weaken its hold. The sound of the boy’s screams pierced through over and over again, the cursed spirit overlaying against each agonizing echo. He could see the ritual's glow intensifying, the light beginning to engulf the boy, binding and suppressing the dark energy around him.

With a final, desperate cry, the cursed spirit dissipated, expelled in one painful grip. All of a sudden, your white cursed energy also disappeared. You gasped out loud as your shaking knees fell to the ground, weary from it all. It was the first time you had used that purification technique. But it seemed that it had finally worked. You looked at the empty depth of your palm.

As the ritual reached its climax, your voice rose in a powerful cadence, your tender hands outstretched towards the boy, directing the flow of purified energy. The cursed spirit writhed and howled and fought over and over, its form becoming unstable under the ritual’s influence. Sweat permeated through your sleeves, your teeth gritted, your eyes narrowed, over and over the ringing of each of your ears continued as the boy continued to fight for his life.

Your eyes shined. You had done that. Hiramu looked at you, rushing towards you. But you stopped him, coughing as you regained air. You pointed to the boy, sprawled on the pavement. Hiramu sheathed his sword back. Soon enough, Hiramu could only lift the boy in his arms.

The boy, now freed from the spirit’s grasp, collapsed, exhausted but unharmed. He was perhaps trying to catch his breath. He must have been exhausted. You, having returned to the plane of reality, rushed to his side, your own energy spent. You were certain that there was no bigger word than relief as you eagerly confirmed that he was safe. His eyes were both soft and weary as he looked at that boy. He lifted his head at you.

Hiramu's eyes remained narrowed, the wrinkles at the corners deepening as he surveyed the scene before him. Despite the successful expulsion of the spirit, his instincts told him there was more to uncover. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried a weight that drew your attention immediately. "Something is still not right," he said, his tone heavy with unease.

You nodded, understanding the depth of your uncle's concern. You gently placed your palm on the boy's forehead, feeling the residual heat of the ritual. "He's warm, uncle," you observed as your voice echoed tinged with worry.

"Purification techniques are painful to the body," Hiramu responded, his voice a low hum, soothing yet solemn. "It’s purging the worst of the soul, after all. Still, it must be said. You did well, little niece."

The corners of your mouth twitched into a slight smile, a rare break in your usually stern demeanor. "Such praise is rare, uncle."

Hiramu let out a soft snicker, his usual stern facade momentarily giving way to familial warmth. "I compliment you all the time," he claimed, though his smile betrayed the playfulness of his exaggeration.

"That sounds like a lie, uncle," you retorted, your weary eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and affection.

"Yeah, yeah," Hiramu dismissed playfully, but his attention quickly returned to the matter at hand as the boy began to stir. You blinked, taken aback by the sudden movement. You had been so focused on your exchange that the boy's awakening caught you momentarily off guard.

"What do you intend to do with this boy, niece?" Hiramu asked, his tone shifting back to the gravity of your situation. His question hung in the air, pressing you for a decision, reminding you of your responsibilities. “You’re the only one who can decide the lad’s fate.”

“Uncle—”

“You are my better, even if I am your elder and uncle.” Hiramu added, watching you become flustered as he watched the young lady shift in her position. “What do you think is right?”

You took a deep breath, your gaze shifting from Hiramu to the boy who was slowly regaining consciousness. You could see the confusion and fear flicker across his young face as he came to grips with his surroundings. He seemed disoriented, his eyes darting around, trying to make sense of what had happened to him.

Your voice rang out with a firm resolve, words carrying an air of unwavering determination. You met the older man’s gaze with a steady intensity, your expression betraying no hint of doubt.

"We'll bring him back with us to the manor," you declared, leaving no room for argument. "I'll send word ahead to let them know."

Hiramu's response was laced with a sense of foreboding. "They won't like this," he cautioned, his words heavy with the weight of tradition and expectation. You understood exactly what he meant—the elders, with their adherence to protocol and rigid adherence to tradition, were unlikely to approve of your deviation from established norms. But your determination remained unshaken.

"That is a matter I will handle myself, uncle," you asserted, your voice steady and resolute. You were acutely aware of the potential consequences of defying the elders, but your concern for the boy's well-being outweighed any fear of reprisal. "Do not worry."

Hiramu sighed, a reluctant acknowledgment of your determination. Despite his reservations, he knew better than to stand in your way when your stubborn mind was set to its desires.

"Very well," he conceded, his voice tinged with resignation. At that moment, he placed his trust in your judgment, knowing that you would do whatever was necessary to ensure the young boy’s safety and well-being, even if it meant challenging the traditions of your elders. “What else?”

“We might stay a day longer, to make sure that this is the only concern.” You retorted back to him, pursing your lips together in a tight line. “I shall head off and see to it that barriers are strengthened. There need not be any more situations like this one.”

“Very well. I’ll go ahead and take him to our inn.”

“Make sure he’s well fed, uncle. And that he’s alright.”

Hiramu snickers. “You act as though I didn’t take care of you or your brother.”

"I’ll check on him when I return. We need to ensure he's truly free of any residual curse," you said tenderly towards the older man.. "We also need to understand who he is. How did he get here at all, past the barriers. And how did he get this powerful. This puzzle requires quite a bit of effort.”

Hiramu nodded in agreement, his face reflecting his approval of your thorough approach. "Very well," he replied, "We should also see if we can help him find his way. No one should be left to wander alone, much so not one who has been through such an ordeal."

You knelt beside the boy, offering a reassuring smile. "Can you tell us your name?" you asked gently, hoping to ease him into conversation.

As the boy's gaze met yours, his initially wide eyes began to soften, a subtle shift that hinted at his growing realization of safety in your presence. Despite this reassurance, he remained silent, a reaction you attributed to the lingering shock and confusion from the events he had endured. Understandingly, you accepted his quiet, knowing well that pushing him to speak before he was ready could only cause further distress.

You addressed him with a gentle, reassuring smile, your tone soft yet imbued with an underlying strength. "Take all the time you need, little boy," you encouraged, your words floating warmly in the cool air, offering him the space and time he might require to recover from his ordeal. Your smile, kind and patient, was meant to communicate that he was under no pressure to reveal anything before he felt comfortable.

Straightening up, you prepared to continue your duties, aware of the responsibilities that still awaited your attention beyond this encounter. You glanced towards your uncle, who had also been through a trying time, his vigilance unyielding as he supported your efforts.

"Get some rest. You too, uncle," you added, acknowledging his fatigue and your appreciation for his steadfast support. "I’ll return with haste."

As you turned to leave, the boy's eyes followed your every move, wide and contemplative. In the quiet aftermath of your promise, his gaze lingered on your retreating figure, a mix of newfound trust and lingering uncertainty playing across his features. His eyes, filled with a depth that spoke of both fear and curiosity, seemed to hold a thousand unasked questions.

As he watched you disappear into the crowd, there was a palpable sense of wonder about whether he could find his voice, not just to speak but to share his thoughts, fears, and perhaps his hidden stories. The boy was silently grappling with the idea of opening up, of letting someone else into his secluded world.

You, aware of his watchful eyes, felt a twinge of responsibility and hope. His silent scrutiny did not go unnoticed, and it reminded you of the delicate task ahead—not just protecting him from external dangers but also nurturing his trust and confidence to the point where he would feel safe to express himself. The boy's quiet contemplation as you walked away hinted at the significant role you would play in his life, potentially being the first to hear his voice when he finally chose to speak.

As you melded with the festivities, the distance between you growing, you carried with you the weight of his unspoken thoughts, hoping that when you returned, the boy would be ready to break his silence, allowing you into his world. Until then, he shuts his eyes. He lets the sleep take him to the nether world, where nightmares still come to follow.

HIROMI THINKS THAT SLEEP WAS ALL THAT WOULD FIX THINGS. Hiromi returned to the heart of the festival, your task of reinforcing the protective barriers around the periphery completed. Your work, involving the meticulous weaving of energy to strengthen the existing magical defenses, had left you sharp and attuned to even the slightest disturbance. The process was arduous, as you needed to locate and neutralize any lingering curses that could threaten the festival's sanctity. Each of these encounters, a dance of skill and arcane prowess, tested not only your abilities but also your mental fortitude and resolve.

The challenges were varied, ranging from minor nuisances that were swiftly dealt with, to more stubborn, malignant energies that demanded all your focus and power to dispel. Yet, you managed each with precision and control, your extensive training and natural aptitude shining through. With every curse you unraveled and every barrier you chose to further fortify. As Akimu ensured the festival grounds remained a safe haven, you would do the same. This land must always be free from the influence of dark forces.

This vigilant defense was crucial, not only to protect the attendees but to maintain the balance of energies within the festival area. Any breach could lead to chaos, potentially unleashing harm on the unsuspecting revelers. Your successful fortification of the area thus served as an invisible shield, one that allowed the festival to continue in joyous celebration without the shadow of malevolent interference.

As the sky began to lighten with the approach of dawn, you continued that prideful vigilance, keeping a watchful eye on the worshippers gathered for the festival. Amidst the joyous celebrations, you remained ever alert, scanning the crowd for any signs of disturbance or danger. It was in the stillness of the early morning hours that you noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

Despite the dim light of dawn, you sensed a presence nearby, a stirring of energy that caught all of your attention. Instinctively, you turned your gaze toward the source and saw the pink-haired boy, his eyes open and alert. You approached him quietly, your movements fluid and deliberate. You could sense that something had changed, that your encounter earlier had left an impression on him. With a gentle smile, you greeted him, your voice soft but reassuring.

"Good morning," you said, your tone warm with genuine concern. "How are you feeling?"

The boy's gaze flickered between curiosity and caution as he studied you, trying to parse the intentions behind your unexpected approach. Despite the swirl of doubt clouding his young mind, there was an undeniable sense of comfort that seemed to emanate from your presence—somewhat a stability in the tumultuous sea of his current experiences. Sensing his hesitation, you understood his reticence; after all, to him, you and uncle Hiramu were nothing more than strangers who had suddenly entered his life under unusual and likely frightening circumstances.

However, you sensed a deeper narrative woven into the fabric of the boy's aura, a story that extended beyond his current fear and confusion. You were determined to unearth the role he played in the festival's strange occurrences, driven by a conviction that his involvement was not merely coincidental. This was uncharted territory, a situation that neither you nor the festival had encountered before. Yet, you believed that new challenges were always opportunities for growth and understanding, reminders that there is always a "first time" for every occurrence in life.

Respecting his silence, you chose not to press him further for answers. You recognized that trust needed to be earned, especially in such delicate circumstances. It was then, in a moment of frailty, that the boy's strength seemed to falter, his body leaning as if he might collapse. Reacting swiftly, you stepped forward, kneeling to catch him, your movements guided by a blend of concern and readiness to support him.

As he rebounded slightly, stabilized by your quick intervention, he blinked up at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and bewilderment. In that brief exchange of looks, a silent understanding began to form. Your actions spoke louder than any words could have; they conveyed a promise of protection and empathy, laying the groundwork for a trust that might soon allow the boy to share his story and perhaps reveal the mysteries surrounding the events that had drawn you all together.

As you extended your hand toward him, he hesitated momentarily before his eyes blinked in a mix of confusion and curiosity. Observing his uncertainty, you offered him a tender smile, softening your expression to ease his apprehension.

"Are you alright, young one?" you asked, your voice low and soothing, cutting through the noise of the surrounding festivities.

In that moment, the boy found himself unexpectedly captivated by your presence. There was something almost ethereal about you, a radiance that seemed to emanate from within, casting a gentle, enchanting glow in the soft light of the festival’s lanterns—ones which still light up the dark morning glory. Your form appeared haloed by this light, lending you an otherworldly grace that was both comforting and awe-inspiring.

Your eyes, warm and inviting, seemed to draw him in further. They were deep pools of compassion and understanding, reaching out to him across the void of his own confusion and fear. As your eyes met, he felt a profound connection; it was as though you could see into the very depths of his soul, understanding his fears and yearnings without a word spoken.

The world around both of you seemed to pause, creating a bubble of serenity amidst the chaos. To the boy, this wasn’t just a simple meeting; it was a pivotal moment that would redefine his understanding of safety and hope. Even before he knew your name, Hiromi, he saw in you not just a protector or a higher power, but a guiding light, a beacon of hope illuminating his darkened world.

"What's your name?" you inquired gently, noticing his silence but undeterred by it.

When he remained mute, your smile broadened, radiating kindness and patience. "It’s okay if you have no name," you reassured him, your voice a soft anchor in his stormy sea of thoughts.

Upon hearing this, he looked up, his eyes wide with a mix of amazement and relief. Here was someone offering not just help, but a place and a presence in the world.

"I’ll give you one," you promised, a simple offer that nonetheless promised him a new beginning, a sense of identity and belonging that he had long craved. This simple gesture of naming was more than a label; it was a gift of a new life and a fresh start under your protective gaze.

You smile warmly at him, feeling the weight of the moment as you prepare to give him a name—a simple yet profound gift that could anchor him to a new beginning. When you smile at him, he thinks he found heaven. monsters like him do not deserve heaven. Yet the goddess you were, embraced him in the warmth of tender night. Names were important. In the family, it was. Sensing the importance of the choice, you think carefully, choosing a name rich with strength and history. The family histories had such good names to choose from, you think.

"Would the name Ryomen Sukuna suffice for you?" you ask gently, observing his reaction to gauge whether it resonates with him. “Now that you are with us, you will gain two lives. The past and now the future. Will you accept it, little one?”

The boy looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he processes the name. It's clear he is unfamiliar with its origins or meanings, but there is an undeniable flicker of intrigue in his gaze. Ryomen Sukuna, a name that carries echoes of a mystic and power to it. Entirely opposite of what he had known. The boy, now Sukuna, thinks this could imbue him with a sense of might and courage, perhaps reflecting the new path he might choose to follow under your guidance. And then, maybe then, he can serve you. With this new name.

For a moment, he remains silent, contemplating the name, rolling it over in his mind. Then, slowly, a tentative smile begins to form on his lips. It seems to suit him, or at least, he is willing to step into the mantle it could offer.

"Ryomen Sukuna," he repeats softly, testing how the name feels as it comes out of his mouth. His voice is unsure at first, but with each repetition, he seems to grow more comfortable, more accepting of it.

Seeing his acceptance, your smile broadens. "Yes, Ryomen Sukuna," you confirm with a nod, affirming his new identity. "It’s a strong name, one that I believe can help guide you to become whoever you wish to be."

The boy nods, a sense of new identity beginning to settle within him. The name, though ancient, now starts a new chapter in his life, one filled with potential and promise. You extend your hand to him once more, this time as a gesture of warmth. A future worth looking forward to.

"Now, you must be hungry, Sukuna," you suggest warmly, ready to introduce him back into the celebration, not as an orphan lost amidst chaos but as a newly named participant with a protector by his side. “There’s still some stalls open. Some are not yet done with the festival. Do you want something to eat?”

He looks at you for a moment and then tenderly nods. As he takes your hand, his grip is firm, and his initial hesitance seems to wash away with the rising sun. Together, you walk back towards the heart of where the fullness of the festival had been, your steps synchronized. Ryomen Sukuna, newly named and newly empowered, walks beside you, no longer just a passive spectator but a young boy with a nascent but growing sense of belonging and purpose.

Your role as his protector, and now the giver of his name, has created a bond between you, one that promises not only safety but also a future filled with the potential for transformation. As you both step into the bustling festival, the early morning light casts long shadows, yet for Sukuna, illuminated by the glow of the lanterns and buoyed by your supportive presence, the world seems less intimidating.

You had given him a name, securing a place for him in this chaos—a gesture simple yet profound. This act forged a tentative bond, knitting a fragile sense of belonging into his young heart. And now, for the first time, he truly belonged somewhere. On this transformative night, his heart was full of nothing but hope. He had a name—a name that was uniquely his, one his mother had never given him.

As you walked side by side, he looked up at you with eyes shining with admiration. Sukuna adored his new name, not just for its sound or its meaning, but because it was a gift from you. It symbolized a new beginning, a sign of your faith in him. In that simple name, he found a deep sense of identity and purpose. He hoped beyond hope that this newfound connection would last.

This rebirth was not just about a new name but a whole new existence shaped by the promise of guidance and protection under your watchful care. As the festival carried on around you, with its myriad lights and shadows, Sukuna walked confidently by your side, secure in his new identity and the journey ahead.

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daisynik7 · 3 months

Text

Make Me Sweat

Pairing: Aoi Todo x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~2.5k

cw: written with a curvy reader in mind, canon-divergent (post-Shibuya but a happy one), all characters are 18+, explicit language, smut – cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spit play, PIV sex (cowgirl position, mating press), breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, good girl), creampie

Summary: With the start of the new year, you make it one of your resolutions to become more active. You begin at your apartment's fitness center, where you run into your muscle head, loud-mouth next-door neighbor, Aoi Todo. He offers his gratuitous advice, annoying you at first. But when he suggests a particular kind of workout, it piques your interest enough that you can't refuse.

Author’s Note: I used metric units (kg) to describe the weights. Also, I am no expert in lifting so please take all of this with a grain of salt LOL. I just know that canonically, these characters are fucking STRONG. I stopped with the tag list on this one bc technically this was a bonus fic and I wasn't sure if anyone wanted to be tagged in these. With that, please enjoy some shameless smut about our favorite JJK himbo! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

part 6 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

When you said you wanted to start exercising more, you weren’t expecting this: being bounced up and down your next-door neighbor’s impressively huge cock. Yet, here you are, getting pounded with your ass slapping lewdly on his thighs. His big hands dig into the sides of your belly, his lips on the skin of your neck, voice gruff and husky. “Told you, didn’t I?”

Let’s rewind to a few hours earlier.

You haven’t been prioritizing yourself lately; your obligations during the day drain all the energy from you and your bed is always so enticing for a nap. When the new year approaches, you make it one of your resolutions to be more active. The gym in your apartment complex is finally open after being renovated the past three months and now, there’s really no excuses when the opportunity is just five floors below you. Your forego your usual nap and suit up in your favorite workout clothes, heading down the elevator to the fitness center.

Luckily, it isn’t crowded; the only other people inside are Aoi Todo, your neighbor, and his pink-haired buddy, Yuji. They’re both at the weights section, Yuji doing squats with the barbell while Todo spots him, yelling at him encouragingly. “Come on, brother. Hold it, hold it! You got this!”

Yuji grunts, holding the deadlift for as long as possible, eventually dropping it to the floor with a loud thud. Todo claps emphatically, beaming at him. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

You smile to yourself, amused at Todo’s contagious enthusiasm. When he notices you, he gives you a nod, which you return, slightly embarrassed for being caught watching.

Have you mentioned yet how fucking ripped he is? Today, he wears a loose tank, arm holes cut low to show off his extraordinary physique. Arms bulging with muscles, an incredibly large chest, a well-defined eight-pack. He’s built like a Spartan warrior, ready for battle, destined for victory. It’s impossible to ignore a body like his, even more impossible to ignore his eccentric attitude, which gets on your nerves when you have to listen to his noisy demeanor on the opposite side of the wall.

The cardio section is on the other side of room, so you make your way to one of the treadmills, setting the level to a walking pace for a quick warm-up. Before you put your headphones in to listen to music, you eavesdrop of their conversation, observing them from your peripheral.

“Good shit, brother,” Todo says, massaging his shoulders affectionately.

Yuji scratches his head, grinning. “Still got work to do to match my PR. After Shibuya, my strength hasn’t been the same.”

“You’re still the strongest fucker I know. Besides me, of course,” Todo adds, chuckling. “Spot me before you go.”

They replace the already notable weights with what you suspect are heavier ones. Yuji whistles through his teeth. “300. You’re losing your touch, don’t you think?” he teases, nudging him in the ribs.

Todo digs into a container of powdered chalk, coating his fingers with it. “I’m taking it easy today. Don’t want to over-exert myself in case something exciting happens later.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grabs on to the barbell, smirking. “I don’t know yet. We’ll see.” Maybe it’s your imagination, but you can almost swear that his eyes meet yours for a split second in the reflection of the mirror.

You continue to observe as Todo easily deadlifts 300 kg, as if it weighs nothing to him, repeating this ten times without breaking a sweat.

Yuji laughs, helping him rerack. “That’s crazy.”

Todo pats his back. “You’ll get there soon, brother. Once you’re fully recovered, you’ll be lifting more than me, I’ll make sure of that.” His unwavering support is actually endearing. Sure, he can be obnoxious, but this side of him is charming.

Unfortunately, this sentiment doesn’t last long. Once Yuji leaves, Todo decides to choose the treadmill right beside you, purposefully neglecting the surrounding unoccupied cardio machines. You’re still at a walking pace, eyeing him suspiciously as he stands there, blatantly watching you with a cocky grin. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Avoiding his gaze, staring at the console in front of you, you mutter, “Excuse me, but I’m trying to focus here.”

“Focus on what? Walking?” he scoffs, leaning on the handrail nearest to you. “You’re not going to get far if you keep going at a snail’s pace.”

You roll your eyes, finally looking at him. “So what do you suggest, Oh-Wise-One?”

It’s meant to be sarcastic, but of course, he thinks you’re genuinely asking. “You’ve got to alternate between high intensity and low intensity. Sprint for thirty seconds, then walk for a minute to cool off. Then repeat. Simple as that.”

As much as you appreciate the gratuitous advice, you’re already familiar with high intensity interval training. You’re just nervous to actually do it, not confident in your running abilities. “I’m not a good runner,” you admit.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, show me what you got.” He crosses his arms over his pecs, waiting.

Deciding it’s better to relent to him rather than argue, you brace yourself, upping the speed so that you’re doing an easy jog.

“You can do better than that!” he hollers, reaching for the controls to increase the level, making the track move faster and faster. You’re sprinting full speed now, lasting about thirty seconds before you swat him away, tugging at the emergency shut off cord to stop it.

You catch your breath, glaring at him, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. "What the fuck, are you trying to kill me?!"

He’s unfazed by your outburst and oblivious to the asshole move he made. “Don’t be so dramatic. You did great. You have really nice form.”

You don’t let his compliments dissuade you from being angry at him. “You can’t just do that without any warning. I’m still getting used to all this.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I won’t do that again.” He watches you take long sips from your water bottle, scanning your figure up and down. A coy smirk spreads across his face. "You know, if running ain't your thing, there are other workouts we can try that might suit you better."

You continue to drink, gradually regaining your composure. "Like what?"

He leans in close to you, breath hot on your ear. "Sex."

You choke on your water, using your towel to wipe the mess. Ready to give him an earful, he hops off the track, walking towards the exit. "If you want to work up a real sweat, you know where to find me. I promise to make it worth your while.”

And with that, he's gone, leaving you speechless. And intrigued.

~~~

After dinner, you take a long shower, Todo’s unconventional suggestion replaying continuously in your mind. You’re almost certain it’s a ridiculous joke, though the more you analyze it, the less ridiculous it seems. In fact, by the time you’re drying off in front of the mirror, checking your reflection carefully, you’re seriously considering it. You’re not particularly tired from earlier, so maybe you have room for one more workout. And hey, if the offer still stands, why not take it?

You slide into a different pair of leggings, one that shows off your curves, and slip on a t-shirt, fulling prepared to exercise. In your running shoes, you walk the few steps next door and knock twice. When he doesn’t answer within the first ten seconds, panic sets in and you’re tempted to turn on your heel to retreat. Before you can, the door swings open and you’re greeted by Todo’s bare bust. He smirks, not at all surprised to see you standing in front of him. “Hey.”

Swallowing the thick saliva gathering on your tongue, you let out a meek, “Hello.” His enormous frame towers over you and you can’t help but salivate at the sight of him. You always assumed he’d be the type of guy to walk around shirtless in his apartment. Not that you’re complaining.

He beckons you inside, closing and locking the door shut behind him. “Can’t stop thinking about it, huh?”

You roll your eyes at him, cracking a smile simultaneously. “Well, it’d be rude to turn down such a generous offer, right?”

He lets out a small laugh, stepping towards you, gripping at your hips to pull you into him. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

You’ve severely underestimated how much bigger he is than you until this moment, as you peer up at him eagerly. “Todo.”

He bows his head down, mouth grazing your ear. “Aoi.”

“Aoi,” you repeat, breath hitching.

“Good girl,” he praises, making you shudder with anticipation. “Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You paw at his chest, admiring his sculpted muscles, pressing your fingers into them without even making a dent. “I want you to give me that workout you promised me.”

“Yeah?” he croons, his noticeable erection strained in his sweatpants. “You want this fat fucking cock, don’t you?”

He’s as vulgar as you imagined he’d be and it only spurs you on. You link your arms around his neck, on your tippy-toes to meet him for a kiss. Instead, he hoists you up, holding you with his hands below your ass, your legs wrapped around his waist. His boner throbs as you buck your hips on him, desperate for friction on your aching clit. “You feel it, don’t you?” he purrs, grinding you against him. “That’s all for you.”

He carries you into the bedroom, kissing you sloppily with his massive tongue invading your mouth. When he can’t take it anymore, he tosses you onto the mattress, stripping his clothes off swiftly, you doing the same. He crawls on top of you, ogling your naked body, a lustful gleam in his expression. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“You’re so fucking big,” you blurt out in response, not knowing a better word to describe him. Because everywhere you look, Aoi Todo is big. Big biceps, a tremendous torso, a huge fucking cock ready to fill you the fuck up. You spread your legs open for him, practically begging for him to fuck you.

“Look at this perfect pussy,” he coos, face inching closer to your cunt. He hocks a thick wad of spit directly onto your clit, smearing it with his tongue. “So wet for me.”

You squirm beneath him, unable to control yourself. “Fuck, Aoi,” you swear, toes already curling from the sensation.

“I’m going to make you come first. Make this pussy extra creamy for my dick. Is that okay, sweetheart?” He massages circles into your clit with his thumb, looking up at you from between your thighs.

“Yes,” you whine, trembling with arousal.

“Good girl,” he says again, and you realize how fucking sexy it is when he praises you like this. “Can I finger you too?”

“Oh god, yes,” you moan, growing impatient, needy for whatever he’s willing to offer you.

With his lips latched to your clit, he teases your entrance with his middle finger, slowly sliding deeper until he bottoms out. He adds another digit, pumping inside you while he sucks on your bud, tongue swirling around it. You rock your hips against his face, greedy for more. Todo hums, encouraging you, the vibrations spurring you on until it’s too much. You come for him after a few more strokes, gushing all over his face. You reach down to grab his hair, trying to pry him off you, but he’s obviously way stronger and more resilient. “One more,” he muffles, chin shiny with your slick, his tongue flicking your clit. “For me.” He flashes you a cocky smirk that makes him even more impossible to deny.

You throw your head back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, hazy-eyed from the pleasure. The squelch of his fingers in and out of your wet cunt is obscene, combined with the shameless moans pouring out of you. After your second climax, or maybe it’s the third (you’ve lost count), he finally eases off you, slurping his digits clean to swallow up your juices. “You’re doing so good for me, pretty girl.” He strokes his cock in his fist, tapping the glistening head on your swollen clit. “It’s going to feel fucking amazing.”

You hum, the only response you can muster in this fucked-out state.

“How do you want it, sweetie?” He lifts you off the bed, having you straddle his lap. “You want to ride me?”

You nod, resting your head on his shoulder, yearning for anything. “Yes.”

“Fuck yeah,” he growls, slapping your ass before guiding his cock into your slippery cunt. You gasp, astonished by the extraordinary girth of him filling you up to the hilt. “You’re swallowing me up.” He spreads your cheeks apart, squeezing your ass in his grip. “That’s my girl.”

You gaze at him, pressing your forehead to his, sticky with sweat. “Fuck me,” you whimper, kissing him fiercely, completely enraptured by him.

He does, bouncing you on his lap, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you’re unraveling for him once more. “Told you, didn’t I? Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

Whatever semblance of rationale you had is gone. All you can think of is Todo’s manhandling you like a fucking rag doll, pliable and yielding to his every touch. Before you reconsider it, you spout the words, “Breed me,” wishing nothing more but to have his hot load leaking out of your cunt.

As if he wasn’t already feral enough, he most certainly is now, planting his feet on the bed to fuck up into you faster and harder. “That’s what you really want? You want my fucking seed in you? Oh fuck. I’ll give it to you, then. I’ll give it to you so fucking good.”

It happens quickly; you’re on your back again, folded nearly in half, knees to your chest, Todo fucking you in a mating press like his goddamn life depends on it. The mattress creaks noisily with each savage thrust he delivers. Sweat drips from his face onto yours as you kiss each other passionately, his massive body surrounding you as he floods your womb with his cum. “Fuck, milk it all out of me baby. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You stay like this for a moment, allowing yourselves to catch you breaths and cool down. This really was a workout. Todo takes his time, reluctantly pulling out and watching his cum ooze out of you.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you sigh, hiding your face in the pillow.

He gets comfortable beside you, giving you a smooch on the forehead. “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Really?” You look at him, cupping his cheek gently, wiping the perspiration off his brow with your thumb.

He smiles, nuzzling into your palm. “Yeah.”

“Then maybe we should make this a regular thing,” you suggest as you snuggle into his arms.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he agrees, embracing you.

And just like that, you have yourself a new and very, very personal trainer.

#todo aoi #todo x reader #todo jjk #todo smut #todo aoi x reader #todo aoi smut #aoi todo #aoi todo x reader #aoi todo smut #aoi todo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #to all the boys who live next door #todo x you

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endlessthxxghts · 7 months

Text

You Better Jump... (part 2 of 2)

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈9k

Summary: Your neighbor fixed your lock for you. How can you ever repay him? [read part 1 here]

Warnings: Canon divergent (no outbreak) & mentions of Sarah but we don't see or interact with her (AU - she moved out, lives on her own). Partial physical description of reader (having a thick/curvy body, wears a dress/feminine). Reader is a polyglot but no explicit mentions of race/ethnicity. Feminine pet names (sweet girl, darlin’, etc.). Flirty/awkward interactions and heightened sexual tension. Reader’s unhinged bestie <3. Implied age gap, but no explicit mention as to how big. LATINO JOEL MILLER (😫). An oddly weird amount of sweetness for 2 people who just met LOL. SMUT 18+ MDNI: Joel gets turned on at reader being a polyglot LMAO. Overall dirty talk/vulgar language. Dom/sub undertones (not heavy or established but definitely present). Vaginal fingering, p in v unprotected (I’m not sorry), semi-public sexual activity, thigh riding, bit of exhibitionism kink, oral sex (f receiving), squirting (blink and you’ll miss it), spit kink, choking, hickeys/marking… please let me know if I’ve missed anything!!

A/N: HERE'S PART 2 (THE FINAL PART)! ENJOY, MY LOVES!!💚

MASTERLIST

You and Joel make out like that, with your front door wide open, until you hear a loud meow from what you immediately know to be the neighborhood cat who likes to visit you once in a while. You two break away from each other, breathless, startled from the feline just sitting at the foot of your door.

You look back up to Joel with a cheesy grin on your face, and he mirrors your expression, bringing one of his hands up to run along your red and swollen bottom lip. “Sorry,” he chuckles breathily, “got a little carried away.”

You slowly lean forward into his touch and take his thumb into your mouth, swirling it around your tongue. “Don’t apologize,” you say. You pull your mouth off his thumb and leave a little kiss to the pad of it, “I liked it.”

He groans, his eyes completely black and the grip on your waist tightens, “Darlin’,” he warns, “I need to take you out properly first.”

You slowly back away an inch with a smile full of trouble and put your hands up in a surrendering motion.

His jaw clenches, “You’re trouble, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You shrug your shoulders in response, “Maybe.” You fall to your knees in front of him, slowly, and pick up the tools he dropped before your little makeout session. You stand on your knees, head in line with his hips, and look up at him. You reach around and tuck his tools in the back pocket of his jeans, grabbing onto his belt loops to pull yourself back on your feet, “Thank you for fixing my door for me, Joel.”

Before you can break away from the close proximity, his arm snakes around your waist yet again and pulls you in, his other free hand going straight for the underside of your jaw. “Pick you up at seven tonight, hm? Wear somethin’ pretty,” he says, leaning in for a deep kiss that sucks all the air out of you, “Somethin’ that gives me easy access, yeah?”

And with that, he walks out (the cat in tow), shutting the door in the process.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s 5 o'clock by the time Joel left you completely speechless at his last words, and it’s 6 by the time you call your best friend to get your ass over here right now and update her on everything that happened, including her stupid ass comment that made it right into Joel’s earshot. Of course, she laughs hysterically at that, slapping the shit out of your arm with every deep breath she takes at an attempt to calm herself.

“Alright, bitch,” she says, wiping the edges of her eyes from any residue tears, “Let’s get ya dressed, so you can jump-”

“That’s enough,” you say, slapping your hand over her mouth.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Holy fuck.

All your life, you were never really confident in yourself. You were secure enough in your identity that you knew you weren’t that bad to the average eye, but you also very much knew that you weren’t jaw-droppingly sexy. That is, until Joel made you feel like the hottest person on the planet with how he couldn’t control himself with you. Mix in your best friend’s way of hyping you up, and fuck did you feel unstoppable.

You’re not much of a dress person, but you did have a silk, dark green spaghetti strap dress that you bought on a whim a year back. You were slightly skinnier then, but the way it hugs you now accentuates all the right curves and you’ve never felt so fucking beautiful. The dress is also very flowy, having a long slit on both sides, stopping at your hip. Standing, sitting down, no matter what angle, anyone is bound to see a slip of your underwear. Which is totally the reason why you make the executive decision to not wear any, and not because of Joel’s words ringing in your ear since it left his mouth.

You enter your living room once again, giving your best friend a bit of a show before you kick her ass out, and just as your laughs settle down, you hear a knock at your door.

No fuckin’ way it’s been an hour already, you think to yourself. Your eyes go wide as you look at your best friend, her expression mirroring yours. You frantically look at the clock on your television stand, and, it has been an hour already, fuck.

You tell your best friend to hide in your room for now because there is absolutely no way she’s meeting Joel yet. She frowns, but ultimately she listens and runs to your room while you run to grab the door.

You’re already out of breath from the show you were giving your best friend, and the nerves that were building with Joel on the other side of the door you were about to open is not helping one bit.

You planned on just side-stepping him and making it straight for his car, so he doesn’t come inside, but as soon as the door opens, your breath hitches. Joel is so fucking sexy, Jesus fucking Christ, you want to swallow him whole right fucking now. As your eyes give him a full sweep, you make it down to his sleek black shoes, and in your peripheral vision, you see that your feet are still bare. Shit, there goes your plan.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty sight,” he says, also looking you up and down, matching your energy, wanting to devour you just as bad. You smirk up at him and muster up a bashful thank you, but you’re still in a trance from how good he looks. Finally, you feel the outside air tickle your feet, so you start stepping backwards into your apartment, beginning to kneel down to reach the heels you set aside earlier.

He notices where you’re headed and stops you by gently grabbing you by the hip, “Here, may I?” And before you can even think to decline (which you never would), he’s already on his knees for you, for the second time today, and you can’t help the pooling arousal in your core. Your panty-less core, to be exact, which is now only inches away from him.

He grabs your foot and situates it on his knee while he works to unclasp the strap. When he does, his rough hands are grabbing your ankle so contrastingly soft and situating your foot into the heel. He makes sure the strap wraps perfectly around your ankle, and seeing how big his hands are, you would think he would struggle with such a tiny buckle. But no, he clasps it faster than even you would, and he finishes off by leaving a sweet kiss just above where the strap lays on you. He hears your breath hitch at that, so, like the menace he is, he places three more soft kisses, making the journey higher up your leg. And before you can beg him to keep going, he’s already switching your feet around, and repeating the exact same process to your other foot. Including the three kisses up your leg. He looks up at you, a smug smile and a playful sparkle in his eye, “Ready, pretty girl?”

“Y-yeah, I-I’m ready,” you stutter out, eyes already glossed over. He stands at full height now, his hand falling to your lower back as he guides you to the front door. He pauses, though, and you look up at him slightly confused. “I reckon she won’t be here when we get back, but, uh, aren’t ya gonna introduce me to your little friend?”

Your eyes go wide, “How-?” You begin to question, but his fingers are already at your chin, guiding you to look at the black Jeep, backed into a parking spot next to your car, with a bumper sticker of a half set of butterfly wings. It perfectly matches up to the sticker on your car, making a full butterfly. “Oh,” you say defeated but also impressed he picked up on such a little detail. It makes your heart warm a little.

He lets you go from his grasp, and you turn your body in the general direction of your room and yell, “Bitch, get out he-”

It’s as if she had her ear to the door the entire time, waiting for the moment she could dart out because she doesn’t even give you a moment to finish your statement. She’s already in front of you both within seconds.

You give her the eyes that she immediately translates as please play it cool, but you both know she won’t. “Hi, Joel, right? I’ve heard lots about ya,” she spits out at the speed of lightning as she holds her hand out for him to take, and she quickly follows by introducing her name. Joel chuckles at her eagerness and his date’s obvious embarrassment. It’s endearing. Reminds him of his relationship with Tommy. It warms him to know you have a true ride or die in your life, it’s rare to come across these days.

Eventually the introductions are over, your best friend is headed back to her home, and you and Joel are headed to some restaurant that he refuses to tell you the name or where it is, just that the “Drive is worth it, I promise.”

“A 40 minute drive?” you say jokingly just to rile him up, “This better be the best goddamn thing my mouth is ever gonna taste, then.”

His stare breaks from the road for a moment to look at you, then it’s back on the road. But he has a shit-eating grin on his face. “We might as well turn around then, huh? Because the best goddamn thing that mouth of yours is ever gonna taste is not available in any restaurant, no matter how far or fancy.”

It takes you a minute to register, but when it does, you can feel your cheeks and ears heat up, spreading down to your chest, and eventually his dirty implication forces the heat to settle in between your legs. “Christ,” you say under your breath as you shift your hips in his passenger seat, not wanting your already soaked pussy to get anywhere.

Maybe you should’ve worn some panties after all.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You guys are on the last stretch of your drive, about ten minutes left, and Joel’s hand has found his home on your thigh, thoughtlessly rubbing his fingers up and down. However, your mind is completely racing because fuck you just wish he’d move up a little higher to where you are absolutely begging for him the most.

As if he hears your plea, his hand goes higher and higher, but then he stops. His hand goes rigid, grip gets a little tighter, and his breath gets a little heavier. His hand is high enough to where he should be feeling the hem of your underwear, or at least that’s what he was expecting to feel.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?” you say as innocently as possible.

“Are you not…?”

“No,” losing the innocence in a matter of seconds.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, baby,” he grits out as his hand resumes his path to your wetness. The closer he gets, the more your hips try and angle upwards so he can reach you better, and as soon as his fingers are running through your folds, you’re fucking done for.

“We’re not leavin’ this car ‘til you cum at least twice on my fingers,” he says, his voice completely dark now. “Ya hear me?” He questions as he applies pressure to your clit.

“Fuck! Yes- yes, please, Joel,” you whine out. You shift your body slightly towards his direction, and you open your legs as much as his truck allows you to. Immediately, his fingers slide from your clit and come down to your entrance, spreading your wetness all over you.

He dips into your hole, just one finger in and slowly starts pumping in and out. You’re so turned on by him that just one finger is enough to make that wet squelching sound from going in and out of you. You let out a moan at the action, your one hand shooting to grip the handle of your door and the other gripping onto his bicep. “You make the sweetest sounds for me, darlin’,” he says to you, southern twang increasing in line with his own arousal.

“Please, baby-” you mutter as your head falls back. His one finger speeds up at your words, “Oh, c’mon, use those words,” he teases a second finger at your entrance.

He’s only using one finger right now, and you’re already fucked out, unable to speak or think. You so badly want more of him, though, so you will yourself to talk. “Oh, p-please, an- another finger, Joel, please.. n-need you so bad, please,” you beg.

“That’s right, baby, usin’ your words for me,” he slides his second finger in, “Dámelo.” Give it to me.

“Oh my god,” you damn near scream out, his words spurring you on more than you’ve ever felt. More slick leaks out of you at his Spanish command. Of course he’s fucking sexy and has the filthiest mouth, in multiple languages, known to man. His two fingers are coming in and out of you at a delicious rate, the thickness and length of him hits that sweet spot in you without even trying. “Touch your clit, baby,” you barely hear him say with how blissed out your head feels. Slowly, you let go of the door handle beside you and bring your hand to your clit, rubbing messy circles on your center, coaxing your orgasm closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Joel, your fingers-” you say as he works you open. “My fingers, what? Go on, lemme hear you, trouble.”

Your breathing speeds up to an erratic pace, hot and heavy, “t-too fuck-” your moan cuts you off as your orgasm approaches. He makes his fingers bend in a motion that hits you right where you need it, and- “Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Joel.”

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, baby,” he says, his movements slowing momentarily.

In your foggy haze, you find yourself peaking at the time, and- It’s only been four fucking minutes? Never has a man ever been able to make you cum that fast. Your past girlfriends, absolutely, but the men you slept with? They’re not even worthy of the label boyfriend if you’re being completely honest. Whatever the case is, you just know Joel has you absolutely fucked. You knew this from the start, of course, but it’s finally setting in. When he’s knuckle-deep inside you while less than ten minutes out from your mystery date location. Chivalry isn’t dead after all, huh?

You’re brought back from your slight distraction when you feel him pull out of you. You whimper at the loss, your hips raising for more. “I know, sugar, I know,” he comforts, “I just have to get a taste before I lose my fuckin’ mind.” His fingers disappear into his mouth, licking and sucking every last drop on him like you’re some lifesaving nectar he’s been searching all his life for. He lets out a pained groan, “I need to taste ya for real, fuck.”

He gives you no time to react to his words because his fingers are back inside you in no time. This time he pumps into you with a steady pace but a deep pressure that has you unable to take a single breath in. Your eyes are rolled back, and it feels like you’re drowning. Like you’re being consumed in everything Joel, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sweat is dripping down your neck at this point as the heat spreads from the apples of your cheeks to the swell of your breasts all the way down to your core. The sounds flowing out of you are uncontrollable and pure filth, and it’s riling him up so much that he is in literal physical pain. His hand that’s on the wheel is gripping so hard that his knuckles are ghost white, and his entire face is flushed with the utmost amount of pained self control you’ve ever fucking seen.

“C’mon, my filthy fuckin’ girl,” he grunts out, “almost there, baby, need one more from you,” his pace finally speeding up in the way that he knows, from your first climax, will end you. He tried keeping his pace slow on purpose, so he can draw out all your beautiful moans and gasps and drag you further into that floating state of mind, but you’re nearly at your destination now and he so desperately needs to get out of this car before he drops his gentlemen promise and pulls over to take you right here in his truck. Unbeknownst to you, he pulls into a parking space that is completely excluded from the general population, and he leans over to bring his hand on your jaw to make you meet his eyes.

“You look at me when I make you cum, yeah, trouble?” he asks, though it’s not much of a question. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him and you try to answer him, but you’re feeling too good that as soon as you starts, “Anythinforyou, Jo-” your orgasm cuts you off and your mouth falls open with the most desperate and needy moans you’ve ever heard yourself make.

He continues his movements as you let yourself fall deeper and deeper, and only until the overstimulation begins to hit you do you realize where you are. “W-when did we park..?” you groan out as he removes his finger from your spent pussy. He chuckles at your cluelessness, “Few minutes ago, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his fingers up to his mouth yet again to lap up your arousal. The action alone has your pussy clenching for something more.

As if he can read your mind, “Later,” he smirks at you. “Let’s eat,” he adds as he gets himself out of the car and walks to your side, opening your door and guiding you out. “Thank you,” you say shyly, unable to look up at him and as you stand on your jello legs.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The restaurant he takes you to is absolutely gorgeous and lively. It’s an Italian restaurant, small and homey, and it seems like a locally owned business. It’s extremely dim, and the main sources of light are purple and red, pointing in the direction of the live music. You two are sitting in a booth in a dark corner, intimate and excluded.

“This place is really beautiful,” you tell him with a smile that makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter. “You eat here often?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. Why is he nervous now when he just had you coming apart on his finger merely moments ago? Human emotion is a peculiar thing. “Actually, sorry-” he blurts. You sense his nerves, but you don’t mention it. It warms you that he’s actually nervous. It shows you he’s actively wanting more than just your lust-filled endeavors. You rest your arm along the table, your hand resting palm up near his own, offering him comfort. Silently telling him you’re nervous, too, for whatever it’s worth. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers with one another. You can see him physically relax. “I don’t really eat here often, but my daughter has dragged me here once or twice. The food is really fuckin’ good.”

“I’m excited,” you squeeze his hand to reflect your excitement. You’re usually the one making the pasta or any Italian dish you’ve been craving because cooking is what you were bred to do. Cooking is the way to the heart, your nonna always taught you. No matter how traditional the sentiment was, it was one you carry with you always. Naturally, you were a bit reluctant to indulge, but the entire atmosphere here screams authentic Italian culture, reminding you of your nonna and soothing your reluctances.

You both scour the menu for a moment, but you both settled on an option fairly quickly, your waiter comes right on queue. “Ciao! Can I start us off with anything to drink?”

Too enraptured by your food options, you forgot to decide your beverage. Before you can even begin to think, Joel is already on it. “Could we get two glasses of red, your house blend, please?”

“Right away, sir, I’ll be back with those in a moment and take your order, then,” he says as he steps away. Immediately then, another individual appears with two glasses and fills them up with water while you wait.

Joel’s focus is on the water being poured, while you’re still devouring him with your eyes. You and him never had a chance yet to talk about your backgrounds or your interests, but so far he’s doing a damn good job at dissecting you: your favorite food being Italian and your drink of choice always being red wine, and he got that, all unprompted.

Finally, his eyes meet yours and the sultry look you’re giving him makes him immediately heat up, his red flush making its appearance again. “What?” He gives you an amused grin.

“Oh, nothing,” you say as you lean back in your bench seat, “I just- you’re really impressing me. It’s quite the turn on.”

His expression turns from amused to aroused in seconds. “Oh?” He leans forward. “Tell me more?”

Before you can indulge, your waiter is back, placing a wine glass in front of each of you and pouring your glass a little over a third way full before he sets it down to begin taking your order.

“What can I get started for you guys?”

You signal for Joel to go first. The look on your face screams mischief, so he doesn’t question it. He orders the filet mignon gnocchi, tonight’s special. The waiter turns to you.

“Buonasera! Vorrei la carbonara, per favore,” (Good evening! I would like the carbonara, please) you say as you beam up at the waiter. His expression brightens tenfold as he realizes what language you just spoke to him. “Perfetto, la carbonara,” (Perfect, the carbonara) the waiter writes down, then looks between the both of you, “I’ll get these in right away.”

“Grazie,” (Thank you) you say, and you hear a small thank you coming from Joel as the waiter walks away. You and Joel meet each other’s gaze.

“You-” he breathes. He looks really shocked. And utterly turned on. “You speak Italian?” You don’t remember when, but his hold on your hand switched to running his finger up and down your forearm. Chills fall down your spine. “Mhm,” you respond with, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while you reach for a sip of your wine, as if you don’t know how much you just completely rocked his world.

“Fuckin’ trouble, I tell ya,” he says under his breath as he tries to casually adjust himself under the protection of the table and the dark lighting.

After your meals come out, the next 45 minutes are spent in easy conversation. You ask him questions that prompt responses ranging from telling you about his daughter to him being a single father to his contractor business with his younger brother, Tommy. In return, he asks you questions about your family, your best friend, and the question that’s been burning him all night, “Where the hell did you learn Italian?”

You chuckle at his eagerness. Who knew Joel Miller would have an auralism fetish? You wonder what else could spur him on. “I can ask you the same about your Spanish,” you say as you wipe your mouth from any pasta sauce. “Throwing your words at me while you have me wrapped around your fingers, literally.” You say it so casual yet bold that it does nothing but fire him up more. His self control slips more and more with every flirty and filthy word your mouth utters.

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Grew up bilingual,” he offers.

Southern drawl with a Spanish tongue? Yes, please, you think to yourself. You hum in agreement. He picks up on it. “Ah, I see.”

“Not bilingual, though,” you clarify with a smirk, mainly to test out just how turned on he’ll get at the prospect of your tongue being versed in a variety of ways.

One hand of his tightens as if he’s trying to really hold onto the string that’s keeping his self control at bay.

You sit and think for a minute. You grew up in a mixed ethnic household, so you have a few options you could choose to reveal right now, but there’s one in particular that you know will make him snap.

The waiter hands the bill directly to Joel. He’s writing down the tip and total as he murmurs to you, “What else do you know?” The waiter comes back and offers you both pleasantries and bids you goodnight, in Italian to you and English to Joel.

You lift your napkin up off your lap and begin to stand. He starts, but freezes as soon as you begin to speak, “Bueno,” you breathe out. “Me encantó la comida, pero tenemos que ir a la casa, ¿qué piensas?” (Well, I loved the food, but we have to go home, what do you think?) You begin to walk in the direction of the exit, but you don’t feel his warmth radiating from you, so you turn back around. He’s sitting back down at the edge of the seat. You go back to him and put your hand on his shoulder. “Joel…you okay?”

“Yep,” he says strained, “Just, uh- need a minute.” Both his hands are situated on his knees and he’s leaning over a little. Your eyes drift to in between his thighs and god damn he’s hard. Painfully hard. His bulge is so big it has you holding back a whimper at the sight of it.

You can’t help but make this situation worse for him, it’s in your nature. So you bring your mouth down to his ear and in a low whisper, “Faster we get into the car, the faster I can take care of that for you, big boy.”

He stands at full height now, his body completely flush and towering over you. He takes one look at you and his hands are on your waist, spinning you around and guiding you to the car without a word.

You can feel yourself walking faster than you’ve ever done in your life, and thank Heavens you do because as soon as you reach the car, he wastes no time in turning you around and pinning you between the driver’s side door and his body.

His lips meet yours in a frenzy, it’s a clash of hot breath and tongue, and you take all of him in fervently. His tongue passes over yours in a way that has your knees buckling. He clocks it immediately and before you know it, his thick thigh is slotted between yours, nudging your core. You moan into his mouth at the pressure, and he pulls away to grab your jaw, forcing your attention onto him. “Gonna give me another one, baby?”

“Joel-” you start, but he cuts you off. “You’re gonna give me another one, right here, right on my fuckin’ thigh,” he demands, his grip on your jaw tightening with his words, “Am I understood?”

You nod your head frantically as much as his grip allows you, followed by a “Fuck, fuck, yes, Joel, yes, I understand,” and your hips start moving on their own accord. “That’s it,” he chuckles, eyes blown out in his arousal for you. One hand wraps around your waist while the other bunches the front of your dress so he can see the mess you’re creating on him.

If anyone were to walk by right now, they would get a full view of your sobbing cunt rubbing all over his dressed thigh. It’s lewd, it’s pornographic, and it would definitely get you arrested for indecent exposure and disorderly conduct. And even though those reasons should be enough for you to stop what you’re doing and tell Joel you want to just get home first (which he’d be more than willing to oblige to for your comfort), you don’t want to. The prospect of someone walking by to witness what this hunk of a man can reduce you down to is enough to push you to the edge that much faster.

He slightly rocks his thigh back and forth in time with the grind of your hips, the now wet fabric catching enticingly on your clit. Joel’s grip on your waist tightens, encouraging more pressure into you. He lets go of your dress to slip his fingers in between your cunt and his thigh, adding more stimulation to the bundle of nerves as he pushes himself into you to meet you in another wet kiss. His lips leave your mouth and make its way down your jaw to just below your ear, and he bites. Hard. The searing sensation mixed with everything else makes your vision go white, and you’re literally creaming all over his black dress pants. He soothes that part of your neck with more sucking and licking as your hips come to a halt, his fingers still rubbing slowly, ever so often teasing them at your entrance.

Your full weight is leaned against his truck, and the only reason you’re still standing right now is because of his hold on you. He knows this, so keeping his one arm around your waist, he slowly pulls away from you to bend down and bring his other arm under your knees. He picks you up and cradles you to the front seat of his truck. He sets you down gently, buckles you in, and before he steps away to the driver side, he uses his pointer and thumb to nudge your chin up to his level, and he kisses you so sweetly, the butterflies in both your bellies fluttering like crazy at the feeling. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers.

“Then take me home, cowboy.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Ironically enough, your car ride back to your apartment is filled with the sweetness of each other’s presence, your main conversation of getting to know each other from dinner picking back up. The first few minutes of pulling out of the parking lot and getting onto the main road was you bringing yourself back down from your orgasmic high. You wanted to take care of Joel, so that’s what you started to do as soon as you gained your consciousness again, but he stopped you.

“Trust me, darlin’, I want you to so fuckin’ bad,” he says as he regretfully puts your hand back on the middle console and engulfs your hand in his. “But, at least, for tonight, I need to get you off before I do.”

You look at him even though he can’t meet your gaze. The gesture is heartwarming, you’ve never had anyone like this before. And although pleasing your partner is equally as pleasing for you, you don’t argue—but you are confused. “You did get me off, though…three times already?”

He smirks and meets your eyes for a moment before turning back. “That was just your appetizer, baby,” he lifts your hand up to his mouth and leaves a kiss to the back of it.

Your eyes go wide, “Oh,” you squeak out. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, “Okay then.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As soon as he parks, he’s out of the car in an instant, opening your door and guiding you out again. You walk up to your door, fumbling for your keys to unlock it. He’s behind you, lips hungrily kissing up and down your neck and your shoulder. As soon as you get it open, you turn around to face him, your lips smashing into his and tugging him into the house as you walk backwards towards the direction of the nearest piece of furniture possible. He kicks your door shut and swiftly locks it, his one hand only leaving you for an unnoticeable second.

You were trying to lead him to your living room, but somehow you ended up crashing into your dining table. He doesn’t care though because his hands are grabbing at your hips, hoisting you up. He breaks the contact with your lips and you whine at the loss, but immediately he’s kneeling. Third time today, you think to yourself, could definitely get used to this view.

“Told ya, I needed to taste you for real, sweet girl,” he says as he runs his hands up your thighs. “Spread your legs, baby.”

You gather the front of your dress and let it pool beside you, your bottom half completely bare to him. You spread your legs and bring your hips to the very edge, your core completely at his mercy. His eyes grow completely black at the view, your wetness dripping out of you.

He secures his hands at your hips, borderline grasping at the globes of your asscheeks, and your thighs hooked on his shoulders. He leaves warm, open-mouth kisses up your thigh, alternating between both. Once he reaches your sex, you realize there is absolutely no stopping him until he’s had his fill. Your one hand stays behind on the dining table to hold you up while the other flies to the back of his head, gripping the curls at the base of his neck.

You’ve never felt anything like this before. His plush lips kissing every place vulnerable to you with such a velvety sensation, his tongue pushing into you and nudging areas you didn’t know a tongue could reach, and his nose—My God, his fucking nose—providing life-altering sensation directly on your clit.

The only noises in your apartment are the sounds of his slurping mixed with your high-pitched moans and occasional dirty praise, and you’re sure your neighbors can hear you, but you’re feeling way too fucking good to even care about that right now.

“Just like that, fuck-” your hips start grinding into his face, “-shit, you feel so fucking good, Joel, yes!” You gasp out as his rhythm changes, forcing you to the edge for the fourth time tonight.

He pulls you in impossibly closer and shoves his face impossibly deeper, and at that moment, your orgasm crashes into you. Your arm that was holding you up gives way and you fall back into the dining table, back arching while your thighs tighten around Joel’s head. The feeling of being completely consumed by you eggs him on so much that he can’t bring himself to stop. He continues devouring you like his life depends on it, his moans and whines vibrating you deep within. You don’t know if it’s another orgasm hitting you or an aftershock from the one you just had, but all you know is that your ass is completely off the dining table and he’s holding you into his face drinking every last drop.

You use all your strength to pull yourself back up, both your arms behind you to hold you up. You try and scoot your ass back onto the table, but Joel is still gripping onto you, spoiling the entire area with slow, deep kisses. He gives extra attention on your thighs, sucking bruises that’ll flourish through the night. Loving the sensation but not loving the way your ass is hitting against the table, you softly call his name with a smile full of adoration, “Let’s take this to my room, maybe?”

He stands to his full height while scooting you back to be able to sit properly again. His smile mirrors yours. He grabs your face with both his hands and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s soft at first, but tasting yourself on him is a taste you don’t think you’ll ever tire of. Your tongue caresses his bottom lip, and he opens, pulling you in, his tongue embracing yours in an all-consuming dance.

Your hands begin to roam at his sides, making your way to the buttons of his dress shirt, and it’s then that he pulls away, remembering the question you asked. “Wait, wait,” he says. He opens your legs a little more so he can step in between. His hands are underneath you once again, and he nudges you forward, wordlessly telling you to wrap your legs around his waist. So you do, and he picks up, chuckling at the squeal you let out when your body reaches the air, and he leads you to your bedroom.

He lets you plop onto the edge of the bed and get yourself situated in the center. He finishes what you started and starts undressing himself. His shirt is the first to go, unbuttoning, untucking, and letting it fall to a random place on your floor. Looking down at you ready for him, he takes a step closer, unbuckling his belt, pulling them out of the loops, letting it follow the same path as his shirt.

He’s been catching the way you’ve been admiring all day, so he indulges in your fantasy a little in the way he undresses himself for you. With every article that gets removed, he watches your eyes grow hungrier, your breathing heavier. You’re too occupied at the sight of his body, you don’t make any move to pull your dress off, but that’s okay. Joel wants to be the one to unwrap his dessert.

Joel removes his pants and boxers in one go, and you let out an involuntary gasp at the sight in front of you. He is fucking huge. His length isn’t overbearing, but it’s his fucking girth that’s throwing you in for a loop. Your anxiety starts to rise a little; you have never been with a man as well-endowed as Joel and no strap-on you’ve taken could ever resemble what you’re about to take right now.

You fell into your overthinking, not realizing that Joel has made his way over you. He grounds you with a kiss, stealing all your worries. He grazes his finger over your forehead, pushing a hair away. The action makes you melt. Oh, there goes the butterflies, again. He guides your head to angle down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and back to your lips once more. He makes sure your eyes are on each other before he says, “We do not have to do anything more if you are not ready, sweet girl.”

He’s been pretty dominating all night, which you don’t mind at all, but this coming out of his mouth at the fire of your anxieties completely distinguishes them. You know you’re safe with him. Your eyes tear up and before you speak, you snake your hand to the back of his neck and yank him into you for another kiss. As he pulls away, a tear falls, but his thumb catches it.

“I trust you, Joel, I need you,” you say as you lean into the warmth of his hand, “Please.”

“Sit up for me real quick then, darlin’,” he says, sitting back on his haunches and pulling you up with him. His hands find the hem of your silky dress, and he slowly guides it up your thighs, up your torso, and you lift your arms off so he can guide it off completely. Now it’s his turn to admire. It’s as if his eyes don’t know where to look first: at your luscious thighs, your beautiful tummy, your full chest. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers, not meant for you to really hear, but it makes you flutter all the same.

“Lay down for me, baby,” he says as he continues admiring you. You lay back down again, reaching your arm up to drag the pillow below your head. You spread your legs, inviting him in, letting him know you’re ready. But what he does next absolutely surprises you. He grabs your leg at the ankle and lays kisses everywhere. Up your calf, the bend of your knee, all around your thigh in the areas he marked earlier. He reaches your mound and makes no move to dive in. Instead, he lays kisses in the area, even a kiss is placed directly on your clit. You moan at the feeling. He mirrors his actions on your other leg. Then, he bends forward and begins kissing your tummy. Kisses in the general vicinity of your belly button, your ribs, making his way up your sternum.

Granted, your body is buzzing in arousal right now, and you’re making a puddle in your sheets, but mentally, the way he is appreciating your body has you feeling utterly content.

Your hand finds its home again in his neck just as Joel reaches your breasts. He continues his journey and kisses all around, his tongue swirling around your nipples. Your back arches at this, and you feel him smile against you as his hands wrap around your ribs, his thumbs caressing underneath your boobs. His mouth makes its way to your neck.

His mouth transitions to longer, wetter kisses, leaving trails of spit on the valley of your breasts and on your neck. The cooling of his spit coaxes a whimper out of you, wanting more of him. Wanting to drink him. His mouth finally meets yours and it’s slow but desperate, your hips lifting to meet his at an attempt for any kind of relief. His tongue massages yours and you can feel the spit build up; you eagerly try and lap it up.

You pull him away for a moment, slightly bashful to ask, but you need it so bad. “C-can you…” your gaze slips from his. His hand on your rib comes up to rest on the lower part of your neck, his fingertips grazing your jaw but also softly guiding you to look at him again. His eyebrow quirks up at you. Go on, he’s telling you. “Can you, uh- I-” you completely fumble. “Words, trouble,” he smirks, the nickname eliciting a sense of comfort within you.

“Canyouspitinmymouth, please?” You rush out with your eyes clamped shut, scared of what his reaction would be. He doesn’t say a thing, waiting for you to come to your senses and open your eyes. As soon as you do, he’s on you again, kissing you like before you pulled away to ask your question. Except this time, his fingertips secure themselves on the hinge of your jaw and nudge you open. Your lips but a whisper apart, his spit falling into your mouth, as your tongues’ tips dance around one another.

The moans you let out for him are sounds he never wants to give up. He’ll let you drink him dry if this is what he hears in his last breaths.

He pulls away, a spit string connecting you both. You lean forward, attaching to his bottom lip for a moment more before you let yourself pull away, then you swallow.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” you breathily giggle. He smirks at your antics, leaning in for another kiss to distract you. He reaches for another pillow above your head, and as your kiss becomes more heated, you grind your hips up into him, giving him perfect timing to slot the pillow underneath your lower back.

You pull back, “Wha-” you start to question, but he’s quick to respond. He sits back up for a sec, “It’ll help,” he says, and he brings both your legs into a bent position, like frog legs, in a way. Your confusion immediately fades as you physically feel your pelvic floor open up. Oh.

“I thought you were a contractor, not a chiropractor?” you tease.

“Watch it,” he warns. “You know, I could just,” his fingers graze your glistening entrance, “force it in,” he slips a finger in, slowly. You gasp, teasing demeanor gone in an instant. “No preppin’ this tight little thing,” he pulls his finger completely out, you whine in response. “How ‘bout that?”

A barely audible please escapes your mouth, unsure of what it is you’re begging for, and you feel your pussy clench at his words.

His eyes darken, “Oh, she likes that idea, huh?” He’s leaning over you now, kissing your jaw and neck as he grabs himself by the base and lines his tip up to your warmth. “Maybe next time. Right now, trouble, I’m takin’ my damn time with you.”

He grabs himself by the base and guides himself to your entrance, his other hand at the side of your head. He lets his cock grind against your wet folds for a few moments, covering himself in your earlier climax, and then his tip catches at your entrance. You both let out a sharp gasp at the sensation, and he slowly starts pushing in.

“Oh, fuck,” you let out.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he whimpers, “so fuckin’ good, fuck.”

Your pussy clenches at his tone of desperation, and his one arm moves to situate underneath the curve of your back, accentuating it. He’s halfway in you and the painful yet pleasing stretch of your pussy has you closing your eyes at the sensation.

“Baby, eyes on me, need t’see you,” he says, reaching down to nip your bottom lip. Your eyes shoot open and your brows furrow, your pouty face doing nothing to ease his yearn of just pushing completely in you with no remorse.

Finally he bottoms out, both your hips flush with one another, and being completely engulfed in you like this, he can’t hold out any longer. “Look, doll,” he rasps. His hand beside you snakes underneath your head and he’s lifting it for you to look down. “It’s like you’re made f’me, huh?” He says as he begins to pull out of you until only the tip is in.

Your eyes are fixed on the sight below you. Your pussy absolutely stretched out, his dick completely covered in your juices. You don’t have the mental capacity to form anything coherent. Joel knows that, so giving you no time to acknowledge his filthy words, he pushes inside you again. This time much faster and much harder.

He continues that rough and fast pace for a while, kissing and biting everywhere his mouth can reach, relishing in the constant moans and whimpers spewing from your mouth.

“S-so big,” your voice quivers.

“But you’re takin’ it so well, sweet girl,” he replies, voice husky and strained. He sits up a little to stand on his knees, his pace faltering momentarily. His arm from your waist moves down to the underside of the bend on your knee. He pushes your leg higher, opens you up more. The angle makes you flutter around his cock, and he can’t help but speed up.

“Fuck,” he grits out, “not gonna last with that, sweetheart.”

His hand beside your head moves to rest at the base of your neck, his fingers splayed wide across you, giving him more leverage to rock in and out of you. You feel your body wanting to arch up into him, but the hold he has on you and the angle you’re in gives him complete control over you. The thought brings you higher, and you can’t help what spills from your mouth next.

“‘S okay, Joel, p-please,” you moan, “Use me, use my pussy, daddy.”

His hand trails a little higher and now he’s completely wrapped around your neck, his thrusts sloppy, but harder than you’ve ever felt before. “Say that again, sweetheart?” he rushes, hurtling towards his release.

You let both your hands come up to grab ahold of the hand wrapped around your throat. You pulse your grip, hinting at him to squeeze. He gets it, and within seconds, his fingers are right on your pulse points, applying pressure and giving you a yummy dizziness.

Your breath hitches and your voice picks up in pitch, “U-use me, daddy, I want your cum, please.” His other hand reaches for your clit. You gasp out. Immediately then, a lightbulb turns on in your mind, and a dazed smile forms across your face.

“Yeah, baby, that what you want?” he says as his ministrations on your clit picks up, his cock kissing that sweet spot inside of you, over and over again. “Wanna be pumped full of daddy’s cum?”

“Ay, dámelo, papi, dámelo.”

It’s as if you two were really standing on an edge of a cliff, and you pushed him off with just your words. He roars out an addictive moan, and his release coats your walls. The warmth flooding in you and the pulse of his cock mixed with his fingers still circling, and you’re getting pushed off the cliff with him. His fingers begin to slow, and he’s letting go of your throat. He leans back over you to meet your lips, and you take him in. Quite sloppily, though, you’re doing the best you can with the feeling of his hips still slowly rocking into you, the overstimulation milking both of you for all that you’re worth.

You both stay like that for a few minutes longer, basking in the softness of him on your lips, inside you.

But then immediately he pulls away — and pulls out. You both hiss at the feeling.

“Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry-” he starts blabbering, but you cut him off with a finger on his lips.

“Hey, hey, hey, breathe,” you say as you take a deep breath for him to mirror, “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath and repeats himself, calmer this time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask where you wanted-” he gestures to his cum beautifully dripping from your entrance, “I know how risky that was- and we didn’t even use protection, I-” his panic starting to rise again.

You put your hand on his sternum and put a little pressure, figuring if your anxiety sits there, it’s worth a shot to see if that’s where his sits, too. It does. He looks down at your hand and back up at you, kind of shocked but not more than the situation at hand to question how you know that would help.

“A few things,” you say as you keep your hand on him. “One, I never stopped you, we both took the risks. Two, luckily enough for the both of us, I’m on the pill.” He smiles at that. “And three, even if I wasn’t on the pill” you continue, “I wouldn’t mind picking up a Plan B if it meant I got to feel you like that inside of me again…” your voice trails off and immediately he pulls your hand away from his front up to his mouth to press several kisses on your palm, bursting in lighthearted laughter, his anxiety fading away.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You and Joel laid in bed, tangled up in each other, for a little while longer, but he could sense the mess started to make you a little uncomfortable. He pulled both you and him off your bed, guiding you with his hands on your hips but ultimately letting you take the lead to your bathroom.

He guides you to your toilet and starts scouring your bathroom to find your washcloths. Once he does, he soaks it in warm water, and falls down to your level, so he can clean you. You reach out to grab the washcloth, thinking you’re gonna be the one doing it, but he’s quick to swat your hand away with a smile. He asks softly, “May I?”

Your eyes meet his, and all you can see is a genuine softness and a genuine yearn to take care of you. It makes you breathless. “Yeah,” you return his softness.

Being the pretty kinky and adventurous person that you were, aftercare always existed for you. Albeit, some of your past partners were more tender than others, but none of them treated you in a way that made you feel like you two were endgame. There’s something about Joel and the way he can be so soft, warm, and appreciative. He’s so experienced and considerate that you know he’s probably had his fair share of lovers in his past, but the way he treats you makes you feel like everything back then was solely leading him to this very moment. Like he spent years searching, and now that he’s found you, he needs to make sure what’s his is truly being taken care of in the way it deserves.

The thought and his actions should scare you, but they don’t.

There are people who spend years dating each other, still trying to figure out if they’re meant to be. There are married couples filing for divorce because they learned that they weren’t for each other after all.

There are others who get married after six months because they just know. Then, there’s you and Joel. Obviously you’re not going to marry him tomorrow but as you sit here, letting him care for you in such a way you’ve never felt before, you feel it. The rightness. The belonging. He’s gonna be in your life for a long, long time, and one of the most important people in your life at that. You don’t say any of this, though. You can’t. It’s too soon.

So, for now, you’ll just let your actions speak louder than words, and show him just how much you need him in your life.

“I’m cooking for us next time,” you say, pulling Joel from his own thoughts.

“Okay,” he says without a second thought. Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the exact same thing as you.

He feels it, too, and just like you, for now, he’ll let his actions speak louder than his words.

He reaches over and plops the washcloth into the sink, his eyes on you.

“Only if we christen the dining table before dinner.”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks go hot.

Yeah, you are absolutely fucked. And so is he.

I hope you guys enjoyed!🥹 As always, feedback, comments, reblogs, etc. is extremely appreciated! Thank you to every single one of you for welcoming me with open, loving arms. I'm giving all of you forehead smooches right now. I love you all. So much.

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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littlexdeaths · 8 days

Text

pushing up daisies - e.m.

kas eddie munson x fem reader

treat me bad like i’m no one's daughter,

body bag, baby, i’m a goner…

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: ANGSTTTTT, mentions of eddie’s death and the upside down, canon divergent (reader is chosen as vecna’s last victim instead of max), established relationship, soft!dom eddie, biting/blood drinking, lil bit of jealous eddie, public sex, unprotected piv sex, cream pie

based on love is a… by pvris

word count: 2.9k

a/n: this is honestly something i am so incredibly proud of, so i hope you all enjoy it. a big thank you to my babes @undead-supernova @strangerstilinski and @lokis-army-77 for helping me with parts of this fic, i love you all so much 💕

The sky was dark, storm clouds rolling in as you trudged through the rusted gates of Hawkin’s memorial cemetery.

Only the booming sounds of thunder and your labored breathing filled the morning air. Rain droplets poured steadily onto your head, dripping down the collar of your rain jacket. The clothing seemingly useless as the heavy rain soaked you to the bone.

The wild daisies clutched in your fist were beginning to wilt as your eyes scanned over the sea of headstones. Your throat tightens once you find his, now wishing that Dustin had been lying to you.

The words BURN IN HELL FREAK were still visible, despite the male’s best effort to clean them off the previous day. It had been less than a week since the funeral, but that was plenty of time for someone to vandalize his headstone. You hated this town.

Reaching the now desecrated grave you sigh, gently running your fingers along the top of the headstone. The rough edges scraped against your fingertips as you knelt down in front of it. Letting your hand fall into your lap, glancing down at the sad excuse of a bouquet in the other.

He deserved more than this… he deserved more than anything this shitty town had to offer.

“Hey Eds,” you whisper, despite the desolation surrounding you.

You carefully set the daisies onto the ground, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill past your waterline. The white of the flowers contrasted sharply against the dirt, which was quickly turning to mud beneath your knees. But you didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral,” guilt laces your shaky voice as you tug your lower lip between your teeth. “I just… I couldn’t see you like that.”

Despite the feeble attempts that Dustin and Robin made to coax you out of bed that day, nothing was going to change your mind. You didn’t want to remember him that way, as you were already grappling with the image of him dying in Dustin’s arms.

A memory that haunts your dreams every night.

“I hope you can forgive me,” you mumble, reaching into your pocket to pull out his lucky set of dice. A sad smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you begin to place them along his headstone, “I brought a peace offering.”

A loud crack has your eyes flicking up, body jolting in surprise as a bolt of lightning strikes a tree in the distance. The impact splits the trunk down the middle, the wind picking up speed and taking your flowers with it.

The torn petals spread across the unkempt ground, the gesture now ruined. Just like everything else you touched.

You blame yourself for his death, knowing he would still be here if Vecna hadn't chosen you. You would live through a thousand years in a prison of your own mind, let that monster drain you of your entire existence— if it meant Eddie would have lived.

“It’s all my fault,” you don’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks, staring intently at the stone in front of you.

Edward Lee Munson, now at peace.

Those bold words stare back at you, mirroring the stone that sat just a few feet besides his. One you had become very familiar with over the years.

Elizabeth Ann Munson.

Beloved wife and mother, may she rest in peace.

While hers were more faded, they still brought you a small sense of comfort. Knowing that Eddie was with her now, he was safe. But that comfort wouldn’t heal the hole that had been punched through your chest.

“I miss you,” you hiccup, your tears steadily flowing now, the moisture beginning to blur your vision. “It w-wasn’t supposed to b-be you.”

Your soft cries soon morphed into pained sobbing, your shoulders hunched over as you dug your fists into the earth. You were grateful that Steve had let you come alone, not wanting anyone to see you like this.

In the short time that Eddie had been gone, you felt suffocated. With Vecna still alive and plotting, you were constantly being watched. Your friends not knowing if the demon, creature, whatever he was— would come back to claim you for good.

Part of you hoped for it, mentally pleaded to be taken away too. Because a life without Eddie, wasn’t a life you wanted to live.

A loud scream pierces the air, and it takes you a moment to realize the sound has come from you. Your chest heaves from the force of it, allowing your head to tilt back as your eyes slip shut. Enjoying how the rain soaks into your pores, washing away any trace of your tears.

You sit like that for a while, as the storm continues to wage on around you. Silently wishing that the rain would wash you away too. Dirt is caked under your fingernails, mud coated your shins and the hem of your skirt. You knew you couldn’t sit out here much longer, as your teeth started to chatter from the cold.

Your head falls forward, allowing yourself one last look at his headstone. The red paint has stained it horribly, tainting the last thing he had left in this world.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and clean this shit up, I promise.” You say, lifting up your pinky towards the block of stone. You hold it there for a moment before your hand falls back to your side.

“I love you, Eddie,” you sniffle, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you start to stand. Turning around as you begin to wipe the dirt from your knees.

As you take a step forward your shoe begins to sink into the wet soil, almost swallowing your foot whole. An annoyed huff leaves your lips as you try to pull it back out. But any attempt is stopped short as a cold hand wraps around your other ankle. A deep groan echoes in your ears as your eyes widen in fear.

This was it… Vecna’s come back for you.

While everything inside you begs you to run, your body remains frozen. Hyperventilating as the ground beneath you begins to shift, your feet sinking in deeper as another body fights its way out from the earth. A strained grunt of your name snaps you out of your petrified state, recognizing the voice immediately.

This was a cruel joke, knowing he was taking on Eddie’s form just to hurt you more. So you decided you wouldn’t stick around to witness it.

If you were going to die, it would be by his own hands.

“No!” You shout, yanking your ankle out of that icy grip as you make a break for it.

You don’t make it very far though, only reaching the edge of his grave before you lose your footing. The tip of your shoe catches on a tree root, sending your body tumbling forward onto the wet ground. The impact knocks the wind out of you as you struggle to take a breath in. Your nails dig into the grass for purchase as you try to crawl away.

The feeling of two hands wrapping around each ankle has you screaming, thrashing about as you're dragged back towards the grave. The male flips you around, unable to hear his broken pleas over the sound of your own shrieks. You keep your eyes focused on the storm clouds above your heads, desperate for some kind of distraction. You wouldn’t look at him, you couldn’t.

This wasn’t your Eddie.

A dirty hand grips onto your chin, tilting your head down as he wedges his body between your thighs. Forcing you to face him, his dark eyes ablaze with fury— a sharp contrast to the way he gently cradles your jaw.

“I’m not in the mood for games… just get on with it,” you snap, letting your eyes slip shut as you wait for that familiar pain to shoot up your spine and through your skull.

But nothing happens.

You crack an eye open only to find the brunette staring back down at you, confusion coating his features.

“… get on with what, sweetheart?” His voice cracks, the look on his face mirroring his tone.

“Killing me,” you state, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

There’s a moment of silence between you before he starts laughing, the booming sound instantly melts your insides. It was something you thought you would never hear again.

“I guess my entrance was very Night of the Living Dead, huh?” He teases with a wide grin as his head dips lower— his drenched curls sticking to your cheek.

When you feel Eddie’s lips connect with the base of your throat, your breath hitches. Heat pools in your middle as he inhales, groaning deeply. The sound vibrates against your skin, sending shockwaves through your system.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he hums, his hands running down the length of your sides. The male grips onto the soaked fabric of your dress, slowly inching it up until his palms are splayed across the tops of your thighs.

“You’re so warm,” he continues, his nose grazing along your collarbone as you grip onto the shoulders of his oversized suit jacket.

“H-How are you here?” You question with a small whine as he lightly nips at your throat, chuckling deeply.

“You brought me here, sweetheart.” His words are spoken reassuringly, but they don’t offer you any comfort.

“So, this is a dream,” there’s no question in your voice, only a trace of melancholy.

But Eddie notices it immediately, his head lifting from the crook of your neck. His dark eyes met yours for a moment, a look of determination flashing through his irises.

“Does this feel like a dream to you, baby?”

Before you can reply, his lips brush against yours. Any worries that this wasn’t real melt away with each press of his mouth on yours. Silencing the fear that this will all disappear the moment you pull apart. The storm rages on as he kisses you with an electricity that rivals the lightning above you.

“Definitely not a dream,” you mumble, earning a soft chuckle from him.

You swallow the sound as you kiss him deeper, his ringed fingers gliding further up your thighs and under your dress. Your own slip underneath the collar of his jacket, sliding it off of his shoulders. Letting the rain soak into his white dress shirt, the fabric clinging to the muscles in his back.

Your hands quickly rake through his hair, tugging on the drenched curls as his mouth trails along your jaw. Continuing lower as he sucks harshly on your skin, enjoying the way your body responds to each press of his lips. A breathy whine spills past your own as his fingers reach the elastic band of your panties.

The tension between you continues to mount as you eagerly drag his mouth back to yours. Eddie’s fingers curl under the waistband, snapping the lace against your skin. You barely register the tearing of that same fabric, too preoccupied with his lips on yours. The clinking of his belt soon follows, aiding him in pushing his slacks down his thighs.

“Please,” you plead, lifting your hips against his. Not wanting to waste another second to have him buried inside you.

The brunette gently shushes you, pulling back for a moment as he rubs the tip of cock through your drenched folds. His pupils dilate as he takes in the way your lips part under his thumb. A shaky breath escapes them as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he coos, caressing your cheek as he guides his hips forward. Slowly slipping into your awaiting heat with a strangled groan, “I’ll take care of you.”

His actions are gentle, as your bodies become reacquainted with each other. Eddie guides your hands above your head, fingers lacing together in the dirt. Your thighs are snug around his hips, desperate to keep him as close as humanly possible.

He rocks his hips into yours at a deep but leisurely pace, letting him savor every moment he spends inside you. As neither of you know what will happen after this is all over, it’s not something you want to think about.

Being here, in this moment, with him is the only thing that mattered to you.

The ferocity of the storm drowns out the cries that leave your lips, much different from the agonized ones you had let out earlier. Everything feels heightened, pleasure coursing through your veins with each stroke of his cock.

There’s a sudden shift in his demeanor as his eyes glaze over with an almost dangerous glint. Similar to that of a predator who had locked eyes on his prey. Your heart rate increases as a deep growl permeates the air. His fingers slip out of yours, instead digging into the soil beside you as his body goes rigid.

The brown of his irises disappear from view as he squeezes them shut, worry beginning to fill your chest. Your hands reach up to cradle his face, feeling how tightly his jaw was clenched underneath your fingertips.

“Eds,” you call softly, but the male remains frozen above you— a statue of Adonis.

He was losing control, ready to slip through your fingers. But you had already lost him once, and you weren't about to let it happen again.

“Stay with me,” you implore, softly pressing your lips against the furrow between his eyes. Brushing the dirt from his cheeks as you continue to trail tender kisses across his face.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he finally speaks as your lips hover over his, your breath mingling together.

“You won’t,” you promise as your nose nudges against his.

Eddie seems reluctant as he opens his eyes, crimson beginning to bleed into his irises. “But there’s something different…” he trails off, searching for any trace of fear reflecting in your eyes. “I’m different.”

“I don’t care,” you don’t miss a beat, capturing his lips with yours once more.

He moans into your mouth, hands encircling your waist as you lift your hips, encouraging him to thrust deeper inside you. Your tongue slips past his lips, gliding along his front teeth. Coming to a sudden realization as you feel the pointed edge of his canines.

Logically you should feel frightened, but it seems to have the opposite effect on you. Your kisses become frantic as your walls flutter around his shaft, the sensation causing him to moan out your name. The pace of his hips quickens as your nails dig into the drenched dress shirt covering his back.

Your lips separate as you gasp, his cock hitting that spot that has you seeing stars. The both of you falling closer to that precipice with each thrust of his hips. But it’s not quite enough, needing to connect with him on a new level.

Eddie peers down at you in awe as your head falls back, baring your throat to him. “Do it,” you insist, guiding his mouth towards your neck.

You can sense his hesitation, his lips ghosting over your skin instead.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, his groan vibrating against your throat. “I want you to.”

The sincerity in your tone squashes any doubts still lingering in his head. Allowing his teeth to graze against your tender flesh, testing his resolve.

“I trust you,” is what he needs to hear before he sinks his teeth into your neck.

Your body arches into his chest, trembling as that familiar wave of euphoria crashes over you— pulling you under completely. Eddie drinks from you greedily, continuing to work you through your high as his own steadily approaches.

“Taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” he moans as his teeth detach themselves from your throat.

His tongue darts out, lapping up the blood that begins to trickle down the curve of your neck. The sight of his mark on you is almost enough to send him over the edge. But your pretty whines are the final nail in his coffin, hips stuttering as he fills you with his warmth.

“I love you.”

Those three little words are whispered against your collarbone as the male collapses onto you. A content smile spreads across your face as your fingers card themselves through his curls. The both of you soaking up this moment of bliss for as long as you can.

The rain above your heads has finally slowed to a drizzle, the pitter patter of the droplets matching your heartbeat. You don’t know how long you laid there like this, bodies intertwined on his grave.

But it didn’t matter, as long as it was him you were entangled with.

“I love you too,” you reply a while later, the male humming as he lifts his face from the crook of your neck, crimson smeared across his lips.

A fond look falls over his features as he leans down to kiss you again, the metallic taste of you lingering on his mouth. A thought suddenly occurs to you, causing you to giggle against his lips.

“What’s so funny, sweetness?” He muses, pulling away from you with a raised brow. You tuck a loose curl behind his ear, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

“Just trying to think of how to explain this to Steve.” You watch in amusement as a scowl appears on his face.

“Poor thing is gonna think I was mauled by a wild animal,” you tease, gesturing to the bite mark on your neck.

You see a flash of jealousy in his eyes, a low growl rumbles through his chest as his lips reattach themselves to your throat— causing you to squeal.

“Harrington’s just gonna have to deal with it,” he answered smugly, hugging your body closer to his.

The both of you completely unaware of the looming figure watching you from the tree line.

tagging some lovelies: @xxbimbobunnyxx @munsonhoneybaby @rowanswriting @voyeurmunson @nailbatanddungeon @vecslut @likedovesinthewnd @lofaewrites

#the freak writes 🫧#eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #kas!eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson

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depravitycentral · 4 months

Text

Enji Todoroki General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Enji Todoroki x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, power imbalances, financial trapping, mentions of physical/domestic abuse, mentions of non-con, sexist undertones, Enji wants you to be his cute little housewife, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, a few mentions of making sure you eat enough/food, Enji is patronizing whoo boy, he makes you share a toothbrush and yes he's weird about it, this is set in a divergent timeline where Enji and Rei are formally divorced and his relationship with his family is loose and not super tight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Kind

Enji is, simply, harsh.

His quirk, his mannerisms, his attitude, his everything, really, is a bit rough around the edges, forming a man with only enough self control to get what he wants. He’s lived his whole life bitterly, constantly jealous, constantly wanting, willing to throw everything away in order to achieve his goals.

And once everything starts caving in around him, his family and career both taking unexpected turns, Enji finds himself so, so painfully alone. He doesn’t pretend to delude himself into thinking he’s not deserving of his fate, but this places him into a position where he shoulders the guilt while desperately trying to find any outlet to forget it.

And this is where a darling who is kind comes into play – he needs someone who won’t judge him for his past. He needs someone who doesn’t treat him like scum, who is still polite and empathetic to him and his emotions. A darling who is able to consistently praise him will have him smitten quickly, growing emotionally dependent on hearing their sweet words in order to function, in order to not let the depression and stress get the better of him.

And even once his obsession has formed and he’s deep in the depth of his infatuation, a darling who is just too kind to kick him to the curbside is absolutely essential for him – they must be doting and caring, helping rebuild his shattered confidence and psyche, and with every compliment they dish out, Enji vows that he’ll return the sentiment tenfold, in his own way of course.

(This means buying his darling millions of yen worth of their favorite things, all kinds of wonderful gifts that he hopes will sway them in his favor, that will get them drooling over him and all that he can provide for them.)

Hardworking

Although he’s in a mental state that leaves him much more susceptible to finding a partner once he divorces Rei, Enji is still a picky man. He won’t fall for just anyone – no, they must fit his standard, be acceptable and meet the rather long and detailed checklist he has for those he considers as potential romantic partners.

And near the top of this list is determination. He’s a man motivated by his own goals and is willing to stop at nothing to achieve them – and so, a darling that can at least somewhat match this aspect of his personality is critical.

He has no patience for a darling that gives up easily; he wants someone that’s willing to put in the effort to see it pay off, someone who understands the concept of self-discipline and holding yourself to certain moral standards.

He finds it wildly attractive when someone has strong character, and his interest would immediately be piqued with a darling who brings an attitude of perseverance and hard work into every aspect of their life, be it work, their hobbies, their relationship, and everything in between.

He wants someone who is perhaps not quite as stubborn as him, but is still serious in their goals.

(He hopes that one day, making him happy and pleasing him will be one of these goals – just as pleasing his darling is one of his own. And he’s more than happyto please them in whatever way they so desire. More than happy.)

Motherly

Because he views his darling as the perfect wife, his darling absolutely must possess at least somewhat of a motherly air about them. He likes the idea of having a nurturing partner, if only because he finds it endearing when they care for others.

As a hero he shares this sentiment, and although it may sometimes be overshadowed by his need to become the best, deep down inside he does very much wish to help others – his methodology is just a little more violent, a little more overt.

His darling, by contrast, should prefer a methodology that’s much gentler, something that focuses more on making others feel safe and heard and cared for.

Besides, Enji very much desires to have children with his darling; to build a second family, one that he’ll care for and nourish much better than his first. And so, if his darling is to be a good mother, they must embody these traits.

Besides, although he doesn’t fall for his darling because of his fantasies of making them a mother, once the feelings are formed these daydreams only further his feelings, deepening his obsession because oh, he’d give absolutely anything to see them pregnant with his child, carrying his seed, creating something that symbolizes the love and dedication between them.

And so, his darling needs to be someone who naturally takes care of others – and in return, Enji will take care of them. Just how it should be.

Pushover

This trait is a bit less crucial compared to the others, but it’s still most definitely a positive from Enji’s perspective.

Of course he likes a darling who has strong opinions and stands up for them, but he loves a darling that will let him guide them through any hard decisions, or really any decisions at all.

Although he’s not as outright controlling with his darling, he still very much feels that he wears the pants in the ‘relationship’, and thus he is the one calling the shots.

A darling who is happy to let him take over their life like this is a massive help to him – he doesn’t have to fight for control, nor does he have to argue with them about why certain decisions really should be made by him as the more dominant partner, as the one who knows more about the world, as the man. It’s an outdated view and it’s one that he doesn’t really want to admit out loud, but he enjoys the idea of a partner who will revere him and allow him full control.

He wants to be loved and cherished, and in return for a love like this, he’ll do his best to provide for and take care of his darling in every way he possibly can – so really, if his darling knows what’s best for them, they’ll step back and let him make all the tough decisions.

They’ll nod and smile and agree with whatever he chooses, pressing a kiss against his cheek and telling him how much they trust him, how they know he’d never hurt them, how he only wants what’s best for them.

Just the thought makes something warm swell in his stomach, the level of trust making him feel wanted, needed, a concept so foreign that it almost feels wrong. But oh, how he likes it.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Controlling

But in a very, very strange way – a lot of what fuels Enji’s obsession is this desperate, innate need to right his wrongs. He’s very, very aware of how thoroughly he ruined his family, how horribly he treated Rei, how he was a poor excuse of a father and husband, and he sees his love with you as almost being his second try. With you, he can do all the things he should have done with Rei and his children – he should have been sweet and loving, a present father that cared about each of his children equally. He should have been a doting husband, spoiling his wife and making her feel loved and desired.

But he didn’t, and although Rei has long since divorced him, Enji finds himself feeling lonely, incomplete, restless to try again, to properly provide for a sweet little thing he can call his own. And this is where you come in – and from the moment he realizes his feelings for you are more than a simple attraction, he dives in head-first.

He decides he'll approach everything with you in a way as opposite from his previous marriage as possible – he's all grand, romantic gestures, always showing up with a bouquet of flowers in hand and just the slightest pink tint on his scarred cheeks.

The grand, romantic gestures are, of course, merely things he’s seen in rom-coms; the women always look happy when the love interest swoops in with flowers and gifts and pretty clothing, the beaming smile and large hug the man gets as a reward seeming very, very appealing to Enji, despite his rigid exterior.

(Just the thought of you hugging him has his heart racing – it’s something so intimate, so entirely new that it makes every nerve in his body stand on edge, a shiver running up his spine as he imagines the way your body would feel pressed against his, how you’d sigh and sink further against him, how you’d squeeze him and god, the view he’d get when he looks down to see your body pressed so tightly against him that not even a breath of air could separate you -)

He’s scouring through women’s magazines, burying his nose in the glossy pages and searching for ideas and clues as to what women enjoy as courting gifts.

(He has to scoff under his breath every time he sees a new dieting tip or regiment, internally frowning and worrying that you’re seeing these ads and potentially obsessing over your weight. The last thing he’d want is for you to be unhappy with your body – certainly not when he’s so very happy with it. Not to mention the nutritionally heinous foods the magazine recommends – he’d sooner have you eat raw paper than follow this ludicrous advice.)

He’s even caving and very, very awkwardly asking his female sidekicks and employees at his agency about their tips on how to seduce a woman. He struggles to make eye contact with them when he asks, his imposing figure almost reminding them of a shy, nervous teenage boy with the way he’s so earnest about his question, his eyes lighting up when they mention an idea he hasn’t tried yet, pressing them for details and specifics and you must tell me what to say to her – how does one follow up gifting a puppy?

It would be sweet, really, how devoted he is to making sure that you’re absolutely spoiled, that you get a whole variety of lavish gifts designed to sweep you off your feet. It would be wonderful, really, except that Enji has never understood the concept of being too much – which is how everything will start to feel very, very early on in this process.

It was nice at first to receive a fresh bouquet of roses every morning at your desk with a handwritten card attached. (Written in impeccable handwriting, the cursive letters looping and elegant as they spell out short, simple, sweet messages signed with a capital E at the bottom, reading please make sure to eat enough today and that skirt looks lovely on you.)

It was nice at first, but after the second week of daily bouquets and even a few finding their way to the doorstep of your apartment, the sight of the pretty red flowers makes a sinking feeling swirl in your gut.

(Enji notices this, dismayed and frustrated by your lack of a positive response, and decides to double down and just gift you bigger flowers, because maybe your lack of joy at receiving the bouquets is because they aren’t big enough, aren’t grandiose enough, aren’t good enough.)

It was nice to get the cute, small stuffed bunny on your desk one morning, and you’d even grown so fond of the little thing that you perched it on the edge of your desk, assuming it was a one-time gift. But it wasn’t – the stuffed animals kept coming, getting bigger and more detailed and much, much more expensive, you’re sure.

(Enji is careful to remove each and every price tag on every gift he sends you, simply because he doesn’t want you to feel that you owe him financially, nor does he want you to be swayed into accepting him as your partner by mere economic standing – that’s an asset that you’ll come to know, of course, but he’d rather lure you in via more traditional ways. It doesn’t exactly stay secret, though, because once the necklace with a delicate array of at least five diamonds in it arrives at your front door, your secret admirer’s wealth becomes very, very difficult to hide.)

He’s gifting you jewelry with more precious jewels and gold and silver than you could possibly wear, and outfitting your closet with all kinds of dresses and skirts out of materials and cuts you could never hope to afford for yourself.

(And, of course, they’re all tailored to fit you perfectly – how Enji managed to get your exact sizes is still a question that haunts you, one that makes you scared to upon the nicely wrapped boxes that you find in excess outside your front door.)

It’s all just too damn much – Enji is suffocating with his attempts to woo you, his every gift and gesture leaving you feeling uncomfortable. What he’s trying to do is very, very obvious – and it feels wrong. He’s the number one hero, a busy man with much more important things to be doing – so why is he going after you? And why with such ferocity?

His forwardness will scare you off, driving you to avoid him and grow suspicious of his motives, and Enji does not like this development. This wasn’t supposed to happen – you’re supposed to want him, to be seduced by all of his efforts, to be swept off your feet and swooned by his gifts and words (delivered with the grace of a garbage truck, of course, but the sentiment is there – even if looking at your pretty face distracts him, all the words leaving his head and making him stand there gaping like a fool).

Enji doesn’t like it, and so he presses harder, stepping up the frequency and volume of his gifts, only effectively pushing you further and further away from him as you grow more uneased and unsettled. And if you were to confront him about it?

Well, this is where his controlling tendencies come into play – denying who he naturally is can only last for so long, and despite being a man with superb self-restraint, the moment that Enji feels you’re slipping from his fingers he’s morphing back into the man that commands your every move.

Suddenly he’s no longer presenting you with the newest shampoo you’ve been talking about (it’s salon grade, the best stuff out there, and much too expensive, but not for Enji – nothing is too expensive for him when it’s for you) but rather letting this expression wash over his face, one that you’ve never seen before.

It’s cold, remarkably so; his lips are pressed tightly together, his brows perfectly straight, those eyes lifeless as he tells you to stop fighting, go inside and change into the green dress I gave you last week. We’re going for dinner, and you’ll order the house salad and a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. Do you understand me?

It’s weird and unexpected and scary, and it’ll have you immediately stuttering out a yes and scurrying inside, too frightened to disobey. And really, while Enji winces every time he does this, eventually he finds himself trying to justify it as simply ensuring your relationship will last.

Obviously it’s not good that he has to force you into these small, minor, inconsequential things (like going on a date with him or letting him accompany you home afterwards), but this is different from with Rei – you want this, right? You’re just too shy to tell him how flattered you are about all the attention he’s giving you.

You’re just playing coy, acting on your age-old feminine instincts to make men chase after you, to be demure and make your partner work for your affection and love. And eventually, Enji will convince himself that this is different, he’s wooing you and getting you into a relationship with him willingly – you want him.

You practically love him already – things are going well. They’re successful.

They have to be.

And so, while Enji doesn’t mean to be controlling, the end results is that although he plays the nice guy that spoils you and gives you anything your heart desires, at the end of the day he is the one in charge, and he is the one dictating your relationship.

And really, what can you do to stop him? He’s strong, both physically and with the general population – one word from him and you’d be hunted for like a madman, ostracized from the community, brought back to him like a pup to its owner.

You belong with him, and it’s his job to make you see that – even if you want to remain blind.

Possessive

Enji Todoroki doesn’t share. Once he decides that he wants you, you become unequivocally his.

Sure, he wants to do things a bit differently with you and get you to harbor more loving feelings towards him, but from the moment his infatuation forms you don’t really have a choice in the matter.

You can pretend like you do, if it makes you feel better (and it will, because at least you can pretend that you have even an ounce of control in the relationship, that you aren’t just some adorable little thing he’s decided he wants hanging off his arm and warming his bed), but at the end of the day you’re subject to Enji’s whims.

And although Enji lets you harbor this fantasy of your relationship being truly consensual, the moment something occurs that threatens it, his true colors are shown. Namely, when he thinks your attention is veering away from him, his jealousy and anger become difficult to keep in check, his quirk acting up and letting off small sparks and flames all along his body. His fists clench and his jaw tightens when he sees another man around you, and although he tries to rationalize that the man likely doesn’t want anything to do with you, just simply being in your presence is enough to make Enji suspicious.

Even if the man isn’t talking to you or acknowledging you in any way, he’s anxious – he’s scared that something about this man will attract you, that you’ll somehow find him better than Enji.

Maybe the man is friendlier – Enji’s aware that he isn’t exactly the most approachable person on the planet.

Maybe he's funnier – Enji knows he can’t crack a joke to save his life.

Maybe he’s a better conversationalist – less formalities and awkwardness, able to get you laughing so hard you snort.

It makes Enji’s skin crawl, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s fisting his hands, and before long he will intervene. He’ll grab you as gently as he can on the elbow, guiding you carefully but quickly away to the other side of the room and physically maneuvering so that his body is blocking your sight of the man – and more importantly, blocking his sight of you.

He’ll try to talk with you, trying to distract you and get your mind off of the other man, all in an effort to get your attention back on him. He’s reminding you that you have him, that you don’t need some other man, that you already have one who’s capable of providing for you and caring for you as you deserve.

Frankly, he discovers just how deeply his feelings for you run in a situation where jealousy gets the best of him – you’d been approached at a small gathering by a man from another agency who was clearly hitting on you. He was leaning in close, smiling with a smarmy smirk and nursing on his cocktail like a lifeline.

Enji had noticed the two of you out of the corner of his eye, and immediately he’d gone stiff. He couldn’t stop staring at the way the man kept getting gradually closer to you, how he kept leaning in further, how his hand slid from his pocket to your shoulder, then your arm, down to your hand and oh, oh god, it looks like he’s bringing it down to your waist –

Enji had been by your side in mere moments, his gaze card and harsh as he’d stepped in front of you, making some poorly toned excuse about needing to speak with you for a moment, before unceremoniously dragging you away from the stupefied man.

From that day, Enji absolutely refuses to allow anyone close to you. And really, can he be blamed? After all, he fell for you, so why wouldn’t anyone else? You’re beautiful and caring, smart and dignified, and if he can see your potential as a lovely, perfect little wife, surely others can too.

And so, Enji ramps up his controlling tendencies the more he’s presented with situations where the green-eyed monster accompanies him. And this control takes its main form through financials – that is, while Enji originally didn’t want to attract you to him via his material wealth, he decides it’s a necessary evil in order to have you staying by his side only.

He starts ‘forgetting’ to peel off the price tags of the gifts he gives you, pretending not to notice how your eyes practically bug out of your head when you unbox the pink pendant he’d bought for you.

He starts inviting you out for lunches and dinners more often, ordering for you and choosing the most expensive items off the menu despite your numerous pleas that you’ll opt for something – anything – cheaper.

(It’s frustrating, too, because as angry as you want to be at him for ordering for you, he always chooses something you end up liking – of course it’s because he’s done extensive research and stalking, finding out your favorite foods and what flavors you dislike, but it all seems like one large, awfully strange coincidence to you.)

Exerting financial control over you keeps you complacent, because the guilt you’ll feel at how much money he’s sinking into you will have you following his every word, even if it his commands are a little strange and off-putting – like spending less time with any male friends (or really any friends for that matter) or slipping the small photograph of him into your purse (it’s weird and you do so hesitantly, making sure the polaroid is at the bottom of the bag – and trying to ignore the way his muscles are oh-so fucking defined in the tight black shirt he’s sporting in the photograph).

It’s all just a big ploy to keep you from running off with some other man – but really, if you somehow did manage to do that, Enji won’t be particularly merciful. He will be cornering the man as he leaves your apartment and he will be holding him by the neck against the cold concrete wall, threatening him to leave you alone or experience the rather unpleasant sensation of burning alive.

It’s not particularly heroic, but Enji doesn’t care – he can’t, not when the threat of you leaving him for another man is very much present and real. It’s too scary, too much for him to handle – it would mean you rejecting him, his second fuck-up in love, and the loss of someone who fits absolutely every one of his desires in a woman.

You’re too perfect for him to lose – so instead, he’ll own you.

Dependent

He will never admit it, but there’s this part of Enji that grows stronger day by day, every time he sees your face, that tells him in the most raw, real way that he absolutely needs you.

He’s essentially lost what he had of his family, and with the sharp uptake in responsibility as the new number one hero, the new symbol of modern peace, Enji finds himself turning to you in his time of need, in his more vulnerable moments.

Because really, though his exterior is tough and jaded, he’s only human – he too needs someone to love, someone to hold and latch onto, and latch he does. You’re his, and he expects you to understand that even if he doesn’t verbalize it.

He cherishes your very existence, each and every thing you do, finding you to be remarkably weak yet remarkably endearing, your inability to defend yourself simultaneously adorable and frustrating. He needs you to realize that you’re his everything; his whole reason for living now, even if he doesn’t give you many clues into this.

He isn’t the best at expressing his emotions, and although the love and desperation he feels for you is constantly overwhelming him, overflowing from his chest and making him dizzy, he doesn’t articulate just how deeply these feelings run.

Of course he’ll tell you how you’re beautiful, or that you’re my responsibility to protect, but he’ll also say significantly less romantic things like how you belong to him, how he's never letting you out that front door, how he’ll never let those disgusting, filthy villains touch something as perfect as you.

He thinks it’s sweet and exactly what you want to hear, but it’s not – it’s scary and strange and weird, but these are your biggest clues as to his dependence on you.He won’t tell you, but his expectations for you are honestly monumentally high; he wants you to be his perfect little wife, everything that Rei wasn’t, and this includes giving you every ounce of his love.

He wants you to be diligently cooking him hearty meals, keeping the house tidy and clean for the two of you, to be massaging his shoulders while he relaxes from a stressful day at work. (Hell, he even wants you to wear cute little aprons, collars with his name stitched onto them, those maternity/breast feeding bras before you’re even pregnant…)

He wants a domestic fantasy with you, and this extends to other, more vulnerable things as well. He expects you to embrace him as he walks through the door everyday returning home, to give him a light peck on the cheek and ask about his day, to let him hug you from behind and kiss your neck as you slave away over the stove.

He never really got the chance to do such loving things with Rei (not that he particularly wanted to), and as a result he honestly feels like he’s having to make up time, that he needs to be taking every single ounce of affection and love you can possibly give him, and he’ll feel no guilt at all.

He won’t outright ask you to cuddle him, but when he sits on the large, overstuffed leather couch and stares at you expectantly, you’ll quickly learn to run over to him and snuggle up into his side, to bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms and legs around him even if his body heat cooks you alive.

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to give him those fluttery, soft morning kisses he’s seen all the time in terrible corny rom-coms he religiously watched for inspiration while trying to court you, but the moment you smile sleepily at him and press a kiss against his lips while you holds you close in the morning glow?

God, it’s in those moments that he wants to give you absolutely everything he has – every part of his body, soul and heart, every single cent he owns, every piece of fame and fortune he’s ever amassed.

Enji just wants to please you, and although he comes off as an odd mix of demanding yet generous, terrifying yet strangely awkward, inside his heart is hammering against his ribcage every time you so much as smile at him, every time you so much as look at him. In the hazy afterglow of a round of passionate morning sex (in which you’ve realized that fighting will get you nowhere – it’ll only earn you an Enji that’s more frantic and desperate to get you moaning and crying out his name), when he latches onto your smaller, exhausted and sweaty body, pressing you as tightly against him as possible, sometimes his demeanor will crack.

He’ll lean down to deeply inhale the scent of your hair, to watch the way your chest rises and falls, and he’ll whisper in the softest of voices that he loves you, you’re the light of his world. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you, but Enji is hellbent on never finding out – after all, there is no chance of escape with him, and he’s sure you’ll learn your place soon.

After all, pretty, submissive girls like you always do.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Enji is, regrettably, terrible at hiding his jealousy.

He’s always been in a constant state of envy, whether it was vying for the top spot in the heroing world against All Might, desiring the perfect offspring in order to have the Todoroki name and himself live on, and countless other examples. He’s prideful and so fucking jealous of everyone around him, and this is only heightened when it comes to you – his possessiveness over you is nothing to sneeze at, and the minute he feels that your attention is threatened, that you could possibly be yearning for another?

He’s wasting no time stepping in, mercilessly shutting down each and every opportunity you could possibly have of being with anyone other than himself.

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, his jealousy and possessiveness stems from a place of insecurity; he’s aware that he’s by no means the perfect partner, and he rationally knows that you could do much, much better than him.

And so, as a sort of panic-induced response, Enji decides that you simply aren’t allowed to interact with any other men – this way, you aren’t presented with the opportunity to even let the feelings form. And he’s diligent with this theory, too – he’s always standing near you, acting as your shadow with watchful, hawk-like eyes trained on your figure.

He’s never been the best at reading people, but he’s able to tell from miles away when someone approaches you with intentions that are less than innocent, and immediately his lips are thinning, his brows furrowing, his entire body temperature raising by five degrees because you’re his, and this piece of scum disguised as a man obviously doesn’t realize this.

He’s your guardian angel in many ways (though really, he takes the guardian portion much too far – even men who have no romantic intentions with you are viewed as potential threats, shooed away with a vengeance that will make them too afraid to even think about you without imagining themselves engulfed in flames), though at times it will make you feel more than a little patronized.

It’s as if he doesn’t trust you – you don’t really have a relationship, at least in your eyes, but you know the number one hero wants something more than friendship with you. And so, you do your best to avoid evoking his anger and wrath by not romantically involving yourself with another man – and yet that’s not enough for Enji.

It can’t be, simply because as pretty and sweet and smart as you may be, Enji will always know better. It’s a controlling tendency and a mildly sexist view, but he thinks of you as his doting, loving housewife-to-be, and it’s the man’s job to make these sorts of decisions.

You’re just too sweet and outgoing for your own good – you’ll get mixed up in all sorts of trouble if you’re not careful, and lucky little you has someone like Enji to watch out for you and make sure your pretty head has nothing to worry about. And so, Enji sticks to you like glue, warding off potential suitors with grueling stares and a presence and reputation too strong to ignore.

Enji’s day had been long, and one of those days that made him seriously question his abilities as a hero. A villain had managed to trick him, and although Enji had of course eventually arrested the perpetrator, his deception had led to a lot of wasted time and more damage to surrounding buildings than was acceptable.

His head was pounding, his body still feeling overly hot from all of the fighting, and though not normal, he’d decided he was done for the day and left the rest of the agency’s calls to his sidekicks. Leaving early had felt almost freeing in a way, the world looking a bit different with all this extra time – walking down the sidewalk, Enji scanned the windows of each shop he passed.

As per usual, you’d been on his mind all day – flashes of your face sitting just behind his eyelids, your name just a hair away on his tongue, the feeling of your phantom touch sending shivers down his spine. It was irritating, distracting, heavenly, and with each window he passed, he kept an eye out for anything you might like.

He’d gotten you a pretty tea cup set yesterday, and although you’d been hesitant and visibly uncomfortable at receiving such a gift (the set was very, very obviously expensive, the marbled china too perfect and pristine to have costed anything less than a year’s worth of your salary), Enji was eager to gift you something that would be received better today.

Streets passed by, nothing quite suiting his vision for what you deserved – he’d need something more subtle today, something simple and sweet and something he knows you like – The confectionary is small, with swirling black letters over a baby pink banner spelling out the name of the store. The windows are lined with all sorts of chocolates and candies, all wrapped up in pretty, ornate packaging that makes Enji immediately pick up his pace, practically storming into the small shop.

It smells like vanilla and sugar as the door shuts behind him, and although it makes him wince, he knows you’d love it. Shelves nearly as tall as him line the shop in narrow rows, displaying all sorts of sweets that he’s never heard of before – caramels, gumdrops, chocolates, lollipops, anything and everything under the sun.

He’s only been in the store for roughly five minutes, staring at a collection of truffles with furrowed brows and a downward curl of his lip when he hears a small laugh over the gentle, happy classical music playing quietly over the speakers. Immediately he’s perking up – the laugh sounds familiar; the lilt of it, the tonality, the soft intake of breath right after it stops.

His lips part, eyes going wide, and before he can even really control himself he’s rushing towards the source of the noise, his entire face growing warm when he sees you – you’re at the register, a few candies sitting on the wooden slab, your purse in hand as you fish for presumably your wallet.

You look gorgeous today – you’re wearing a shirt he’s never seen before and your favorite pair of jeans (the ones that make your ass look so, so very perfect – perfect to squeeze at, to grope and touch and smack and press himself against…), and although he’s briefly disappointed that you aren’t wearing an item of clothing that he’d gifted you, he notices the clerk all too soon.

The clerk – Hyoshi, his nametag says – is smiling at you. He’s all teeth, a grin that makes the hairs on the back of Enji’s neck stand up, his nostrils flaring because you’d been laughing, and it must be this man’s doing. This man, who’s visibly weak even under the ridiculous confectionary uniform he’s sporting – arms that couldn’t hope to lift even a fraction of what Enji can, a chest that isn’t ruggedly defined like the hero’s, and a stature that’s frankly pathetic compared to the frame of the redheaded man behind you.

Enji’s angry, and as the man opens his mouth to presumably say something else (potentially something that’ll make you laugh again), his words die on his tongue as he glances behind you to see the behemoth of a man who’s quite literally acting as your shadow.

His eyes widen and immediately he’s stuttering out a w-welcome in, Endeavor! At that, your shoulders go stiff, your mouth parting into an adorable little ‘o’ that Enji can practically see in his head, and you slowly turn around.

Oh, hello Endeavor, aren’t you normally on patrol right now?

Enji’s jaw works, and although a small part of him is pleasantly surprised that you’d remembered his patrol shift, your words only serve to further frustrate him. You knew it was his time on the clock – and yet, you’d still ventured out into the heart of downtown, completely on your own, defenseless except for the measly, very sad pepper spray you keep in that worn purse of yours – both of which he keeps pleading with you to let him replace.

(He’ll get you new pepper spray and a taser and a pocketknife, just because he knows how dangerous these streets can be, and with your pretty face and your pretty body he’s sure villains would be lining out the door to get a taste of you. And of course, the new bag – he’s bought you plenty, in a wide variety of styles and colors, each gift getting more and more desperate to be the one you finally deem as being good enough to use, but alas.)

Enji doesn’t even bother with a greeting, instead stepping up to the counter, slamming down his credit card and stepping in front of you. I’ll be paying for her sweets. His voice is cold, firm, and sends the clerk into a scurry to process the transaction, meanwhile you’re staring in mild shock from behind the hero.

Of course you’re not surprised – how can you be, when he insists on spoiling you in every possible way? And yet the raw animosity he’s radiating right now can’t be ignored – you get the feeling as if you’re somehow in trouble, though you can’t figure out what for. As soon as the card reader beeps, Enji’s scooping up the card and your sweets, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist just barely too tightly and marching out the door, telling the clerk over his shoulder to keep the receipt.

It takes every bone in his body to not turn back around and swing at the man behind the counter, his eyes shutting tightly in concentration as he tells himself that it’s not worth it, the media will find out, your reputation will be damaged. But as his eyes peel open and he realizes the way you’re squirming in his grip, he only sighs and releases you, those teal eyes of his appraising you with a frown.

You’re feeling guilty again, unsure of yourself as you gently rub your wrist, and for a moment Enji feels regret – did he hurt you? He hadn’t meant to, he’d just been angry and it was already hard enough to not harm the man who’d made you laugh, and surely you’d understand that he didn’t mean to –

You break the silence before he can voice his concerns, clearing your throat and thanking him in a meek voice. Enji merely nods, a small grunt your only response as he begins walking again, your sweets – and your purse – firmly in his hands, just so that you won’t have to carry them.

When you don’t immediately follow him, Enji pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a brow cocked.

What? Follow me – we have dinner reservations this evening, at that new seafood restaurant by the harbor. Fuyumi tells me it’s quite good; order the crab legs and the caviar.

There’s no room for disagreement in his tone, and for a moment you just blankly gape at him, the situation too strange for you to really process.

But all too soon his eyes are narrowing, and you’re practically tripping over your feet to follow him, keeping your gaze cast downwards as Enji’s hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you even though there’s not a civilian in sight on the desolated sidewalk he leads you down.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Honestly, Enji is complicated as a yandere; there’s a part of him that knows that there are aspects of his relationship with you that mirror that of his previous marriage. He knows that although you may not be treated as terribly (and that you have more purpose to him than simply an incubator), you’re still trapped, essentially a slave to his will.

And yet, as time passes and his dependence on you grows stronger, he can’t help but justify his actions, deciding that yes, you may be stuck with him, but at least he spoils you rotten with your favorite foods, expensive clothing and jewels, an unlimited supply for each and every hobby you may have. He may have you trapped between a rock and a hard place in terms of leaving him, but at least he genuinely loves you - he aches to spend time with you, to hold you in his arms, to feel your heartbeat against his ear, your lips against his, your body writhing below his.

He’s convinced himself that this time is different, that you’re different, and as such he eventually decides that it’s really in both your best interests to just relocate you, to get you officially by his side. It’s really paranoia that drives this decision – he’s a working hero and a man with many, many enemies, and so it’s really the only option that keeps you safe.

Stealing you away into his private home – he’s the sole inhabitant, aside from a cleaner or two, since moving out of the Todoroki household – is the best option for a multitude of different reasons. You’re safer this way – the state-of-the-art security systems he’s installed around the estate are the best money can pay for, able to detect intruders and any suspicious activity in the blink of an eye. Enemies don’t have much of a chance of getting inside, and even if they had managed to, Enji will be right there to burn them to a crisp for even daring to get close to his beloved.

And even aside from outside threats, keeping you trapped at home will allow him to keep an eye on you and make sure that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself – you’re ridiculously clumsy to him, your every action having him hold his breath slightly in anticipation, in fear that you’ll somehow trip or fall or bruise your pretty skin. Plus, this way he’ll know that you’re eating healthily and in the right quantities, that you’re getting proper exercise, that you’re relaxing as you should, that you’re spending adequate amounts of time in the interior courtyard he’d prepared in preparation for you.

(It’s beautiful, as loathe as you are to admit it – all kinds of flowers bloom along the walkways, bamboo and tall grasses and trees growing in neat lines and providing shade for the flowerbeds on hot summer days. There’s even a small stream flowing through it, the gentle trickling noise almost enough to cancel out the painful silence that exists between you and Enji when he decides to join you for your scheduled garden time in the afternoons – uninvited, as always, and yet still unable to sense how desperately you wish you’d get these times alone to yourself.)

Aside from your safety, keeping you in his home helps feeds into his domestic fantasies of the two of you – you’re so very precious to him, and from nearly the beginning of his obsession with you, he’s always viewed you as the perfect wife – specifically, the perfect housewife.

He’s a traditional man, believing in traditional gender roles, and although he doesn’t view you as being less-than based upon your status as a woman, he does expect certain things from you. He’s the breadwinner, the strong, capable one who provides you with a roof over your head, food, and any gift under the sun the moment you make even the slightest inclination of wanting it.

And in return, you’re to be his caring, nurturing wife – the one who keeps the house neat and tidy, a room dedicated to only cleaning supplies that you get always stay stocked and ready for you, should you become inspired and wish to fulfill this domestic fantasy of his. The cleaning products are all diluted down to a level that wouldn’t be dangerous if you were to ingest them – you’d get sick, surely, but it’s nothing a home-trip from a doctor who’s been sworn to secrecy can’t handle.

There’s also, unfortunately, a drawer within the room that a particularly bored you had one day opened only to immediately slam it shut. Dozens of cleaning outfits sat neatly folded in the drawer, the black and white getups looking much too tight and much too short. A few weeks later you’d returned to the drawer, bored out of your mind while Enji was away at work, peeling one out with careful and trembling fingers. And of course, to no one’s surprise, the outfit fit like a fucking glove – hugging your curves and accentuating them, the skirt full and flouncy and very easy to flip up, the bustline practically choking your breasts with how tightly the black cotton pressed them together. You’d changed out of it shortly after, the rather disturbing and shameful fleeting question of whether this was the type of thing Enji liked making you too disgusted, guilty, and bashful to really consider.

In his idealized domestic world, you’d cook for him, too, but it takes a very long time for him to trust you enough to not purposefully burn or cut yourself in the kitchen. He has daydreams about coming home from a hectic work day to see you standing over the stove in a cute apron, humming some song and lighting up when you hear the door open and close, his announcement of being home making you practically bounce on your heels.

He wants to have you cook for him, to see you slave in the kitchen putting every ounce of your concentration and time into making him a meal you know he’ll enjoy, but that fantasy has to wait for the time being – just until he thinks you’ve finally lost that rebellious streak of yours, just until you finally come to realize that you belong by Enji’s side.

And so, in the meantime he’ll have you make him small things that hold little potential for you to hurt yourself with – simple sandwiches with pre-sliced ingredients, so that you won’t cut yourself chopping tomatoes or slicing bread. He'll have you prepare a sandwich for him and one for yourself, too, ordering you to sit down at the dining table with him and share a meal – though the conversation is hard to come by, and each attempt he makes at starting it is only met with single word answers from you.

(Another domestic fantasy he harbors but would never tell you about is to have you sitting with him at the table, looking at him with those pretty eyes and your voice dropping to a sultry volume, your chopsticks bringing the food you diligently and loving prepared for him up to his lips, your tone teasing as you tell him to open wide! He’d keep eye contact the whole time he chews, never once breaking it as he tells you in that low, gruff voice of his that it’s perfectly done, the seasoning is impeccable. He wants you to be bashful, to smile and hide it with your hand, your lashes fluttering as you glance at him then back to the food again, too shy to say much but your body language showing just how much his praise effects you, just how good it feels to be the center of his attention, the apple of his eye, his absolute everything.)

He wants you to be his sweet housewife, and although he won’t force you into any of the work, it’s extremely obvious what he wants of you – he’s always telling you about when you get adjusted, how you’ll be more open to fulfilling your role.

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be happy to iron his clothes; perhaps you’ll spritz a bit of the perfume he buys you onto his shirts, just as a reminder of you during his long days.

(As if he needs a reminder – certainly not, when you’re on his mind nearly every minute of the day.)

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be pleased to see the positive pregnancy test in your trembling hands, your voice riddled with joy as you announce the good news to him, watching him drop the phone and keys in his hand and instead hoist you into the air, spinning you with a grin on his face so bright it nearly blinds you, concluded with a passionate kiss and a few tears on his cheeks because he just can’t fucking wait to have you as the mother of his child.

It’s all this talk of ‘when this’ and ‘when that’, but the strange thing about Enji as a captor is that he’s incredibly patient with seeing these fantasies come to fruition – sure, he may be forcing you into being a housewife just as he did with Rei, but this is different – you get a choice about some of it, unlike her. You don’t have to do the dishes, but you can if you’d like. You don’t have to bear his children, but you can if you’d like.

(And frankly, it’ll be hard not to – once your need for human contact and your strange, mixed feelings for him grow, you’ll eventually give into his requests for intimacy, and once the floodgates are open, you will end up pregnant from the sheer frequency and volume at which he pumps you full of his cum.)

All that being said, life as Enji’s captive will honestly not be too terrible – he’s still following you around the house like a shadow, but he’ll let you sleep in your own bed at the start, let you have your own bedroom and bathroom, and he won’t even force you into spending time with him at the beginning.

Because really, as tortuous and painful as keeping you away from him is, he repeats the mantra over and over in his head that eventually it’ll be worth it – eventually you’ll see things his way, and eventually you’ll come to see just how deeply his feelings for you run. You’ll realize that he’s only ever loved you, that he cares for you more than any other man possibly could, that he only has your best interests at heart – that’s why he always swung by your apartment at the end of his patrols, peering in at you through your windows, just to make sure you were safe and sound.

That’s why he kidnapped you, to ensure your safety and keep you in the arms of the only man truly capable of providing for you, just as you deserve.

That’s why he’ll never let you escape him, no matter how you beg and plead for your freedom – you don’t understand the outside world like he does. You think you do, but each villain he arrests is a nail in the coffin of your freedom – you have no fucking clue how dangerous the world is, and Enji isn’t hesitant to remind you of this.

You’re unhappy with him? Well, your options are here, in his warm house where he’s willing to give you every ounce of his attention, love, and touch, or out in the big, scary world where women like you are easy targets for men who love destroying easy targets.

So really, you’re in the best hands with Enji – he knows how to take care of you, and he’ll spoil you with every possible treasure you could want. What’s not to be happy about?

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Enji doesn’t ‘do’ punishments. Because he views his relationship with you as his second try at finding a companion, there is no part of him that actively desires to hurt you. He loves you, in some sick, twisted way that’s much too obsessive and desperate to ever be considered healthy, but it’s still love nonetheless.

And as such, Enji does genuinely want your relationship to be as wholesome and sweet as possible; he wants you to want him, to actively choose to spend your time with him, to want to be in his presence every moment of every day. He wants everything to be as perfect as possible – the idealized life, a life where he’s the number one hero coming home to his lovely wife who cherishes him and he cherishes in return.

And so, when you do something that doesn’t quite line up with this fantasy, Enji is understandably upset. Why can’t you just accept that this is your reality now? Why do you insist on fighting him, even when you know you won’t win? How could you?

He’s Enji Todoroki, Endeavor the Flame Hero, and you’re just you. You’re pretty, of course, and smart and sweet and caring, but you’re still just you. There’s nothing you can do against someone like him – which is why Enji is able to excuse your poor behavior most of the time.

He understands; it’s difficult to accept that you’re weak and powerless, and he understands that when you lash out and act out, you’re just expressing frustration and fear at being taken care of so wholly and completely by someone so much stronger than you. It must be scary, after all – Enji can be so intimidating and he knows it, so he’ll try his absolute best to calm down anytime his anger starts to flare.

The last thing he wants to do is harm you, and he wants everything in your relationship to be as different as possible from that with Rei – and hurting you in any way would too closely resemble his previous marriage, ruining the beautiful illusion he can live under with you.

And so, most of the time Enji is able to grit his teeth and shut his eyes, letting the anger subside by telling himself about all the wonderful things about you – things that always get him feeling calmer, that make the buzzing sensation in his head and the suffocating feeling of anger dissipate. Nine times out of ten, he’s able to calm himself down this way – and if that’s not enough, normally exiting the room and getting a breath of fresh air is enough. He’ll tell himself that he absolutely cannot fall into the same habits he did with Rei – you’re different, you’re special, and he’ll calm himself down as often as he needs to in order to avoid being seen by you as the big, scary man who will hurt you if you disobey him.

Thus, getting Enji angry enough to the point where he can’t simply calm himself down is actually quite difficult – generally, this involves you hurting yourself. Most other things he can twist into seeming not so bad, rather just being you not having adjusted to life as his woman quite yet. He can write off your escape attempts as you still clinging to this ludicrous sense of independence you seem so hellbent on keeping.

Attempts to harm him can be discarded as your misplaced sense of anger at your situation, because although in your heart of hearts he’s sure you’re happy to be in your natural familial setting (as the wife of a strong, capable man of course), you’ve confused yourself by trying to reject something that’s just so right.

Of course these events don’t make him happy, but they’re able to be disregarded – but when your blood is drawn by your own accord, even Enji can’t pretend this is something else. This is you purposefully trying to injure yourself, purposefully trying to show him that you aren’t happy, that you don’t want this – an idea that makes him panic, that sends his fists clenching, that gets him pacing and his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to set you straight without harming you. And so, Enji eventually decides that after he cleans up your injury, rather than simply hitting you

and physically showing you that he won’t stand for this sort of misbehavior, he has to be more restrictive with you. He won’t be so lenient for the days following your bad behavior – you won’t be so spoiled, your rights won’t be so freely handed to you.

You must understand that Enji is charge, and that he’s being generous and loving and kind by allowing you such free reign around your shared home. Really, he doesn’t need to be so generous – and he’ll teach you that an angry Enji is much, much worse than the normal doting, lovesick Enji you’re used to.

Enji is frozen as he opens the front door. He’d come home a bit early from running some errands, the groceries in his hand dropping onto the hardwood floors below him. His jaw is dropped a bit, the sight of your bright red blood staining your forearm making a wave of sickness wash over him.

Who did this?

Who could’ve hurt you like this? There’d been no security alerts while he was gone, and there was absolutely no way that you’d left the interior of this house in the two hours he was gone. In the next breath he’s rushing forward into the kitchen, by your side before you can even blink, paying no mind to the way you gasp and stumble away from him, as if you’re afraid of him.

It makes Enji’s chest ache, but the sight of your blood is too distracting for him to focus on the uncomfortable ache. Instead, he’s thrusting your arm under the kitchen sink, the lukewarm water making you wince ever so slightly as it runs over the wound.

Enji’s brows furrow as he examines your arm; the cuts are long, zigzagging in every direction in a way that looks strange, not like any normal attack pattern he’s seen before. This doesn’t look natural, either – not like a regular scratch, not like you just slipped and fell and had unfortunate luck. No, this looks like something else entirely – like something purposeful, like their appearance marring your pretty skin isn’t accidental in the least. It’s only then that Enji sees the glinting silver fork out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the edge of the counter with a bit of red staining the ends.

Immediately his body is freezing, his grip on your arm squeezing tighter as the gears turn in his mind. You must have…

His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth, those blue eyes of his slanting over to look at you with such intensity and anger that you physically shrink in on yourself. His grip is too firm for you to pull your arm back, Enji absolutely unwilling to let you run away from this.

Did you do this to yourself?

His voice is surprisingly even, given the look on his face, and immediately you’re shaking your head, your entirely body paralyzed with fear. You’ve never seen Enji look this scary before – or at least not towards you.

Your answer only serves to further anger him, it seems, because soon he’s literally snarling, his face twisted up into this ugly look of rage that’s only heightened by the scar across his eye.

Don’t lie to me, I will always be able to tell when you’re untruthful with me. He pauses, taking a deep breath, his voice just the slightest bit unsteady. Did you do this to yourself?

This time you nod yes, tears prickling at your eyes and starting to spill down your cheeks, and at the sound Enji makes, they only flow faster. He looks like he’s in more pain than you are – his face is red, and a few flames lick up around his shoulders. The heat washes over you, and soon the begs are slipping off your tongue before you can help yourself.

Enji pays you no mind, every ounce of his self-control going towards not slapping you in the face for your blatant stupidity. Soon he’s letting go of your hand, stomping towards the small first aid kit he keeps in the kitchen, entirely silent as he carefully wraps your arm in bandages, not paying your rambling any attention or mind.

As soon as you’re securely bandaged, he leaves the room and you hear the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut reverberating throughout the house.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, with you somehow getting from the floor of the kitchen where you’d laid down and eventually fallen asleep all the way to your bed, with the blankets carefully slotted over your body.

Nothing seems to be amiss the next morning, your footsteps cautious as you approach the bathroom, your brows shooting up when you notice that the counter is completely bare – your toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash are all missing, as are all the expensive lotions and facial scrubs Enji normally keeps in piles for your convenience.

The kitchen is empty, too, you notice – the silverware drawer is completely empty, and there are no cups or mugs of any sort in any of the cupboards. It’s unnerving, and immediately you’re getting goosebumps all over your body, the air feeling prickly and cold, as if there’s something lurking that you don’t know about. Biting your lip, you make your way to the table, gingerly sitting down and trying not to jostle the bandages too much – the bandages that had been changed, you distantly notice.

A few minutes later, Enji joins you in the kitchen, his expression not exactly jovial, but not particularly hostile. He greets you as he normally does, before placing the mug you now notice is in his hand under sink. The sound of rushing water gets your mouth watering, not having realized how thirsty you were until this moment.

Wide eyes watch him turn towards you, making his way to your seated figure with slow, heavy steps that get your heart thudding in his chest. He stops right next to you, before telling you to open your mouth. Hesitantly, you do as he says, jerking slightly when his fingertips – always unnaturally warm – cup your chip and bring the cup up to your lips, the water cold as you’re forced to drink it.

Enji watches with neutral eyes, though you see the corner of his lip curl up slightly as you drink the entire glass, the pacing of the water flow nearly too much and nearly choking you. Soon it’s gone, and Enji uses his thumb to wipe at the corner of your lips.

Since yesterday’s little spectacle has shown me that you can’t be trusted with basic household supplies, let me know if you require another drink, if you’d like to brush your teeth, or if you’d like to wash your hair. You obviously can’t do it alone, so I will be joining you. Now, go lay down on the couch. I need to change your wrappings again.

You’re dumbfounded, watching him keep the mug in his grasp as he heads towards the living room. And though the threat seems too extreme, Enji means it – you only last a few hours before you reluctantly ask for another drink, your throat too dry and sore to go without it.

And that night, when you shamefully ask him for your toothbrush, you’re not particularly pleased to find out that he’ll be the one brushing your teeth, using his very own toothbrush to get the job done, just to make sure you don’t even think about trying to choke yourself with the brush.

(And when you finally have to shower, well, Enji’s face turns bright red when you ask, rushing to his feet much too quickly, grasping your hand and practically pulling you to the bathroom before applying all sorts of soaps and scents to the bath he draws for you. His breath is hitched as he turns around so you can change in privacy, but don’t be surprised to see him sneaking glances at your bare body beneath the water’s bubbly surface. Don’t be surprised when later that night you hear a suspiciously rhythmic thumping sound and muffled groans through the wall that your bedrooms share, the faintest wet, squelching noise accompanying them.)

And, roughly a week later when you wake up to the cups and mugs back in the cupboard and your shampoo back in the shower, you’ll decide against hurting yourself anytime soon. It’s not worth it – not if that’s how you’ll be treated; forced to ask permission for your basic needs.

And Enji couldn’t be more pleased – now you’ll think twice about using that fork again, or anything else for that matter.

(And he can still force you into using his toothbrush – under the guise of furthering your bond and intimacy, of course. And because he’ll use it after you, savoring the feeling of the bristles against his tongue like some sort of drug.)

OVERALL DANGER:

7/10

Enji isn’t necessarily dangerous, but rather inevitable.

He’s a determined man, driven by motivation for his goals, no matter the methods he uses to get there. And once he sets his sights on you, deciding that he wants you, that he loves you, you’re certainly no different – he will have you, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and really, what sway do you have?

He’s a professional hero, known in the public sphere responsible for saving more lives than you could ever hope to, and who are you? You’re just a pretty face, a woman who happened to have the exact set of traits and physical appearance that Enji finds desirable – you have no real way to combat him, and who would believe you, anyway? Enji is the new symbol of peace – as far as the Commission is concerned, he can have whatever the hell he wants, and if that one thing is some civilian, then you can kiss your freedom goodbye.

But really, all things considered, Enji isn’t too terrible – he’s trying desperately to right his wrongs, to love you in a way that prioritizes your happiness and is just better, and although you’re certainly not happy being trapped by his side, he can at least pretend like this is better.

He wants you to be his pretty little thing, to be his housewife and treat him like your devoted, loving husband. He wants you to greet him with a kiss on the lips when he comes home from work, helping him out of his jacket and asking about his day, then lead him into the clean kitchen where you’ve got dinner waiting for him, then join him in the shower and then the bed, letting his hands wander to where they please, then fall asleep on his chest, letting him feel like he’s protecting you even in his sleep.

Is that really so much to ask for? Enji thinks not – besides, isn’t that the dream for you?

All you have to do is let him take care of you, to spoil you with flowers and chocolates and jewelry and all sorts of things that make women swoon. You’ll be spoiled rotten, treated like a goddess, and all you have to do is let Enji make all the decisions for you, to let him take control of your life and your future – it’s better this way, he promises.

This way, you’ll be properly cared for, kept safe and secure and comfortable by his side. You may not see it yet, but Enji is sure this is really what you want – you’ll come around eventually, he’s sure of it.

And if you don’t? Well, at least he’s not a monster, right?

#yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere enji todoroki #yandere endeavor #_lee's profiles #_enji todoroki #_bnha #endeavor x reader #enji todoroki x reader

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actuallysaiyan · 5 months

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I Love You Forever(Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader)

warnings: Spoilers, AU/canon divergent, Nanami and Reader have just gotten married, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, slight breeding kink, vaginal fingering, mentions of scars, mentions of insecurities word count: 1.4k pairings: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader summary: after healing from the terrible things that happened in Shibuya, Kento made it his mission to marry you. After the "I dos", he whisks you away to that beautiful beach in Kuantan he desperately wanted to visit and he has a new mission...to make you a mommy.

The smell of the sea and the sunlight peeking through the curtains is what woke you up on that day. You stretch a little, rolling over. But your husband is nowhere to be found. Not in the bed, not in the room. You know you shouldn’t worry, but after everything the two of you have gone through, you find yourself wondering if he’s okay. You slip into the silky white robe your husband bought you as a wedding gift and make your way into the kitchenette/main room of the cottage you rented for your honeymoon. Your heart races when you see that your husband isn’t here either.

You look out the sliding doors that lead to the beach, and you sigh a breath of relief when you spot your gorgeous husband lounging on a chair outside. He seems so at peace, which makes you so happy. He’s worked so hard for this. He’s sacrificed so much in his life to be able to have this comfortable honeymoon. The moment you said “I do”, you knew that your life would be so complete. You’ve loved Kento since the moment you laid eyes on him all those years ago. So when he finally proposed to you, you knew it was a no-brainer to say yes. The man was your rock, and he would do anything to keep you safe and happy.

Kento is resting in one of the chairs, and while you previously thought he was just resting, you realize he is probably sleeping. His body twitches slightly as you gently open the sliding door. The warm sand feels amazing on your bare feet. You knew he had always wanted to go on vacation to Kuantan, but for it to be your honeymoon was even more special.

You slowly approach his chair, noticing the small amount of drool coming from his lips as he snoozes. Then you notice the mimosa sitting on the side table, just sweating with condensation. You gently place your hand on his shoulder and nudge him. Kento slowly opens his eyes, a bit disoriented but then as he blinks a few times, he realizes where he is and what’s going on.

“Good morning, my sweet husband.” You greet him with a soft kiss on the lips.

“Good morning, darling.”

He sits up on the chair and then he pats his thigh for you to sit up on his lap. You take no time to settle on his lap, slightly straddling him so that you can press kisses all over his face and neck. You smirk as you realize you’ll be able to press kisses on his exposed chest too as he hasn’t really bothered to button up his shirt too much. He’s been covering up a lot more since the incident, but you are quite happy that he feels comfortable enough to show you his scars. You’re very happy to see just how much your husband is enjoying his time away from work and how he’s so relaxed and at peace. The incident at Shibuya had been quite the shock for the two of you, but you were ready to move on from it and to live a good life.

“This beach is doing you wonders,” you murmur against his skin before you nip at his earlobe. “Do I even see a tan on your skin?”

Your teasing is warming his heart. For the first time in so long, Kento feels completely at peace. He knows that it won’t be forever, but he has no intention of cutting this honeymoon short. He let everyone know at Jujutsu Tech that he’d be gone for some time. He even remembers the look on young Yuji’s face when he told him that you’d be gone on a honeymoon. Yuji had been the ringbearer at your wedding and he was so happy to see his Nanamin so in love.

“I think you’re imagining things. We’ve been here for three days, I don’t think a tan can develop that fast. Besides, I’ve been applying sunblock. The doctors said I shouldn’t allow my scars to get a lot of sun exposure.”

You notice how he looks down when he mentions his scars. You hate that he’s become so insecure about it all. Despite just barely escaping the attacks with his life, he was left with a permanent reminder that he’d never be attractive enough for you anymore. You know that look on his face, and despite the eyepatch that covers his damaged eye, you know that he’s got that solemn look in his eyes.

You react fast, pressing kisses on his neck and shoulder. You kiss every single scar, murmuring soft words of love to him. He shudders with every touch and every kiss, tears filling his eyes. This is just too beautiful for him. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve your love, but he knows he’ll never regret falling in love with you. He’ll never want to divorce you. ‘Til death do you part, and then on.

“Mmm…” he groans softly. “You’re doing something so magical to me, darling.”

You smirk as you feel his growing erection poking you now. He then pulls you in closer to him and your lips meet in a hungry and desperate kiss. He’s been kissing you a lot more like he’s going to lose you these days. And Kento fucks you like his life depends on making you cum.

“Let’s head back inside,”

You gasp as you feel him picking you up and carrying you back into the cottage. With the doors closed behind you, Kento carries you all the way into the private bedroom. He lays you on the bed, undoing the knot to your silky little robe. His cock throbs when he sees that you’re not wearing anything underneath. Your soft hands caress his cheeks as you pull him in for another passionate kiss.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” you whisper between heated kisses.

Kento smiles mischievously, “Yes, but tell me again…”

You moan as his lips press against the very sensitive spot on your neck. His tongue soothes over the spot before he bites down. He intends to mark you up so much; his own way to show the world that you are married to him.

“I love you so much, I don’t think I’d be able to live without you. My heart stopped the very moment I saw you for the first time. You’ve always been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, and that won’t ever change.”

Kento’s hands are heavenly on your body. The more you speak your words of love, the more excited he gets. It’s not long before he has your legs spread and his long fingers are pumping into you. The words get a bit more difficult to speak, but you continue to name all the ways you adore him. You moan his name like a mantra as Kento works you to an earth shattering orgasm.

Even as you come down from that intense high, Kento barely gives you time to truly recover. He’s got his shorts pushed down past his ass so he can free his cock. It slips between your folds a few times before he pushes it into your dripping hole. He lets out such a deep moan as your gummy walls begin to clamp down on him.

“My sweet angel…” he murmurs as he presses a hungry kiss to your lips. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

He takes it slow at first, but soon you’re begging him for more. You want it harder and faster, and he feels that desperation creeping up on him. He needs to fill you up with his hot cum. You had both mentioned trying for a baby while on this honeymoon, and he’s not going to waste anymore time.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him even deeper. A fire is being stoked deep inside your belly as Kento plunges into you over and over again, the fat tip of his cock bullying your sweet spot. Your toes curl as the orgasm begins washing over you, sending electrifying courses of pleasure throughout your body. You cry out his name, and your walls pulse and clench around him. Just a few more thrusts and he’s being pushed off the edge completely. A loud growl rumbles through his broad chest as ropes of his hot, thick cum fills your waiting womb.

Slowly, you two begin to come down from your high. The air conditioning feels good on your sweat slicked skin. Kento kisses you ever so softly, a grunt coming from him as your walls clench around him one last time.

“You think that did it?” you ask with a mischievous look on your face. “Think that got me pregnant?”

He then pushes your legs up to your chest, ready for another round. “Who knows? Maybe we need to go again to make sure.”

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the-sunflower-room · 5 months

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✧ to die by your side ✧

dazai x fem!reader

☆ genre: angst, hurt/comfort

☆ wc: 9.5k

☆ summary: dazai’s girlfriend is kidnapped by a revenge-seeking enemy and must count down the agonizing minutes to her death. dazai and the rest of the ada race to save her before time runs out.

☆ warnings: kidnapping, violence, language, mentions of blood/torture/drugging, dazai-typical suicide mentions, brief mentions of throwing up, self-loathing dazai, panic attacks, etc- overall just pretty angsty! slightly canon divergent with the way i wrote dazai’s ability. i also threw in some comfort at the end as a little treat <3

………………………………………………………………………………….

Pain. Blinding pain.

That was the first thing Y/N noticed as she slowly regained consciousness. Her skull felt like it was on fire, her temple throbbing and wrists aching. A heavy weight sat on her chest and made the simple act of breathing difficult. A faint but persistent beeping noise seemed amplified in her ringing ears, worsening her pounding headache while the heavy scent of blood in the air made her stomach churn.

What was going on?

Confusion persisted until her mind began to register the other noises in her surroundings.

A man’s voice she didn’t recognize.

The soft beep of a video camera starting to record.

Something about the agency.

Dazai’s name.

Her body broke into a cold sweat at the sudden mention of her boyfriend.

Realizing her eyelids were too heavy to even open, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had happened. The last thing she remembered was kissing Dazai goodnight outside of her apartment, then quietly getting ready for bed once he had left. What could have possibly happened between then and now? Whose voice was echoing around her? Why did her body feel so heavy, and why were her thoughts so incoherent? If she could just get up-

Oh.

Her wrists were bound behind her, the rest of her body anchored to the chair she was sat in by chains of steel. There was something large strapped to her abdomen emitting a beeping noise every few seconds.

Her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest as she slowly put together what was happening in her hazy mind.

“-Pay for your crimes by letting her die. This pretty little thing only has three hours left,” the gruff voice continued, sounding much clearer and much closer than before. Her panic increased tenfold as she realized the mystery man was directly behind her. Before she could fully prepare for it, a large hand suddenly grabbed a fistful of hair on her scalp and yanked her slumped head upwards. The pain forced her eyes open and she was greeted with a camera pointed at her, along with a room full of armed men. Her eyes slowly widened in terror and clarity as it all finally clicked in that moment, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit what was happening to her.

I’ve been kidnapped as a means to get back at the agency.

There’s a bomb strapped to me.

I have three hours to live.

The tears started then. Even though she could vaguely recognize that she was being recorded for the Agency’s viewing and it would only worry Dazai more if he saw her in so much distress, she couldn’t help her panic. No matter how strong she wanted to be for him, this was terrifying. Her life was suddenly on the line and she would die at the hands of these men if the agency couldn’t find her in time.

“Please,” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling pathetic as she let out a choked sob. Her voice cracked from disuse and she felt like she might hyperventilate. “Please, no. I don’t want to die.” The room filled with cruel laughter at her naive pleas, and she could only sink further into despair as the gravity of her situation became painfully evident. These were ruthless killers who were happy to see an innocent woman die for nothing more than the sake of revenge.

“Hear that, detectives? She’s begging for her life. What are you gonna do about it? The clock is ticking,” The man behind her sneered, grabbing her face in his calloused hand and squeezing it. She weakly attempted to yank her head away from his grasp and maintain her last shred of dignity. He was taunting them with her, the bastard.

Weaponizing their good nature and care for her. Trying to break them; trying to break her sweet Dazai.

Oh god- Dazai.

The more she thought about him, the more her tears flowed. Dazai, whose greatest fear was putting her in danger with his line of work. Dazai, who had lost so much more than a person should. Dazai, who loved and cared for her more than anyone she had ever known. The mere idea of him sitting at the agency headquarters, watching in horror while these unknown men teased him with her life, was too much to bear.

Through her cries of terror, Y/N could just barely overhear the man saying something else into the camera before ordering one of his subordinates to cut the footage. Dread filled the pit of her stomach as they turned their full attention on her and she realized she was truly alone with these psychopaths.

She had no way of knowing if the ADA was coming for her, or if they would be able to get to her in time. Hell, she didn’t even know if they would be able to diffuse the complicated bomb even if they did manage to reach her before it was set to detonate. She certainly didn’t want them to risk their own lives just to save her, even if the thought of dying in an explosion shook her to her core.

She felt her hope drain away with each new tick of the bomb, her body shaking with fear. Three hours was an awfully short time.

Please, Osamu.

My time is running out.

Dazai had never felt a rage quite like this before.

He knew that something was wrong the moment the agency had received a video from an untraceable source and Y/N hadn’t texted him about her day. That didn’t stop his heart from dropping clear to his stomach when he saw her on the monitor, chained up and bloody with a bomb on her chest.

No. Not her.

He avoided the nervous gazes of Atsushi and the rest of the agency members as he stared at her unconscious body on the screen, jaw clenched unimaginably tight and hands gripping the wood of the conference room table. The man standing in front of her was droning on about how Dazai had personally wronged his pathetic organization —something about putting a stop to their human trafficking network with the help of Kunikida— but he couldn’t bring himself to listen or even care.

He was attempting to keep his composure by focusing on the facts of the case. Namely, the extent of her injuries and her location.

Blood was dripping down the side of her face from her temple, some of it dried and caked in her hair. The bastards had likely hit her with some sort of blunt object to knock her out. His fury only grew at the thought of her being treated with such senseless violence. She still seemed dazed and confused as the man forced her awake to face the camera, a sure sign of a concussion or even drugging to further subdue her. She had a few more bruises and bloody cuts on her face, and he knew by the way the metal chains cut into her skin that they would cause serious irritation at the very least.

He couldn’t help but screw his eyes shut and let out a shuddering breath as her weak and desperate pleas reached his ears. The complete and utter terror in her voice as she begged her captors for mercy was nothing short of gut-wrenching to him. Even worse, the man was taunting Dazai with her pain. Smugly showing off her broken body like some sort of prize. She’s suffering because of you, a small voice in his head spat, making Dazai grit his teeth even more. No. Focus, you idiot. Focus on where they’re keeping her.

She looked to be trapped in some kind of metal room, potentially reinforced with anti-ability precautions to keep them from easily reaching her. The cell was dingy, dark, and silent, leading him to wonder if she was being kept somewhere underground. That would be a likely spot for these despicable cockroaches to hide. There were just over a dozen guards surrounding her, although they wouldn’t be an issue in the grand scheme of things; the ADA could certainly handle a few thugs with guns. What concerned him most was the bomb strapped to her chest.

There were plenty of geniuses among their ragtag team, but bombs were tricky. There could be dozens of triggers on it, or someone could detonate it remotely if anyone got too close to her. A single misstep or miscalculation could immediately cost Y/N’s life, and that was a risk Dazai certainly wasn’t willing to take.

He was furious at himself for letting this happen. He was so careful- always keeping tabs on her, steering her away from involvement in ADA antics, keeping an ear to the ground for trouble in the Yokohama underworld. He was constantly calculating and preparing for every outcome, always several steps ahead of his enemies with his dizzying plans. And yet, somehow, this measly organization he could hardly remember had managed to snatch his girlfriend out from under him with almost no trouble at all.

She was in mortal danger, and it was all his fault.

“Snap out of it, Dazai, I can hear your thoughts from all the way over here,” Kunikida piped up from across the room, his voice sympathetic but stern as he glared at his partner. “You need to keep your head on straight if we want to get her back.” He could tell just by reading Dazai’s expression how much inner turmoil the man was going through. How much he blamed himself for Y/N’s capture. But if they were going to rescue her before the three hours were up, there was no time for wallowing in self pity.

“Kunikida’s right,” Fukuzawa’s booming voice spoke, causing Dazai’s distant gaze to snap over to his boss in an instant. The fact that he was involved in the case at all revealed just how seriously the entire agency was taking her kidnapping. “Time is not on our side. We must be swift and rational if we are to have any hope of getting to Y/N and disabling the bomb in time.” Their words struck Dazai to his core. It was hard to remember that the other ADA members also cared deeply for his girlfriend, and they were willing to go so far as to put their lives at risk to help him get her back. Their unwavering support seemed to snap him out of his stupor and focus on the task at hand.

Get her back from those sorry motherfuckers.

“Right,” he nodded curtly, his expression suddenly devoid of all emotion as he turned to face the team with renewed focus and determination. “Ranpo-san, what’s the plan?”

The raven-haired detective, who had been quietly perched on the window sill and shadowed by the deep orange sunlight filtering into the room, suddenly jumped down from his seat and whipped out his pair of glasses in a flash. His trademark smirk spread across his face as he placed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, poised to activate his ability.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Fifteen minutes.

That’s what the little timer read—from what she could tell, anyway. Y/N’s heart felt like it would burst out of her chest. She was drenched in sweat from the overwhelming fear taking over her body, despite her cell being practically freezing. The men had left her alone a while ago, but not before roughing her up for good measure. She now sported a throbbing bruise under her eye and a few new cuts on her face and neck, but she had blocked all of the pain out. All she could feel was pure panic as the countdown to her impending doom grew shorter and shorter.

She had no idea if Dazai and the rest of the ADA were even close to figuring out where she was, and her hope was beginning to run out. How could they possibly find her and disarm the bomb in a mere fifteen minutes? It didn’t seem at all possible, no matter how skilled they were. A single tear ran down her cheek as the reality set in. She was really going to die.

Trying to find some form of comfort as the seconds ticked away and she neared what she assumed were her last moments, Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and forced her mind to go somewhere else—anywhere else—to escape this hell.

Dazai’s soft laughter filled her ears.

It was a lazy Sunday morning- the couple’s favorite time to lay in bed for the whole day and forget their actual adult responsibilities. They were tangled up in fresh sheets, warm sunlight streaming through the windows as Dazai playfully teased her about her refusal to let him get up.

“Five more minutes!” Y/N grumbled sleepily, burying her head into the crook of Dazai’s neck and breathing in his fresh scent. He still smelled like the floral body wash he had used in the shower the night before; the same body wash she had bought him when he insisted he loved the way it smelled on her and needed some for himself. Catching traces of its scent on him always brought a smile to her face.

“You said that five minutes ago,” he chuckled, his voice still husky from sleep. His hand absentmindedly massaged her scalp as he held her tight to his chest. “You can hear my stomach practically begging for food. Are you trying to starve me, my love?” Y/N was seemingly unaffected by his dramatic ploy to escape her embrace. “Yes,” she answered simply, burrowing further into his t-shirt to hide her smile that would give away her crumbling resolve. Of course, there was no hiding anything from Dazai Osamu.

“I saw that!” He gasped, playfully poking at her face. “My Y/N does care about me, who would have thought!” She couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her lips at her boyfriend’s theatrics. He was always blowing things out of proportion, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t love it.

Daring to peek up at him with heavy eyelids, her eyes met gentle brown staring back at her with nothing but warmth and fondness. The lovesick smile plastered across his face sent butterflies rushing through her stomach and she suddenly felt shy. His eyes were so pretty. “If you get up, I’ll be so lonely without you,” she pouted, hands snaking around his waist as she gave him her best puppy dog eyes. She knew she was playing dirty by pulling the pity card, but she also couldn’t stand the thought of being away from his comforting embrace for even a moment.

Dazai heaved a sigh, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as his hand moved to her face and gently brushed some of her hair away from her eyes. “Well how could I ever say no to that? I would rather starve than see my belladonna lonely and upset.” She rolled her eyes a let out an amused huff at his words, craning her neck so she was mere inches away from his face. “So you’ll stay?” She whispered, knowing that she’d already won the minute he hadn’t actually gotten up when he announced he needed breakfast.

Instead of responding right away, Dazai leaned down and planted a gentle kiss to her pouting mouth. She was just so irresistible. “Of course, darling,” he murmured against her lips, pulling her head back into his chest and smiling as he felt her snuggle closer. She truly was his everything. “Five more minutes with you is nothing short of pure bliss.”

Five minutes left.

Y/N thought she might pass out from the sheer terror that consumed her, threatening to pull her under completely. She would never see her friends again, including all of the agency members she had grown to call her family. She would die before saying goodbye to her loved ones- to Dazai. How would he react when he found her body, or what was left of it? How would he cope? The very thought forced a watery sob from her throat.

This is the end.

I’m going to die without seeing him one last time.

Suddenly, a loud bang sounded outside of the door to her prison and startled her out of her despair. It sounded like someone throwing their body against the heavy steel door. She froze, swallowing back her tears and preparing herself for the worst. Maybe the men were back to torture her one last time before setting off the bomb. As her mind came up with the worst possible scenarios, a familiar grunt reached her ears through the metal walls. It couldn’t be. After a beat, she heard the noise again. Then- “Y/N?”

She nearly stopped breathing at the sound of his angelic lilt. “…Samu?” She called out weakly, afraid to let herself be filled with hope in case it was some kind of cruel trick. “Y/N!” He yelled back, a mixture of desperation and relief in his voice as the banging noises continued. It was incredible how quickly hearing his voice had managed to relax her, even if she knew she was still in immediate danger. He always did have a calming effect on her. “Osamu, I don’t have much time left,” she gasped, desperately struggling against her restraints. Now that she knew he was here, she wanted nothing more than to be with him.

“I know, I know. I’m gonna get you out of here, baby,” he assured her through the cold metal door, giving the handle another frustrated jolt. Why couldn’t he have been blessed with a strength-related ability? “Those assholes had some ability users up their sleeve, so the others are busy trying to break through their defenses,” he explained in a rush, throwing his body into the door again despite the blooming pain in his shoulder. He wouldn’t have the help of Atsushi or Kenji like they had originally planned, and that worried him. “I promise, I won’t stop until I get into that room and you’re safe.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” a voice suddenly boomed over a hidden speaker, catching the attention of both Dazai and Y/N as their heads snapped upwards in near unison. Her blood ran cold as she recognized it as the voice of her captor. “Break into that room, and we’ll set off the bomb early. Didn’t you listen to us? This is your penance, Dazai,” he spoke, clear amusement in his tone. The bastard was watching them from somewhere else in the underground facility, enjoying their pain. Using it as entertainment.

Three minutes left.

Dazai grimaced outside of the door, hands balling into fists as a new fear and rage ignited inside of him. There was never going to be a way to reach her without the bomb going off. It was a cruel way to torture him; forcing him to either live with the guilt of leaving her and save his own life, or stay with her until the bitter end. It wasn’t a difficult choice to make.

As Y/N pieced together the new information, she quickly came to the same conclusion as her boyfriend and felt her eyes go wide. “Dazai, NO! Get away from here, now!” She screamed, fresh tears already burning in her eyes. She knew that he was selfless and loved her more than anything, but in that moment she wanted him to turn his back on her. To break her heart and leave her behind to save himself.

Ramming his now probably broken shoulder into the cold, unforgiving metal one last time, Dazai shook his head as he slowly sank to the floor. His hands were raw and bleeding from practically clawing at the wall for a weak point, but he didn’t care. Nothing else mattered anymore but staying with her. “I won’t leave you,” he said simply, leaning his head against the wall. The agony of knowing that she was in that room, alone and afraid, minutes away from her death, was crushing. But if he could offer her even the smallest comfort before that timer hit zero, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Meanwhile, Y/N was on the verge of a panic attack. Tears streamed down her face and she struggled to breathe, completely overwhelmed by what was happening. To have to accept that she really was about to die a horrible and graphic death in a few minutes was terrifying, but to know that Dazai was right outside the door and would also die if he stayed; that was too much. She knew how stubborn he was, but she had to try to make him leave anyway. Anything to get him to save himself.

“Please,” she cried desperately, consumed with grief as sobs wracked through her body. “You can’t stay, Dazai, you have to GO!” Hearing her in so much pain was like a thousand knives to the heart, but despite everything, Dazai couldn’t help the small smile that made its way onto his face. She really didn’t get it. “Go where, huh? There’s nowhere in this world I would go without you,” he spoke softly, shutting his eyes and letting out a small sigh. He seemed strangely content.

She continued to sob, choking on her breaths as the timer reached one minute. He was so stupid and selfless and wonderful- she couldn’t let him die. “Please…you can’t do this to me, you have to leave…you can’t stay,” she whimpered almost incoherently, barely able to yell anymore. Her strength was running out, her body exhausted from all of the mental turmoil. Still, she continued to strain against the chains wrapped tightly around her as if she could break them by sheer will. “Don’t be scared, Y/N,” he called to her, the smile still on his face. “I’m right here with you and I’m not leaving you. It’s gonna be okay.” Through the walls he could hear her voice break as she wailed in agony at his words, the sound blood-curdling.

Thirty seconds.

Dazai thought it ironic that this was the way he was going out; a tragic double suicide with his lover. It was almost funny. Almost. “I love you, darling. My sweet belladonna. Not even death can keep us apart,” he reassured her, opening his eyes and staring at the wall as if he could look straight through the metal and meet her gaze. His heart squeezed in his chest as she let out another horrible, strangled sob. “There- isn’t much time- left,” she gasped in between breaths, her whole body trembling. Why couldn’t he leave her? Why couldn’t he save himself? He was too important to the ADA, to the world, to die. The guilt was eating her alive.

Ten seconds.

“I love you, Y/N,” he repeated, and he was never more sure of his words. She let out one last piercing, guttural scream, pulling at the chains so hard her skin started to bleed. She thought she might faint from the agonizing anticipation as the clock counted down her last moments of life; their last moments. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut in defeat. He shook his head once again. She had nothing to be sorry for. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered one final time, placing his bloody hand against the door. Offering his comfort in their last seconds alive.

Three.

Two.

One.

Silence. A flash of white hot light. A horrible booming noise. Then, nothing.

The rest of the ADA halted in their battle at the sound of the explosion, staring at one another in horror. Smoke billowed out from one of the dingy tunnels, the familiar scent of flames filling the air. There was no way they had failed…right? The couldn’t have lost Y/N and Dazai; not when they had worked so hard to get out of the situation with everyone unharmed.

The sound of cackling laughter echoed through the underground base mere moments after the explosion, drawing their attention to a man emerging from the shadows. They immediately recognized him as the man from the video- the organization’s leader who had personally tormented Y/N.

“The great Dazai Osamu is dead,” he shrieked, his crazed laughter forcing him to double over. The rest of the organization’s thugs began to jeer and laugh along with him, celebrating their victory over the ADA’s elusive genius. Atsushi felt tears welling in his eyes, not just for the tragic and sudden loss of his brilliant mentor whom he deeply cared for, but for Y/N as well. Those pieces of shit didn’t even care that they had killed her too; to them she was just a means to an end. The sweet woman who had shown him nothing but kindness when he joined the ADA and brought so much joy into their lives…dead.

To his left, Kunikida was also fighting back angry tears, refusing to accept that his frustrating but brilliant partner had truly been killed by these incompetent fools. Kyoka and Kenji’s eyes were blown wide in shock while Tanizaki panted heavily, his mouth gaping. It seemed that none of them could actually comprehend that the pair were truly dead and gone.

“You detectives are nothing but a bunch of sentimental fools!” The man cackled, face red and eyes bulging. He looked insane. “I can’t believe your genius was lured and killed by such an easy trap. All it took was kidnapping that little bitch and blowing her up!” All of the ADA members tensed, looking visibly appalled by his cruel, demeaning words. Not only was this man completely unhinged, but he was outright mocking an innocent woman’s death.

It was sickening.

Just as the sinking feeling of dread began to settle in the pit of Atsushi’s stomach, a distant but familiar voice called out from the smoke to interrupt their little celebration. “Ah, you underestimate me…” the voice drawled, jerking everyone’s attention to the smoking tunnel. All of the color drained from the leader’s face as he watched three silhouettes slowly emerge from the haze. “No…that’s impossible!” He screeched, all confidence gone and white as a ghost as he pointed at the trio with a shaking finger. “I watched you die! I-I saw it with my own eyes!”

Dazai, Y/N, and Dr. Yosano appeared at the entrance of the tunnel as the smoke cleared, Y/N leaned against Dazai for support while Yosano brandished her weapon. Y/N looked slightly stunned and shaken up, but the two survivors otherwise seemed completely unharmed, no trace of any injuries on their bodies.

“You did,” Dazai flashed his signature shit-eating grin, eyes flicking over to their team’s resident doctor. “Thankfully we had a backup plan in case you tried anything dirty, like you did.”

Ranpo had luckily had the foresight to bring in Yosano from a different entry point and position her near the cell that Y/N was being held in once they figured out her location, in the event that things went wrong and the bomb went off. That way she was there to immediately patch them up with her ability once it detonated, making it so that the harm was only temporary. There had never been any real threat of death; as long as Yosano worked fast enough, that is.

“You were a fool to play with this woman’s life to get back at an enemy,” Yosano spat, pointing her cleaver at the now trembling man before her. “Those who do not properly respect life will receive the ultimate punishment!” The rest of the thugs glanced around uneasily, sensing a shift in the power dynamic of the fight. Suddenly their main target was alive and well, and the rest of the agency seemed even more bloodthirsty than before.

“I-Impossible! No!” He cried, slowly backing towards another tunnel. The ADA members adjusted their stances and stared him down with what could only be described as murderous glints in their eyes, making it clear that he wouldn’t be getting away without a gruesome fight. He gulped. “Take this as a lesson!” Dazai announced cheerfully, still smiling but now with a terrifyingly cold and emotionless look in his eyes.

“There are grave consequences for those who hurt the people I love. And you’ve stupidly chosen to hurt the person I love most.”

It was a blur after that, all hell breaking loose. Dazai quickly ordered Tanizaki to cloak Y/N with his ability and get her safely to the surface as fighting broke out all around them. She wanted to protest, but the look in his eyes told her that he just wanted to get her out of harm’s way for the time being and that’d he be back at her side as soon as he was done dealing with the room of pitiful men. She certainly didn’t want to stick around and see what he and the rest of the ADA had in store for them. He pressed one last comforting kiss to her forehead before sending her off to escape with the ginger detective, his fiercely protective gaze never once leaving her as she fled the scene.

Covering the two of them with Light Snow, Tanizaki grabbed Y/N by the wrist and rushed her out of the disgusting underground hideout, pulling her away from the violent fight that had broken out. He knew that it would only be a few minutes until the team was done putting those miserable scumbags in their place.

They eventually reached the entrance of the base after a few tense minutes of running through winding tunnels, finding Ranpo and a trusted driver from the agency waiting in a running car. Tanizaki carefully opened the backseat door for her and made sure she was safely in the car before stepping back, flashing a comforting smile. “I’m so happy to see that you’re safe, Y/N. Ranpo will take care of the rest and make sure you get back to the agency safely,” he quickly explained, nodding at the driver before closing the car door and giving her a small wave.

Although she was still shellshocked, she managed a small wave in return and and even smaller smile. “Thank you,” she mouthed as the car pulled away, grateful for his help in getting her out of that hellhole. She was happy to leave the horrible place behind.

“Good to see you, Y/N,” Ranpo greeted from the seat next to her, drawing her attention away from the now small spec that was Tanizaki. Seeing her old friend sitting next to her filled her with so much relief she could hardly breathe. She opened her mouth to thank him for everything, knowing that the elaborate rescue plan was his doing, but the words caught in her throat. Everything had happened so fast that she barely had any time to process it. The bomb going off, practically dying, being saved by Yosano, briefly reuniting with Dazai, escaping the underground labyrinth. She was so overwhelmed with emotion as she realized she was actually alive and safe. Dazai was alive and safe.

We survived…

but we almost didn’t.

She promptly bent over and threw up onto the floor of the car.

Ranpo shrank into the corner of his seat, looking wildly uncomfortable but biting back his usual snarky and tone-deaf remarks. She had been through a lot, and her body had to expel all of those suffocating emotions somehow. “I had a feeling you would do that,” he grimaced, but he nonetheless leaned over and gently pat her back in a small act of comfort. Coughing on bile, Y/N felt hot tears burning the back of her eyes at the detective’s kind gesture. Everyone at the agency had shown up to help her in one way or another, and it was staggering to see just how much they cared.

Even in this very vulnerable moment, Ranpo was offering his genuine support, something that was incredibly rare for him. She would have to buy him a big care package of his favorite snacks later to show her gratitude for all he had done for her.

Eventually the car arrived at the agency, the normally bustling streets of Yokohama quiet and deserted in the late hour. Y/N apologized profusely to the driver for the small mess in the car, thoroughly embarrassed even though she hadn’t been able to help it. He simply dismissed it with a wave of his hand and an understanding smile. “No problem whatsoever, miss. You just take it easy.”

With that, Ranpo carefully guided her into the safety of the agency, leading her upstairs with one arm draped over her shoulder. When the pair finally reached the office, Y/N practically collapsed into one of the couches in the lounge area, letting out a sigh and massaging her temples to try and soothe her pounding head. Being dehydrated and malnourished for nearly 24 hours wasn’t exactly helping her stress-induced headache that had quickly developed in the car ride over.

Once again, as if reading her mind, Ranpo disappeared for a moment before returning with a water bottle, a few snacks, medicine, and a blanket in his arms, placing them on the coffee table in front of her. It was like he knew everything she needed- and he probably did. “Rest up and take care of yourself,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate. “I’m sure Dazai will be here soon to take you home, but in the meantime try to relax and get some food and water in you. You’ve had a long day.” She smiled gratefully, albeit a little tiredly, at the gesture. Yet another rare display of his care.

“Thank you, for everything,” she whispered, trying to convey just how sincerely she meant those words. She wouldn’t soon forget his help. He flashed her a small, lopsided grin before waving her off dramatically. “It was nothing for the world’s greatest detective!” He declared, pointing a finger into the air before turning on his heels and making his way back to his desk, munching on a snack of his own. Just like that, Y/N was alone.

She quietly opened one of the snacks Ranpo had provided her, washing down some pain-relief pills with the water after she’d eaten a few bites. When her nauseous stomach began to protest the food, she forced herself to stop. Although she was still incredibly hungry, she certainly didn’t want to end up with another mess to clean up. Shuddering at the thought, she wrapped herself up with the plush blanket and tried to calm her racing heart. Her mind was still reeling from everything. The constant thoughts of the traumatic events she had just undergone only made her headache and nausea worse by the minute, and her brain felt like it might explode.

She was exhausted.

If she could just clear her mind and close her eyes for a moment…

Without even realizing she had dozed off on the couch, she awoke some time later to the feeling of a slender hand cupping her cheek, stroking her jaw with delicate precision. She didn’t even have to open her eyes to know it was Dazai. “Wake up, my love,” his hushed voice cooed, immediately pulling her from her slumber. Slowly blinking her eyes open, she was met with his comforting smile, but his eyes were unimaginably sad. Her heart ached.

“Ready to go home?”

Nodding sleepily, Y/N slowly picked herself up from the couch, shrugging the blanket off her shoulders and neatly folding it up before placing it back on the coffee table. After gathering her bearings, she realized that some of the other agency members had also returned to the office, likely to fill out paperwork before heading home for the night. She felt a pang of guilt shoot through her as she realized they would have to do extra work because of her. If you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself kidnapped, they would all be home sleeping right now.

A dreadful thought suddenly crossed her mind. Would she have to fill out paperwork and recount what had happened to her? It seemed likely, as they kept track of nearly every incident like this. The very idea made another wave of nausea roll through her.

As if sensing her worry, Kunikida rounded the corner with a stack of papers in-hand, taking in her dead-tired appearance with a single glance. “Just so you know, we will need a statement on what happened eventually, Y/N, but I don’t want you to even think about it until you’re recovered and ready to talk,” he instructed, concern and sympathy evident in his expression despite his no-nonsense tone. He was truly glad to see her safe and back under the protection of the agency. Y/N nodded, relieved that she wouldn’t have to recount the traumatic events until she was ready. At the moment she couldn’t even imagine a time when she would ever feel ready.

Turning his attention to Dazai, the sympathetic look vanished from Kunikida’s face and morphed into one of general annoyance. “Don’t think that you’re getting out of doing the paperwork just because you almost died,” he barked, jabbing an accusing finger at his partner’s chest. “It’s no excuse to be lazy.”

Dazai placed a hand to his heart and looked aghast, as if the very insinuation of him trying to avoid paperwork was ridiculous. “Me? Getting out of paperwork? Really, Kunikida-kun, what do you take me for?” He gasped, earning a growl and a sharp smack to the head with a roll of papers.

Their antics miraculously drew out a soft chuckle from Y/N’s lips, but it was half-hearted at best. As enjoyable as Dazai and Kunikida’s banter was, her eyes still drooped with fatigue and her anxious mind longed to rest in the comfort of her own home. She just wanted this horrible day to be over with. Gaze dropping to Y/N’s face at the sound of her reserved amusement, Dazai quickly noted the weight of her exhaustion and took it as their cue to leave.

“I think it’s time for us to get home,” he announced, glancing back up at Kunikida and sharing a knowing look with him. The blond held his stare for a moment before sighing, giving a small nod before politely bidding the two a good night and moving on to pester Ranpo about doing his work.

Placing a hand on the small of her back, Dazai carefully led Y/N out of the agency and into the streets of Yokohama below, glancing at her every few minutes to make sure she was doing ok. She was quiet during the walk home, her expression blank and her eyelids heavy. He found himself wishing he could figure out what she was thinking. Normally he could read her like a book, always knowing exactly how she was feeling or what was troubling her. Now she just seemed numb. A dark part of his mind feared that she was distancing herself from him because their relationship had nearly gotten her killed.

Would she even want to be with him anymore? Would she leave him to heal the trauma he had caused her? He shuddered at the thought.

Eventually arriving at their destination, Y/N quickly realized that Dazai had led her back to his apartment instead of her own. That’s right. Mine was broken into, and no one’s been around to clean up the mess that was probably left behind. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness. There was no way she would’ve been able to keep her composure if she had walked into her home and seen the evidence of her capture.

Walking into the entryway after Dazai had unlocked the door, Y/N immediately wanted to cry as the warm, familiar scent of his apartment hit her. It just smelled like him, something she thought she’d lost mere hours ago. The familiarity of the space nearly brought tears to her eyes.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

Noticing her distant, watery gaze, Dazai quickly swooped in to distract her, helping her slip out of her shoes and guiding her to the bedroom to change out of her clothes. Although Yosano had done away with all of the physical injuries on her body, she still felt dirty, the scent of mold and metal clinging to her shirt. It drew her back to that room and the horrible, agonizingly slow ticking of the bomb. The memories lingered in the back of her mind as she discarded her old clothes, slipping into a comfortable t-shirt and a soft pair of shorts that she kept in Dazai’s drawer for the nights when she slept over.

“Better?” Dazai questioned softly when she had finished changing, eyes searching hers almost frantically for any sign of discomfort. He wanted to help her in any way possible, but for once in his life, he didn’t know what to do. The day had taken a toll on him as well and he was struggling to maintain his calm facade. Staring deep into his eyes, she gave the slightest of nods and opened her mouth to reassure him, to tell him that she was ok now. She was home, she was safe thanks to him, she was with him- everything had turned out just fine. But for the second time that night, the words refused to come out.

Instead, she just stared in silence before collapsing into a sudden fit of sobs, knees buckling and sending her falling to the hardwood below. Panicked, Dazai scrambled to meet her at the floor, strong arms holding her steady while she attempted to muffle her pained cries with the palm of her hand. Her sudden tears had him terrified that he had done something wrong. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter, angel? Please, let me help-“ he couldn’t even finish his sentence before she threw herself into his arms, holding him tighter than she had ever held anyone.

Her desperation to feel him and be close to him now was due to the fact that their reunion in the underground base had been so short lived. Y/N was in too much shock, not understanding how she had gone from dying a gruesome death to perfectly fine in only a matter of seconds. She could barely even register Dazai’s arms wrapped around her in a bone crushing hug or the sweet encouragements he was whispering in her ear.

Dazai was used to Yosano’s incredible ability. Having been saved by it countless times, being revived by the dark-haired doctor was practically second nature to him. But Y/N was still reeling from the excruciating pain she had experienced moments ago that had just vanished. It was like it had tattooed itself under her skin, a painful memory of her near-death.

The shock of being revived clouded her mind as Dazai had clutched her body close, kissing her forehead and squeezing her tight. She couldn’t even enjoy the pure relief that normally would have filled her when she pieced together that she was alive and safe in her loving boyfriend’s arms. Before she could comprehend what was going on, he had already helped her off the ground and had begun to walk her down the hallway with Yosano, headed towards the main fight.

Now, on the floor of Dazai’s dark bedroom, her mind had finally registered exactly what had transpired mere hours ago. He sacrificed himself just so I wouldn’t be alone in my last moments. He stayed with me until the very end, and he was the first thing I saw after I was healed by Yosano. He means more to me than anyone ever has- and I almost got him killed.

Shushing her cries of despair, Dazai cradled her head to his chest, feeling tears building in his own eyes. He just wanted to take all of her pain away. “Shhh…it’s alright, darling, you’re safe,” he whispered into her ear, feeling her grip around him tighten even more. She was gasping for breath, practically hyperventilating. It seemed her distress was never ending. “Please, my love…please tell me what’s wrong…I want to help you,” he muttered, stroking her hair and pressing gentle kisses into the crown of her head. Her muffled cries only grew louder and he only felt more helpless.

Eventually, after a few minutes of his hushed reassurances and tight, comforting hold, she managed to catch her breath enough to speak. When she pulled away from his chest and finally looked up at him, her eyes held a sorrow so deep that it broke Dazai’s heart all over again. “I- I’m so sorry,” she rasped, sounding completely broken. “You almost died because of me. I hurt you.” Another watery sob escaped her throat before she hung her head and pressed a hand to her lips yet again to stifle her pained cries.

Her words left him in utter shock. He couldn’t imagine how she could possibly think any of this was on her. Not when the truth was the complete opposite. It was time for him to be honest about his feelings, no matter how terrifying it was. “Hey…will you look at me?” He questioned gently, tilting her chin upwards with his finger to guide her gaze back to his. The smallest of smiles graced his lips when she finally complied, glassy eyes locking on his own. “There you are. It hurts that you blame yourself at all, darling. Especially when it’s me you have to blame for all of this.” When her distraught expression morphed into one of confusion, his hands made their way to her own, squeezing them tight. She absentmindedly stroked her thumb along his wrist in a comforting gesture, urging him to explain.

“…I knew Yosano would be there the whole time we were trying to rescue you. I knew she was waiting for us in case things went wrong, and that she would heal us if the bomb went off,” he began, staring intently into her eyes as he spoke. “But listening to you in there, scared and alone, waiting for it to detonate, was horrible. It was the worst possible scenario that we tried so hard to avoid. And knowing that you would have to endure the god awful pain of the explosion even for a moment, and I could do nothing about it, made me sick. It was just another cruel reminder that I always end up hurting the people I care for.”

His sincere confession had stunned Y/N. Though she and her boyfriend were incredibly close, Dazai was a fairly private person who didn’t often air his deep insecurities. The fact that he was being so vulnerable in this moment told her just how genuine his words were, and it hurt like hell to hear. Before she could say anything to rebut his confession, he continued. “I just feel like…a curse to the people I love most. They’ll always be hurt or worse because of me. And it’s so hard to live with myself because of that.”

Eyes widening, Y/N shook her head in disbelief. She couldn’t even imagine where his horrible self-deprecating talk was coming from. “How could you even say that? You saved me. I’m only here and alive because of you and the agency.” He let out a soft, humorless chuckle at her words, his gaze distant. “I failed you, my love. You were almost killed because of me.” He practically spat the word out, like he was disgusted with himself. His grip on her hands tightened.

“The whole reason those men took you in the first place was to get revenge on me. To force me to choose to live with the guilt of letting you die, or die alongside you. The fact that you had to be wrapped up in all that, traumatized and hurt and almost killed because of my enemies, my line of work…” he trailed off, his voice nearly breaking as his eyes begged her to understand. “No matter how careful I was and how much I tried to protect you, it meant nothing in the end.”

The guilt inside of him was all-consuming. Yes, they had saved her. Yes, they had made sure that the organization would never lay a finger on her or anyone else ever again. But what if something had gone wrong? What if they had been outsmarted, and Yosano hadn’t been waiting in the wings to heal them after the bomb went off? Y/N had been tortured, terrified, in pain because of him. To know that it was his fault that she had been scarred so deeply was his own personal hell.

In a way, the assholes who kidnapped her had won. It was Dazai’s penance, as their leader had called it- still living with the crushing guilt even after he had saved her. Hating himself over and over again for putting her in that position in the first place. Remembering her in the video, bruised and bloody and scared for her life. Constantly reliving her desperate cries for him to leave her in those final moments while he was utterly helpless to save her.

It was torture.

He just felt so stupid for being outsmarted by the lowly organization and allowing his precious lover to get hurt in the process.

“Dazai,” Y/N spoke sharply, effectively snapping him out of his spiral. She rarely called him Dazai unless she was being serious, and she couldn’t stand hearing him blame himself for one more second. “I won’t lie to you and say that today wasn’t one of the worst days of my life. The fear I felt, knowing I’d been taken from my home, having to count down the minutes to my death…” she paused, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head as if willing away the unpleasant memories. He patiently waited for her to come back to herself, giving her hands a comforting squeeze.

“…It’ll take me a long time to get over that,” she finally admitted after a moment. “But the worst part of it wasn’t being kidnapped, or hurt by those men, or waiting for the inevitable explosion. It was thinking that I was going to lose you too. All I could focus on in those last minutes was you behind that door, too stubborn to leave me. All I could think about was how much I loved you, and how much I wanted you to be selfish for once and save yourself.”

She watched as he blinked back tears, a mystified expression in his face. As if the very thought of someone worrying about him and his life was completely foreign. Wanting to make herself absolutely clear, she kept going, no matter how much it hurt to see him struggling to understand her love for him. “I could never blame you for what happened. Those men did this to us- they caused all this pain and hurt. Not you.”

Her words left him dumbfounded, to say the least. They managed to remind him of why he loved her as fiercely as he did- she was the good in his life. Even after such a traumatic experience, she was incapable of blaming him for what had happened. Her love and compassion for him despite the darkness he brought into their lives was eye opening, forcing him to realize that no matter how much he thought it untrue, he was capable of being loved.

And how lucky he was to be loved by her.

Unable to articulate his complicated feelings any other way, Dazai cupped her face and surged forward, pressing his lips into her own and kissing her with such genuine fervor that it left Y/N breathless. Although she was momentarily shocked by his sudden show of affection, it quickly wore off as she melted into him. This was the first time they had truly kissed since reuniting, and they were each aching to communicate just how much they loved one another. How close they were to losing their other half; the person that completely them.

Her hands raked through his brown curls almost erratically, desperate to compensate for those long, torturous hours spent away from him. He seemed equally if not more hungry for her touch, like he was trying to prove to himself that she was really there with him after their near death experience. His slender fingers glided across her body and gripped her closer to him, nearly feral in his pursuit to feel every inch of her. She tugged at the hair near the base of his head and elicited a low, rumbling moan in return.

“My beautiful girl,” he rasped as he briefly pulled away, eyes roaming over her body with a look of complete infatuation. She was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen—and he’d almost lost her. His arm snaked around her waist to tug her impossibly closer, practically pulling her into his lap. She didn’t mind.

He continued to plant kisses all over her face, her hair, her jaw- anywhere he could reach. His lips ghosted over every inch of skin that had previously been covered in blood or bruises, almost as though he had memorized the exact locations of all her injuries just from watching the video hours ago. Knowing Dazai, he probably had committed all of her injuries to memory.

In between kisses, he muttered gentle praises and affections into her ear, all of which made her face flush a deep red. She would never tire of the way his whispered adorations made her heart race and the feeling of his soft lips against her skin. “My darling. My sweet belladonna. You’re everything to me. Everything,” he breathed, kissing the tip of her nose. “Words cannot even describe how much you mean to me. I’m nothing without you.”

Y/N rolled her head back as his lips trailed up her neck and neared her jawline, sucking in a sharp breath when his hands moved into her hair and his grip tightened. His kisses were becoming more passionate, more anxious to prove to her how grateful he was that she was finally back in his arms. That he would never let anyone lay a hand on her again. She allowed his love the wash over her, happily reciprocating when his lips finally captured her own once again.

He tasted like salty tears and home.

Eventually breaking away from one another to catch their breath, Y/N rested her forehead against Dazai’s and let out a shaky sigh, finally letting herself feel safe after what had felt like an eternity of fear and unease. Just being in his presence was enough to help alleviate some of crushing panic she had felt just hours ago.

“Thank you for being with me. For always protecting me, even when you think you’re not. And for never leaving me behind,” she whispered, glancing up into his big brown eyes that were mere inches away from her own. Although the thought of him almost dying with her in the explosion filled her entire being with dread, his determination to stay with her and offer her comfort until the very end meant more to her than she could explain.

“I wouldn’t dream of abandoning you. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life protecting you and making sure something like this never happens again,” he assured her with nothing but sincerity in his soothing voice, taking her hands and gently brushing his lips over her knuckles. Her eyes fluttered closed at the gesture. “You are the most wonderful thing in my life. My reason for living at all. It’s hard to wrap my head around what I’ve possibly done to deserve you, but I promise I’ll do everything within my power to cherish you and keep you safe as long as I live.”

Y/N felt herself genuinely smiling for the first time in hours at her lover’s words. She was filled with such utter relief to be back in the safety of his arms. To be home, alive, and in love despite it all. Her heart felt like it would burst from all the love it held for Dazai Osamu.

“I love you,” she breathed, eyes meeting gentle brown once again. She was desperate for him to understand just how much she meant those words. To convey how safe he made her feel, and how much his presence comforted her. That no matter the danger she was in, she knew he would always be there for her.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he replied effortlessly, a part of him melting at the sight of her smile. He would burn the world just to keep that beautiful expression on her face. He made a silent vow to himself in that moment— no matter what it took, he would never lose her again.

The two eventually ended up in Dazai’s bed, practically clinging to one another as they shifted into a comfortable position. There would be no such thing as personal space that night. Y/N, who had been worried that the horrors she had faced would keep her exhausted body awake through the night, was pleasantly surprised to find that she was calm and content in Dazai’s embrace, already dozing off. He chuckled softly as her whole body relaxed against him.

“Sleep tight, my love. I’ve got you,” he mumbled into her hair, his warm breath fanning across her neck. She shivered and nuzzled herself further into his embrace, a soft smile on her face. No harm would come to her so long as she was in his arms.

Though they were both still riddled with guilt and turbulent emotions from the terrible night, they silently agreed to let go of their baggage for the time being and just appreciate one another, falling asleep in each other’s embrace.

Safe and home at last.

………………………………………………………………………………….

☆ note: yeahhhh dazai fic! i literally haven’t written in ages but i’ve been knee-deep in my bungo stray dogs era and dazai is taking up most of my brain capacity at the moment. this feels both rushed and wayyyy too long at the same time lol, i just had that feral writing energy and had to get it off my chest as soon as possible. it might be a mess but i’m exhausted and i’ve reread it too many times to catch all my mistakes lmaooo whatever. thanks so much for reading :)

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beingsuneone · 6 months

Text

Memories & Delusions

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

SYNOPSIS: Jason Todd is dead, you have to remember that; even if the newest villain in town is both incredibly sexy and reminds you of the boy you used to love.

FANDOM: DC

PAIRING(S): Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

RATING: PG

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Tim

GENRE/AU: fluff, different timeline AU (not mentioned in detail but the timeline is different than canon), canon divergence, reader is kind of like Stephanie so NOT Bruce’s kids but she does live in the manor.

WORD COUNT: 3.9k

WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of blood and injuries.

A/N: I could fs do a part two to this ;)

DEDICATIONS: Myself for having this idea for more than two years and finally getting it out in writing in some way

CREDITS: N/A

“Jesus Christ! Who the fuck is this guy, Batman?” You exclaim, panting hard through your mask; whoever this Red Hood guy is… he really knows your team's weaknesses. It’s disconcerting.

Weirdly enough, he’s left you mostly alone.

Bruce shrugs from across the room. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

It’s a blur of movement as Red Hood tries to attack mostly Bruce, only attacking Dick or you if you get in the way.

He’s said almost nothing since this fight started.

After a few minutes, Bruce sends a signal and jumps out of the half destroyed building; Dick follows and jumps out shortly after.

Leaving just you and Gothams latest criminal.

You’re about to turn to jump again, when suddenly your wrist is caught in Red Hood’s hand.

The familiarity of it makes you gasp and freeze.

He stares down at you, intimidating and silent through his red helmet.

Returning his stare, with as much fiery energy as you can muster, you try to pull your wrist away; His grip is like iron and you can’t.

“Don’t get in my way, Y/n.” He says, making your heart drop with the use of your civilian name. “I won’t choose between you and my goal.”

Your back is rigid and you’re breathing has stopped… if he knows your name, that means he probably knows everyone else’s too.

Fuck.

He finally lets go, brushing past your stiff body.

You’re too shocked to follow him.

….

“He knew my name, Bruce!” You say, feeling panicked. “Do you know what that means?”

Bruce nods curtly. “It means you aren’t suiting up until we’ve taken him down.” You try to protest but Bruce holds a hand up to cut you off. “It’s not up for discussion.”

You fidget with the small red pendant hanging around your neck, something you do whenever you’re feeling too many emotions.

It reminds you of Jason, the first boy you’ve ever been in love with and also the last; Jason was also Bruce’s second adopted son.

Jason Todd died five years ago.

But when he was alive… There was something special about him. He was always so eager to help Bruce by being robin.

That was back before you had your own suit; really, you’d only gotten a superhero identity so you could hunt down the joker and get revenge for Jason, but Bruce had managed to convince you not to do that in the last five years.

Probably for the best, even if seventeen is too young for someone to die; even if having a strong bond ripped away from you before it could become anything still hurt so badly.

You follow Bruce down into the batcave. “What do we know about Red Hood? Do we have any idea how he originated? It seems like he just popped out of nowhere.”

Bruce contemplates his answer as he unlocks the bat computer. “All we know is that he would have had to fly under our radar for months in order to take over the whole underground drug ring.”

You over hover his shoulder, trying to see what’s on the screen below him. “I don’t understand how we wouldn’t hear anything about him? With that many people who work for him, you’d think one of them would mention something.”

He hums in response. “They must be terrified of him.”

Alfred inserts himself into the conversation and ushers you back into the main part of the manor. “Alright, Miss. Y/n, You’re officially off duty indefinitely.” He pauses. “Like Master Bruce said, it is safer if you disconnect yourself from your hero identity.”

You frown. “If he knows my real name, he probably knows where I live.”

“He also told you, quote ‘don’t get in my way’ end quote.” Alfred tuts. “He clearly has no intention of hurting you as a civilian.”

You huff and head up to your bedroom, feeling like you really need to be out there but not really knowing why.

You suppose you don’t know what to do with your time anymore, now that you’ve been superhero-ing for so long.

When was the last time you read a book? Or watched a movie, just because you wanted to? It’s been too long…

Your bookshelves mostly carry decorative encyclopedias and other books that would bore you to sleep, so you leave your room and head just down the hallway.

The door creaks as you push open and clicks when you push it shut; then, you’re left in the silence of Jason Todd’s bedroom. Unchanged and untouched from the last moment he was in here.

It’s a little messy but nothing out of the ordinary for a teenage boy; the bed was never made, and his clothes were ever put in his drawers despite them being washed.

There’s books pulled out and just scattered in places, schoolbooks, comic books, novels… finally you spot what you wanted to find.

It’s a very old and very worn copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, something the two of you used to read together when you’d sneak onto the roof of the manor at nighttime.

You’d watch the stars and one of you would read the book out loud, until eventually you both would pass out and give Bruce a heart attack the next morning.

Maybe it was time to revisit that tradition, even if you were only reading to yourself.

Bruce and Alfred are in the Cave so you find your way into the roof and lay back. The shingles are definitely more uncomfortable without Jason to lay on, but it’s still a nice feeling nonetheless.

Just the act of laying under the stars with that book in your hands, makes you feel a kind of warmth that you haven’t felt in years.

You close your eyes and take a long, deep breath of night air; It’s fresh and ever so slightly damp, but in a way that makes you feel nice. The cold nips at your body in all the right ways.

Unfortunately, all bliss is momentary, and someone clearing their throat makes you jump a couple centimeters upwards.

You’re met with the bright red helmet of Red Hood.

“Pride and Prejudice, huh?” He says casually, though you're pretty sure he has a voice changer on, which makes his voice sound more irritated than it probably is.

You back up a few inches. “Bru-” Red Hood slaps a hand over your mouth before you can finish yelling for help.

You squirm in his grip, but he just maneuvers you so that your back is to his chest and you can barely move which makes your body lock up again— you can’t help the feeling of familiarity that settles in your stomach, or the way your body reacts to his.

Worst of all, he smells just like… no, it must just be where you are.

Jason Todd is dead.

And yet.

“Relax, Y/n, I’m not here to hurt you.” Something about him makes you listen and you relax your body. He kind of half-scoffs in response. “Are you done?”

You nod as best you can. He releases you.

“Who— why are you here?” You say, trying to ignore the fact that everything about this masked man reminds you of Jason.

Your chest rises and falls irregularly as he stares at you.

His head snaps away randomly. “Why should I tell you that?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question.”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

There’s a look of defiance shared between the two of you, or, at least, on your end. You can’t actually see his face so you’re really just assuming.

You spin away and blow out a labored breath. “God, I must be going insane…” Even the way he talks with you sounds like Jason.

“You’re so short, you look like a bunny who lost its carrot.” He says with a laugh.

“I do not!” You exclaim angrily, your mouth dropping open. “Okay, that’s it, I’m calling Bruce.” Your hand slips into your pocket to pull out your phone, and just as it's out of your pocket, Red Hood grabs your wrist; he traps it in one spot and yanks the phone from your hand.

He gently sets it on the ground. “Tell that fucker whatever you want, but wait until I’m gone.” The tone in his voice sends a chill down your spine. He seems so angry…

With that, he leaves, taken the same way that you took off the roof.

You stand there until you hear the roar of his motorbike, and then you finally retreat from the roof with the book clutched tightly to your chest.

…..

“I’m going with you, Bruce. You can’t stop me.” You say, already moving to try to grab your suit.

“No, you’re not.” He says sternly, blocking your path. “You need to stay out of this fight.”

You raise your eyebrows in challenge. “I’m going whether you let me wear that suit or not.” Bruce apparently doesn’t like this because he frowns even harder than before. You continue, “You can’t go alone. Dick is out of town and Tim is at school. Let me come.”

“You forget I did this by myself for quite a while before I adopted Dick.” He says firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Bruce doesn’t need your help, you know that; helping him isn’t your real goal.

Ever since the rooftop incident with Red Hood you’d gone into some sort of obsessive spiral over his similarities to Jason.

You feel like you need to talk to him again, touch him again… just to see why he’s so familiar; you feel insane.

The deepest parts of your brain scream at you that it’s not just similarities, that he really is Jason but… he can’t be; you watched them bury Jason’s body.

“There’s something else going on with you.” Bruce says, basically sizing you up.

You stiffen, which unfortunately gives away your next lie. “There’s nothing going on with me.” No excuse comes to mind so you don’t say anything more.

Bruce pauses for a beat.

“This has nothing to do with Red Hood.”

“Okay? Why would that matter?” You say dismissively, but also way too fast. “I don’t think keeping me locked up at home helps anyone.”

He sighs and finally caves. “Fine, you can come.”

…..

You aren’t sure how this situation devolved so quickly, but your communications got cut off a while ago and you haven’t been able to find Bruce or navigate very well through the rubble.

You’re bleeding heavily from a few different cuts and you’re pretty sure you sprained your ankle.

The faint cackle of the Joker makes you dive under a fallen piece of concrete, because if he comes this way he’ll surely kill you.

But the laugh recedes so you crawl out and sit against it instead.

You’re just about to start sobbing from the pain when you hear footsteps again; you go silent and try to move but you don't allow that.

You see a flash of red, and then Red Hood turns a corner into your line of sight.

“Christ’s sake, Y/n.” He mumbles. “What happened?” He approaches and drops down so he’s sitting on his feet, he stares for a moment, and you assume he’s assessing your injuries.

“You can’t call me that— here.” You hiss when he presses a finger against your ankle.

He stands up and takes both your hands, completely ignoring what you said. “Up. But don’t stand on your bad ankle.”

You grip his hands and stand up, holding your bad ankle in the air; Red Hood scoops you up bridal style not a moment later.

You squeal. “What are you doing?”

He stops walking and turns the face of his helmet directly toward you. “I’m taking you back to my base so I can help you get fixed up.” He interrupts you before you can speak, answering the question you were going to ask. “Batman isn’t here anymore, he went to follow after the Joker.”

It’s a rough walk to his bike, and it lasts for about ten minutes; ten awkward minutes of you being carried by Red Hood.

Red Hood who’s supposed to be a criminal and your enemy. Red Hood who brings you more comfort than he should just because of who he reminds you of.

He settles you onto the bike, pulling out an extra helmet before he speeds off.

…..

“Jesus, you sprained your ankle really badly.” He curses, performing whatever medical procedures as you hiss and whine at the pain.

He’s already stitched and/or dressed any of the open wounds you had and he saved the worst for last.

“Okay,” he says absent-mindedly. “I can’t do this properly with this thing.”

He reaches for his helmet but you stop him. “You’re taking your helmet off?”

He hesitates, then nods slowly. “I have to. If you don’t want to see, then shut your eyes until I’m done.”

You nod and squeeze your eyes shut.

He sighs softly and gets back to working on your ankle.

…..

“I swear to god, Bruce, it’s him. Red Hood is Jason.” You say, purposfully making your voice flat and void of emotion. “He has to be.”

Bruce just stares.

And stares.

Sympathetically, softly. But he stares.

“Jason has been dead for a long time, Y/n, and you know that.”

“No— I know, but he can’t be— that has to be him.” You back up into one of the chairs in the batcave, trying to calm your racing heart; you still try to keep a calm outward facade.

“What makes you think he’s Jason?” Bruce asks.

You weakly gesture at nothing with your hand. “Just look at him. He’s— everything about him is the same.”

Tim snorts from the computer. “The running drug rings and murders?”

“Not appropriate, Tim.” Dick says flatly and Tim’s face falls quickly.

You don’t blame him, you probably would have made a joke like that too.

Shaking your head, you stare at the floor past Bruce. “They sound the same, they talk the same way, they look similar— hell, they even smell the same.”

Bruce’s brows furrow. “How do you know what he smells like?”

“Uh…” you stall. “You know, close combat.”

Apparently, he drops it even though he clearly doesn’t believe you, because he asks another question. “We’ve never seen Red Hood unmasked, how do you know they look similar?”

You shrug. “They just do. There’s just something about him. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling for a while.”

It’s silent again for several long moments.

Then Bruce shakes his head absentmindedly.

“Jason is dead, Y/n. No matter how much we miss him, he can’t come back.”

But he’s wrong, he has to be.

Because no one is that similar to someone. You’re sure of it.

……

Your cheeks are wet and your eyes are starting to become raw from you rubbing at them.

Sobbing pathetically on the rooftop of the manor because you had to be reminded about a death that happened a long time ago is not the highlight of your day.

It’s stupid, going from sure of yourself, to telling yourself you’re so stupid for ever thinking it could be true in the first place.

There’s footsteps beside you, but you don’t look up. You don’t care enough to see who it is.

You fidget with the necklace around your neck as you sniffle into your knees.

Something clicks and then hisses as if air pressure is being released before you hear a tiny thud, and then someone pulls you into them.

You know who it is now.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly. You know you could look up and confirm your suspicions at any moment but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.

It’s not true, after all, because it can’t be. It’s not possible.

You shrug against him. “I’m reopening old wounds for no reason.” You pause. “Why do you trust me?”

He’s silent, contemplative for a while. “You’re you.”

You laugh dryly. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“You haven’t even bothered to look have you?” His hand strokes lines in your hair. “You could. I don’t think I’d mind.”

“I don’t want to know.” You say, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m not ready for that.”

He nods, you can feel the movement through his body, even though it’s subtle.

You sit, wrapped up in his arms for a long while before he clears his throat softly and asks, “what old wounds have you been reopening?”

Your eyes well again, but you choke back the tears. “An old… friend, I guess. He died.” You start to pull back but you don’t look at his face.

Instead, you bury your face in your hands again. He lets you pull back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You shrug. “It was a long time ago, he just meant a lot to me— and it’s really hard because you remind me so much of him.”

He makes a sort of strangled sound and then clears his throat again but more rough this time. “Why do you say that?”

His voice sounds even more similar without the helmet and voice changer. This man is going to be the death of you. Maybe literally. “I don’t… I don’t know. It’s just everything.” You shake your head and laugh sardonically. “It’s driving me insane.”

“How did he die?” His voice is darker than before, and there’s a sort of undertone you can’t place.

“Brutally.” You stop, take a deep breath, and offer only a bit more context. “The Joker.”

He hums. “The Joker‘s alive and ruling this dumb city.” He pauses. “How do you think your friend would feel about that?”

“Probably about the same as I do. Sick.” You run a hand through your hair, purposefully trying to avoid seeing his face. “That’s why I became a hero, you know. I wanted to kill the joker because he killed Ja- um, my friend.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“People stopped me before I did something I couldn’t come back from.” You say, wrapping your arms around your legs. “I hope the joker suffers a terrible death, but I don’t think it should be by my hands. He wins if I spend the rest of my existence regretting it.”

Red Hood picks up his helmet and clicks it back on. “Right.” He stands and stares down at you. “I have to leave now.”

You shudder at his sudden coldness, and stand abruptly. “Okay, I— um, goodbye…?” You want to smack yourself at how unsure you sound. “Did I say something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “I just don’t know why you would ever regret ridding the world of someone like The Joker, that’s all.”

Stiffly, you nod and wipe your hands on your pants.

“Sorry about your friend.” He finishes, before leaving you alone on the roof again. “Too bad I didn’t know him.”

Basically, crushing any hopes you might’ve had that he was Jason.

……

This is an atrociously stupid idea, you know; driving directly into the den of Gotham's biggest drug lord is the smartest thing to do.

But Gotham's biggest drug lord is Red Hood, and you’re fairly sure he won’t hurt you. Mostly.

His lackeys though, don’t seem so forgiving.

“Who the hell are you?” The man who barks the question at you, is raggedy looking and has the worst, most distasteful tattoos you’ve seen in your life.

“I’m here to see Red Hood.” You amend quickly, “I’m a friend of his.”

“Yeah, right.” The other guard says, a bulky looking woman who is also insanely beautiful… unsettlingly so. “A fragile little thing like you, friends with our boss… please.”

You scoff. “Trust me, I’m not fragile.” Stopping, you contemplate whether it’s a good idea to start something, considering your ankle is still healing. “Just call him.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever.”

An old phone hangs on the wall and she picks up the receiver and quickly dials a number. “Hey, I have a woman here who says she’s the bosses friend— her name? I have no clue— Oi, what’s your name?” The woman barks at you.

“Y/n.”

“Her name’s Y/n.” She’s silent for a minute while we all wait, then she hangs up the phone aggressively and yanks your arm into her grip. “Lucky. Let’s go.”

The corridors are a bit confusing to navigate, but you’re mostly just following the woman, who seems very familiar with them.

After ten minutes you reach a door, it matches almost every other door, but it has ‘boss’ written crudely on it in spray paint.

“You’re on your own from here.” She says gruffly before stomping away.

You take a moment to collect yourself before you knock, and the door swings open before you can even finish knocking.

“Why are you here?” Red Hood sounds breathless behind his mask, as if something winded him. “How did you remember how to get here?”

“I’m… actually not sure.” You chuckle quietly to yourself as Red Hood pulls you inside.

He sits down at a desk after pulling a chair out for you to sit in. “Again, why are you here?”

Your heart seizes for a moment as if the reason why you’re here hit you all over again. “I want you to show me who you are.”

“Are you sure?” Red Hood questions slowly, his body locking up. “You’re not going to like it.”

You nod curtly. “Yes, I need to know.”

He takes a deep breath and stands up, coming right up close to you. Far enough that you could see his face clearly but close enough to have your knees buckling.

He reaches up and presses a button you can’t see. The helmet hisses and opens, he pulls it off.

And your jaw drops.

Standing there, in grown up glory, black hair, green eyes that used to kill you, is Jason Fucking Todd.

“You’re— You’re not— dead.” You stammer, almost reaching out to touch him before you yank your hand back.

You’re so irrationally angry and also relieved and devastated all at the same time.

Jason sets the helmet down. You can’t decide whether to hug him and never let go or slap him for waiting so long to tell you. “That’s a… complicated story.” He pauses. “I promise I’ll tell you that story but I just— can’t get into that right now.”

You nod slowly. “Okay… that means I can get fucking pissed now.”

You’ve clearly confused him when you wrap your hands around his waist and squeeze tightly while also cursing him out. “I can’t believe you waited this long to show me.”

You can see the smart-ass comment on the tip of his tongue but he bites it back. “I knew you’d find out eventually.” His eyes caress your body and there’s a look of longing lingering in his eyes; he seems to be contemplating something. “Fuck it, I’ve been waiting too long to do this.”

You barely have time to react as Jason lowers his face down to yours and kisses you; As soon as you realize what he’s doing, you kiss back.

His hands go to rest on your hips, as you slowly get pushed back into his desk behind you. When you hit the ledge of if, Jason lifts you onto its surface, and pulls back.

“I’ve wanted to do that since we were kids.” He says quietly.

You gently touch your lips, almost in disbelief. “I’ve been wanting you to do that since we were kids.”

All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.

#dc #dc x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #batfam x reader #batfam x y/n #batfam x you #red hood #red hood x reader #redhood x reader #redhood #dc universe

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beskarandblasters · 5 days

Text

Packin’ (In More Ways Than One)

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: This is inspired by this HOT art by @cass-hues 🍑🔥 Unfortunately, I do not know who made this gif so if that’s you or someone you know, don’t hesitate to inform me and I’ll give credit where it’s due! Thank you to @freelancearsonist for beta reading! 🤍🤍

Summary: You see Din’s bare ass for the first time and get the urge to peg him.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), reader is able-bodied and has no physical description/no genitalia mentioned, anal fingering, sex toys, lube, pegging, praising, pet names (cyar’ika), sonic = shower, refresher = bathroom, no use of y/n

“You’re really going to shower with that bucket on your head?”

Din’s leaning against the doorway of the refresher with a towel sitting low on his hips. He just captured a bounty on Coruscant where it’s currently raining, a downpour that chilled Din to his bones. You suggested that a hop in the sonic would warm him up. But you didn’t expect to see him stripped bare of everything besides his helmet.

“Yes,” he says plainly. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing! …You just look a little funny right now, that’s all.”

“Funny?” he asks, turning and walking to the mirror. But as he walks his towel drops to the floor and you’re met with the sight of his bare ass. And Maker, it is juicy. You had no idea he was hiding that underneath his cape and his flight suit.

“Oh my-”

“Sorry!” he says, hastily grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist.

“You’re sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to… expose myself like that.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“Really?”

“But I am a little mad at you right now.”

“Why??”

“You didn’t tell me you were packin’… in more ways than one,” you say, walking and standing beside him in the mirror.

“Oh… You mean my… behind?”

“Yes, silly,” you chuckle, running your hand over his ass with the towel in between you two. He tenses up at the motion and you’re just now realizing that he’s probably never had his ass appreciated like this before. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lets you feel up his ass while the towel hangs dangerously low around his hips.

“Is it weird I want to peg you?”

“No,” he says quickly.

“No as in…?”

“No, it’s not weird.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes widening. “Should I… go to the store?”

“Yes,” he says, without hesitation.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you chuckle, grabbing your bag and lowering the exit ramp of the Crest.

You think of where the nearest sex shop might be and quickly decide that lower levels are your best bet. The rain has thankfully subsided, leaving puddles in the street for neon lights to reflect off of. You cruise the streets, searching for the perfect place until you happen upon a goldmine; Nova’s Novelties.

The door opens and you step inside, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer volume of sex toys occupying the shelves and walls. There’s a counter in the back where the register is. A woman is there and you can only assume that’s Nova, a beautiful woman with an inviting aura. She makes buying sex toys seem less intimidating.

“Welcome!” she says, motioning for you to come over. “What brings you in tonight?”

“I’m looking for… a strap-on.”

“You’ve come to the right place,�� she smiles, stepping out from behind the counter. “Follow me.”

She brings you to a shelf where there’s a strap on of every size and color, all encased in clear packaging. A silver one catches your eye.

That’ll match his armor, you think to yourself, stifling a giggle.

“What do you recommend for a beginner?”

She reaches and grabs a modest looking one, bright pink in color.

“This one is great for beginners. Not too big, not too small. And it comes with an adjustable strap.”

“Thanks!” you say, taking the box from her. “Does it come in any other colors?”

“What were you thinking?”

“…Silver.”

“You have great taste. Let me check the back.”

She heads to the back room while you take time to explore the rest of the selection, opting for a bottle of lube, too. Once she emerges with the silver dildo in hand, you check out, handing her a fistful of credits and heading back to the Crest.

“Have fun!” she says with a suggestive smile just before you step out onto the street.

As you walk back to the docking yard, you think about Din, waiting for you like such a good boy. You think about the trust he places in you, letting you see him without his armor or his fight suit on and the trust he has to let you do something like this… It’s a testament of your love.

When you get back in the Crest you find Din, standing in the doorway of the refresher with droplets of water peppered on his skin with steam wafting into the hull from the sonic. His bulge pitches a tent in his towel. You can’t believe your eyes, gawking at how gorgeous he looks. It’s almost criminal he keeps all of this locked away under his armor and it blows your mind that this is the first time you’re seeing him like this.

“Did you find something?”

“You bet I did,” you smirk. You take off your bag and hang it on a hook, reaching for the strap-on and the lube. You hold it out in front of you and think about his face underneath the helmet, wondering if he clocked how the dildo matches his armor.

“You like?” you ask.

“I do.”

“Good…” you say, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his chest. His skin is warm, still slightly damp from the sonic. “Now be a good boy and get in the bunk for me.”

“Yes, cyar’ika,” he says, dropping his towel and walking across the hull to the bunk.

He gets on all fours on the bed while you shed your clothes and take the strap out of the packaging, setting it on the edge of the bunk because you’re not ready for it just yet.

“Are you gonna be a good boy for me?” you say, kneeling behind him and cupping his ass.

“Y-Yes, I promise.”

“Don’t worry,” you giggle, “I’ll go nice and slow at first.”

You squeeze lube onto your index finger, coating his hole with it and teasing it lightly. He lets out a small whimper in response, already aching for more.

“What was that?”

“I… want it… already.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” you say, sliding your finger in.

His breath hitches before he exhales with a moan while you slowly work his hole. You curl your finger while your other hand caresses his ass.

“More,” he softly begs.

“Be patient,” you coo.

He sighs, resting his helmet down on the pillow and sticking his ass up higher. Never in a million years did you think you’d have Din in a face-down ass-up position and yet here you are, enjoying every minute of it.

You pull your hand from his ass and add lube to your middle finger, pushing both back inside simultaneously. A deeper, guttural moan forces its way out of his throat as he melts into the cot faster than a block of ice on Tatooine.

“Good boy,” you praise, pushing your fingers against his prostate. “But I’m far from done with you.”

“I know,” he whimpers.

You feel his hole relax around your fingers and a slew of whispers and Mando’a curse words slip out from under the helmet.

“Cyar’ika, I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh yeah? Let me feel it.”

He cums around your fingers, a different kind of orgasm he’s never experienced before. His thighs shake beneath him as he rides out his high.

“Such a good boy for me,” you praise, slowing the movement of your fingers to a stop. You pull them from his ass and get off the bed, putting on the harness and attaching the strap. “But are you ready for more?”

“Yes,” he sputters, staying in the same face-down ass-up position for you.

You walk to the front end of the bed, crouching down by his helmet and telling him, “You’re doing so well, baby, coming for me like that.”

“I am?”

“Mhm,” you whisper, rubbing his back. He shudders at your touch, eliciting a giggle from you.

“You’re so sensitive right now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he sighs.

“It’s almost over,” you remind him, taking your rightful position by his ass again.

You spread lube onto the strap and align it with his hole, one hand holding his hip as you thrust into him slowly. He lets out another string of curse words in Mando’a. It’s unintelligible but it’s a sign of how good he feels.

“You like that?” you chuckle.

“Yes. So much, cyar’ika,” he moans, just as you draw your hips back and thrust into him again. You put your other hand on his hip, holding onto him as you thrust in and out, working him up to his impending orgasm. His moans, grunts, and whimpers are melodic, like music to your ears. It fills you with a deep sense of pride that you can reduce your big strong Mandalorian to a whimpering mess with just your fingers and a strap.

“Cyar’ika?” he whines.

“Yes?” you smirk.

“I’m gonna-”

“Gonna cum again?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Do it,” you command, making sure your pace never falters.

Another moan escapes his throat, slipping out from under his helmet in his beautiful, modulated tone. His whole body shakes with pleasure, quivering as you fuck him through his high, being sure to slow down slightly to not overstimulate him.

Once he’s done you pull out of him, letting him collapse onto the bunk. Aftershocks of his orgasm make him quiver here and there, his ass shaking with each involuntary movement. You giggle watching him rest peacefully after you just fucked the living daylights out of him.

You crouch down and whisper, “Looks like you need to hop in the sonic again.”

“I know,” he groans.

“I’ll join you.”

“Let’s go,” he says, shooting up and heading to the refresher. He has that specific walk about him, the kind where you walk side to side after a good dicking down. It looks good on him, you decide.

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #din djarin x gn!reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #star wars fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters #ppcu fanfiction

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 9 months

Text

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 1: Sunrise

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Queen Aemma brings a new child into the world—you. As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon.

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the very first instalment of this series, featuring baby!Babey and teen-uncle!Daemon! This prologue will be the only Daemon POV of this instalment (or at least that is my current plan), and there will be several time jumps in keeping with canon. Please keep in mind that, as canon diverges around Episode 5/6 in this series, much of what occurs in the show will also occur as-is here, so don’t expect anything particularly innovative in terms of plot, lol. I’m hoping this will be an opportunity to establish Babey as a firm part of the storyline in a manner that is a little less ambiguous, and will also serve to provide more wholesome Babey/Daemon interactions to foreground their later shift. A couple things: there will be NO ROMANCE in this fic, because Babey is a child. Ew. There may be mentions of romance between other characters, but this story will be told firmly through Babey’s eyes and thus events are limited to her own interpretations.

Anyway! Enough from me - on with the show!

TRIGGERS: mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth, mentions of childbirth trauma, blood.

“And so it was that, in the summer of 109 AC, Queen Aemma took once again to her childbed, remaining there for near two days for what would be a difficult and taxing labour. In the early hours of the morning, King Viserys and his lady wife welcomed a living babe—but not the babe they expected. The arrival of a second daughter took both by surprise, for they had come to believe the child in the Queen’s belly had been their longed-for son. It was nonetheless announced that the Queen had been delivered of a healthy girl, and a great relief was struck up across the Realm, the bells of King’s Landing being rung from dawn to dusk and the people gathering on the streets in praise of their new Princess.”

- ‘Fire and Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

It's quiet this time, he thinks. No snivelling midwives, no wailing… A good thing, surely.

Still. The silence, in all of its peculiarity, is unnerving. After the last occasion—the frenetic activity bustling up and down the halls, the yelling, the sound of Aemma’s screams, the stench of blood thickening in his nostrils as he stepped forth to take his first and last view of the purple, unmoving babe in the cradle he would never outgrow—the absence of sound seems almost foreboding. Should he not hear the child cry? Should he not be within by now? He would venture to knock on the door, but he dare not risk disturbing this fragile peace—especially if it is not fated to remain so.

Thus, Daemon Targaryen, eighteen summers of age and the King’s very own brother, waits in his seat opposite the entry to the Queen’s chambers as he has done for hours. And, as he sits, he prays.

Well—not pray, exactly. He’d have to believe in gods to do that. But, should a higher power exist, it cannot hurt to lend his own voice to the masses that even now attempt to muster enough mercy to grant the survival of his cousin and the child she has worked so hard to bring forth these past moons. Let them live, he urges, pressing the thought out into the air around him, into the sky far above the Keep. Let them both live.

“Any news?”

Daemon snaps to attention, head tilting automatically to the intruder. He suppresses a sneer. Now is not the time.

“Nothing,” he says, taking care to keep his tone even.

Otto Hightower sighs. “Well”—the Hand of the King moves closer, towering over Daemon with his hands clasped behind his back—“no news is good news, I hope.”

“Hm.” He’ll not dignify that with a response.

Hightower’s eyes narrow in on him. “There is no need to sound quite so downtrodden, Prince Daemon. I am sure the King will find some use for you… now that you are no longer his heir.”

He knows what the man is after. A display of anger, perhaps—maybe even hot-headed insistence on his part that his position stands as it has since Viserys won the throne, that the child is dead, that the Lord has every reason to fear him still. He won’t give him the satisfaction, though. If his brother ventures out to see Daemon once again railing at his most trusted advisor…

Daemon’s desire to meet his nephew outweighs his need to put this upstart in his place.

“Never fear, Otto.” He smiles, lips stretched wide with too much teeth, threatening more than welcoming. “I’ll always have a place by Viserys’s side. I am his brother. And you…” He looks the man up and down. Even now, the pin of the Hand is attached to the cunt’s lapel like a sycophantic badge of honour, gleaming in the golden torchlight. “What are you, exactly?”

Hightower’s jaw clenches. “I am the Hand of the Ki—”

“For now,” Daemon says, a smug half-smirk playing at the very corners of his mouth. “Don’t forget that. For now.”

What he doesn’t say is plain to read upon his face. One day, he’ll understand. One day, he’ll see you for what you really are. A leech, one who latches onto power and drains those who truly wield it dry.

The reminder makes Otto pale. “I—”

The door creaks open, the flushed face of one Viserys Targaryen appearing in the space between wood and frame. “Daemon.”

Daemon rises. “Is—how is—” He cannot get the fucking words out.

His brother grins. “Aemma is well, and the babe is healthy.”

He lets out a relieved breath, surprised to discover exactly how tense he had been since the messenger had roused him from sleep at the hour of the owl. That tension releases itself with the air he pushes from his lungs, his shoulders sagging from the freedom of it. Suddenly, his eyes no longer feel so wide, so fear-bright, and fatigue sets in. He is tired. But first—

“May I see him?” he asks.

At that, Viserys pauses, whatever he had intended to say to Otto left unfinished. He clears his throat, all joy fleeing his face. “Ah… About that.”

“Is the boy… crippled?” The Hand’s voice is hushed, apprehensive.

“No, no!” Viserys insists, shaking his head. “Only… she is small, quiet. Nothing at all like Rhaenyra was.”

“A girl? But Runciter was so certain!” Otto says, mouth parted in shock.

Runciter’s a fucking fool. Anyone who sets stock by his theories ought to be burned alive, Daemon thinks, rolling his eyes. He’d never liked maesters—any of them, least of all the doddering fuckwits appointed to the vaunted station of Grand Maester. That Runciter had gotten this wrong is hardly surprising. None of them seem to know what they are doing.

He pushes around his brother and leaves him to his latest inanity, moving onward to where his newest niece lay.

The Queen’s chambers are stifling, unbearably hot, the windows closed tight and the fires blazing in spite of the warmth already pervading the early hours of the morn. Another ridiculous notion, he suspects, though whether it be Westerosi custom or Targaryen superstition, he knows not. Perhaps dragonbabes can only be born into the fire they are made from.

Last time he was here, Aemma had been gaunt, eyes red-rimmed and near hysterical from the passing of her first, her only son. She’d laid weeping in her bloodied shift still, bedraggled hair sticking to slick skin as she’d mourned the child, insensate to kind words or reason from any who had approached her. Eventually, Viserys had demanded all who were not the blood of the dragon to remove themselves from the room. Together, he and Daemon had borne Aemma from her childbed, had taken her to the bath still waiting, had disposed of the last markers of gloom and tragedy marring the space.

Only those of Valyrian blood should ever bear witness to weakness from one of their own. Only those of Valyrian blood could ever understand the magnitude of such a loss. Their line had been dying out since the Doom—every death since only ever added salt to the wound.

What Daemon walks into this time is different. So very, very different.

Aemma is gaunt still, overcome by weariness, no doubt sapped greatly by the trials of such long labour. Shadows carve deep hollows beneath her eyes, skeletal, made almost sinister by the flicker of dim light, and her mouth is pale and cracked. Yet, there is naught but a buoyant sort of lightness adorning her face, shining more brilliantly than a crown ever could.

The chamber bears none of that ominous atmosphere that pervaded that night, instead filled with the heady scent of frankincense clogging each breath he draws, earthy smoke settling warm in his gut. The sheets are clean. The midwives calm. The Grand Maester, asleep in the chair by the fire.

And, in the Queen’s arms, the smallest wrapped bundle he has ever seen.

“Is that…” He swallows, dazed and speechless.

His cousin beams. “Come,” she says. “Come and meet her.”

Wordlessly, he approaches, taking care to make his footfalls light so as not to disturb the delicate creature enshrined in a mother’s embrace. As he draws close, he sees that the babe is not asleep as he had thought. Instead, open eyes look upward, deep dark indigo with the merest hint of lilac-violet-amethyst, the promise of Old Valyria in that muzzy, unfocused gaze.

This is the moment he meets you.

Aemma graciously accepts his silent question, relinquishing you to your uncle with naught but a gentle sigh and a stroke to the cheek. So little are you that you settle easily into the line of his arm, head to the crook of his elbow and rump to his cupped hand, light enough that it would be easy to forget you are even there. You let out a soft bleat, feet kicking beneath your swaddling—but that is all. For when that blue-nearly-purple stare shifts, locking with his, you fall silent, still. And so does he.

You are beautiful.

Of course you are. Viserys is hardly the handsomest of men, and Aemma comely enough though of no great noteworthiness, but their firstborn is about as lovely as any girl of nine summers can be. Your sister.

Gods, he thinks. Rhaenyra, an elder sister. The very notion of his spoiled little niece playing such a part seems unwittingly hilarious in this moment. She will not like being made to share her mama and papa—her uncle—with you.

Right now, that is irrelevant. His attention returns to the slope of your nose, the rosebud bloom of your lips, the blush of your rounded cheeks, tracking the near ethereal features of your face with a delicate fingertip. Newborns are dreadful looking things, usually, squished and red and misshapen. You look like a painting, or a doll made by the finest artisans, a sculpture rendered by magic rather than mortal hands. He wonders if it is love for you—and it is love, he has no doubt of that, for his love of family is perhaps the one true redeeming quality he possesses—that blinds him to any imperfection, or if you really are as lovely as you seem.

“What will you name her?” he asks, smoothing the cloths off your fragile little head to take the briefest peek at your scalp. Ah—there it is. Targaryen silver. With an Arryn for a mother, one could never be certain.

“Rhaenyra’s insisted on naming her sister Visenya.”

Daemon glances toward the foot of the bed. Viserys has returned, absent of his loyal hound, drawing near without his notice.

He snorts. “How very like her.” ‘Tis true; Rhaenyra has always been fixated on stories of the Conqueror and his wives, in particular forming a fascination for the elder of Aegon’s Queens. It is a powerful name. A warrior’s name. He frowns. “A fine name—but not for this little thing.”

Visenya is anger and retribution; violence and chaos; death and destruction. Daemon can find nothing of the sort in you. Every part of you—from the tips of your fuzzed palewhite hair to the petite softness of your wiggly little feet—seems fit for a destiny of another kind. One of peace, of calm, of joy and goodness.

Aemma hums an agreement, wholly preoccupied with gazing at her newest child. “If she were a son, her name would be Baelon.”

“Hm.” Viserys steps forward, palm brushing featherlight across your side as he passes to sit by his wife. “Baelon and Visenya. Those are the names we had prepared. But alas, Baelon was not to be. And Visenya is not… right.”

Daemon stands, bringing you a scant few steps toward the window. Dawn is approaching. The sky has relinquished the darkness of night, and there, on the horizon, the faintest of ambers illuminates the locus where the heavens and the earth meet, silhouetting the city below. As he watches the sun rise, he just barely hears the staff behind him make their final exits, awash in a rustle of equipment and a hush of words offered to their mistress and exultant ruler.

A tiny noise below draws his interest. Your eyelids have drooped, soft lashes framing lavender lids that sweep across the skin of your cheeks. When he dips his finger into the parting of your mouth, you begin to suckle at him, reflex rather than need.

“What would you call her?” Aemma asks after seconds, minutes, hours. He turns, brow arched in surprise. She seems genuinely curious, though she is admittedly not one for mean-spirited japes as it is. His cousin has always valued his opinion more than his brother ever had, even if was she who had forced his bitch of a wife upon him. “If you could,” she adds, “what name would you give her?”

He looks to Viserys, wordlessly asking for permission. A dip of the chin is his response. Letting loose a soft grunt, he peers down at his small charge.

Visenya is too fierce. Gael too glum. Too many fucking ‘Rhae’ names, so no Rhaenys. Daella too bland, Saera too provocative, Alysanne too common.

And then, he thinks upon it. The perfect name. Your name. When he says it aloud, he is met with a shine in Aemma’s eyes, a gleam in Viserys’s grin.

“That is it,” the King says, nodding decisively. “That is what we shall call her.” Rising, he comes forward to clap Daemon on the shoulder lightly, hand warm even through the layers of his shirt and coat. “Thank you, brother.”

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, tipping his head.

There is a tightening in his chest, the sort of feeling that threatens to stop his heart from the depth of his own enduring emotion. As Viserys makes his way to the door to deliver the announcement—to proclaim your birth, to order the ringing of the bells, to declare your name for the entire world to hear and know—Daemon gazes down at you.

“What do you think, sweetling?” He says your name again.

This time, he swears that you smile back at him.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48798151/chapters/123097897

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662 notes · View notes

trblsvt · 1 year

Text

the long way | yoon jeonghan

summary | it was just like any other shoot. go in, pose, drink water, don't get food on the clothes, and don't joke around with the staff. easy. except it wasn't that easy. genre | just fluff, model!jeonghan warnings | swearing (?), like one innuendo word count | 2.2k words pairing | yoon jeonghan x gn!reader min | lowercase intended @i-luvsang likes to torture me with this concept so here it is. you're welcome. i may have diverged a little from your original concept... i actually don't think there's any language in here. i tried to make this gender-neutral, but if anyone finds a fem!reader pronoun please let me know!

jeonghan liked his job. really, he did. what was there to complain about it? it was an easy, not to mention, fun life. he liked traveling. he liked the different foods he got to try. he liked the nice clothes he got to wear during photoshoots. he would be lying if he said he never stole some of the clothes that he got to wear. he especially enjoyed chatting with the staff.

they were usually amiable with him and entertained his antics. sometimes he even got a genuine laugh out of a few photographers too.

but sometimes, just chatting was boring. especially when the conversations were cut short by photographers calling him back to get a few more shots or make-up artists coming up to him to touch up his make-up. so jokes in between shots and lipstick touch-ups were a must.

today was no different. he had to advertise for the brand that he was an ambassador for, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. the clothes were comfortable, the air temperature was just right, and his audience was readily accepting of his jokes.

half of the time he couldn't remember the point of his jokes. he just said whatever came to mind. sometimes he was monologuing his thoughts and people would laugh. it did boost his ego, though. his inner voice was funny enough to garner laughs without even trying

as jeonghan was setting up for another shot, the photographer asked him to fix his stance. "i need you to spread your legs a bit more, jeonghan," the photographer asked. jeonghan had worked with him a few times, so he felt comfortable cracking a slightly inappropriate joke. "wow, mingyu, i thought you'd ask me out on a date first. already trying to get between my legs," jeonghan chuckled, fixing his stance. mingyu only rolled his eyes and went back to adjusting his camera settings.

that joke got a few laughs.

but it was jeonghan. he needed at least seventy-five percent of the staff to laugh at least one of his jokes. what else was he supposed to do when he was there? stand there and look good, yes, but no.

besides, he needed to test his standup on a live unsuspecting audience.

so that's how the rest of the shoot went. jeonghan finding ways to make puns here and throw a few sexual innuendos there. he appeared to be a hit, and that's all he wanted.

that is until he made some half-assed joke that he didn't even think about when he heard something. something so.... attractive. a laugh. from someone who had not laughed at his jokes until the lamest one he had cracked all day. he glanced over his shoulder in the direction that he heard it and his eyes landed on you. you were covering your face with a hand while the other clutched a tray of drinks and a binder tucked under your arm.

he made eye contact and quirked an eyebrow at you. you instantly averted your gaze to the ground and fumbled around for your phone.

cute, he thought.

he needed to hear it again.

for the remaining hour on set he tried and tried to get to you laugh again, but much to his dismay you were on the phone for most of the time.

soon enough he was out of the clothes and into his regular day clothes. the stylist quickly removed the extravagant make-up, and he swiftly grabbed his bag so he could find you.

as he ran out of the dressing room and onto the set. he scanned the room in search of you, and caught a glimpse of your silhouette walking out the door toward the city and not toward the back where the cars were. "jeonghan, are you coming?" his manager called to him. "the car is waiting." jeonghan shook his head and watched as the door closed behind you. "i'm actually going to walk home today. this was the last activity scheduled today, right?" jeonghan stated. even if it wasn't the last thing he had to do today, he had more important things in mind.

"uh, yes, that's all. but are sure you want to walk alone?" his manager questioned.

"i think bringing people with me garners more attention than me just walking by myself," he shrugged. so with that he swung his coat over his shoulders, hat on head, and left the same way you went.

he saw the back of your head make its way through the surprisingly empty street. he checked his watch and realized that it was right before rush hour. he jogged to catch up with you.

he was so close to you now. he could probably reach out and grab your hand if he wanted to, but that would be weird. he didn't even know your name.

how could he even approach you? "hi i'm jeonghan. i thought your laugh was pretty-" wait was that too personal? too forward?

he was so deep in thought, he didn't notice the way you tensed up when he got too close. suddenly you whipped around, "are you following me?"

he paused with a wide-eyed look plastered on his face. this was not the way it was supposed to go. "well, yes. but, not- not in the weird way," he tried to clarify. he looked slightly frantic, he looked worried. you examined his distinctive features. "oh, mr. yoon. i didn't recognize you with your hat on," you laughed.

there it was.

"please, just jeonghan is fine," he assured.

"okay, just jeonghan."

ha, you were pretty witty too. he held out his hand for you to shake. "___," you introduced yourself.

amazing.

"are you on your way to anything important?" he asked after looking at you for a bit longer. you glanced down at your phone and around the street. "i was actually going back to the office to drop this off," you said motioning to the large file bag you held.

"i can accompany you, if you want," jeonghan offered. "if you're not too weirded out by me at this point."

"oh, no. i'm not weirded out. i'm just surprised. i mean, you are a model. models i usually work with don't talk with staff much," you mentioned before starting off walking again. he followed quickly behind you. "so would you say i'm different from other models you've met," he asked playfully.

"yes i suppose. for one, models don't usually joke around on set as much as you do," you noted, glancing down at your phone hoping he wouldn't notice how he was making your heart speed up. "they're a bit too serious sometimes. you were nice though."

jeonghan felt a bit proud of that.

he filled the rest of the walk with pleasant conversation. lightly brushing against your arm. he got you to laugh about ten more times through the walk.

yes, he was counting.

you took him through the park and chatted

"well, this is me," you said standing in front of the large building. he looked up, and he instantly recognized the logo plastered on the door. "wait, you work for-" he started.

"yes, i work for the brand that you are an ambassador for," you giggled. "why else would i be at the shoot? did i not mention all the other models i've had to worked with?"

jeonghan was utterly baffled. "yes. i mean you did. i just, i don't know i wasn't really focused on that part. maybe you just wanted to see a handsome man like myself," he tried to recover.

"well, seeing handsome men like yourself is in my job description. i have to make sure our ambassadors are representing us well," you nudged his arm, and he felt like he could burst with joy.

"well i didn't expect someone as attractive as yourself would work for a place like corporate," he attempted at gaining his confidence back. it appeared to work.

you scoffed lightheartedly and looked away from him. "you flatter me too much, jeonghan," you laughed and looked back at him. suddenly you heard your name being called. "___! there you are, i've been looking for you for the past hour," your co-worker (well more like friend since you had known her since forever) called. you glanced between her and jeonghan. "hey, i'm sorry. i got a little - distracted," you explained apologetically to your obviously frazzled friend.

"really, its my fault. i must've made the walk a bit slower. the park was just so nice today," jeonghan commented, glancing at you hoping that you would look back at him again.

"the park? that's the long way around, you could've taken-" your friend started before you clasped your hands on her shoulders. "well, i seriously do have to bring this back to my manager. thank you for walking with me, it was very kind of you," you said smiling at him.

"of course," he smiled. he held your eyes for a moment before you chuckled quietly and turned away with your friend. "goodbye," he called after you.

"bye," you replied back, only turning your head slightly towards him. you exchanged hushed whispers as the two of you made your way up to the entrance. "isn't that yoon jeonghan?" your friend quizzed. "he's the one who was at the shoot you went to, right? why'd you take him through the park? you know that's the long way. it adds like fifteen minutes to your walk."

"yeah, yeah, i know, he was just so easy to talk to. i needed an excuse to talk to him longer. plus, his laugh was super cute," you remarked.

it had been maybe an hour or two since you had said your goodbye to jeonghan downstairs. you hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. how sweet and kind he was. he wasn't too full of himself like some of the other models were, but confident enough to make your heart beat a bit faster than usual. to top it all off, he was genuinely funny too.

you weren't exactly sure how you were supposed to just - forget about him. you worked with many models for the past few years, and sure most of them were nice. just not as nice as jeonghan.

you checked the clock and realized that there were only about thirty minutes left until you could clock out. maybe if you showered when you got home you could get jeonghan's cologne out of your senses.

as you sent your last email of the day and logged out of your computer, you began to gather your things from your desk. unfortunately, you were a bit too preoccupied to notice how the room outside of your office stilled. you were grabbing a few things that fell onto the floor.

then you heard someone clear their throat from your door. "uh, ___, someone is here to see you," one of your other co-workers said.

"uh, i just clocked out, but i can definitely add them on my calendar first thing tomorr-" you trailed off as you lifted your head and saw jeonghan standing outside your office behind the very nervous-looking receptionist.

"i'm afraid that won't work for me," jeonghan sighed absentmindedly looking around your office, hands clasped behind his back.

"mina, you can go," you told the receptionist. mina nodded and ran off. jeonghan stepped into your office and gently closed the door. "this is a surprise, mr. yoon," you said standing up.

"hopefully a welcome one," he joked. "and please, i was gone for a couple hours and you forgot i'm just jeonghan?" you stifled a laugh. "please do not feel like you need to contain you laughter from me, ___," he assured. you nodded a silent, but happy, agreement. "well, jeonghan. what is the occasion for this visit? were you unhappy with something today during the shoot?" you asked, approaching him. "and if tomorrow morning does not work to discuss this matter, i can figure something else out or i-"

"no. it's actually the opposite. i had a great time today. i think my only complaint is that you have not been there for the past few times i've modeled for this brand," he said getting closer to you. you could smell his cologne again and you knew you were in for it. "also, tomorrow morning won't work because i wanted to see if you were free tonight to get dinner with me, that is, unless you prefer breakfast," he smiled.

you were dumbfounded.

jeonghan was here. after hours. asking you out on a date. he was funny, kind, and not to mention quite attractive. you had been thinking about him for the whole day daydreaming about him, and he was here looking very handsome and very sincere. and who were you to decline such a tempting offer?

"how would you know that i would say yes?" you asked as the two of you walked out of the building.

"well for one, you didn't take the subway like a normal person would. secondly, you added a whole extra fourteen minutes to your walk because you skipped the subway and went through the park," he shrugged.

"were you counting?" you giggled and nudged his shoulder playfully.

"and what if i was? and what if i was counting every time you laughed at something i said today? what if i said that was the fifteenth time i've made you laugh today?"

"i might have to kiss you then."

"please do."

min | wow. that was sort of disgustingly cute. am i good a fluff, maybe? im softening with age i think. leave feedback and reblog if you want! it's appreciated. not proofread

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blueparadis · 9 months

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꒰ U LOST ME ꒱ ⋮ GOJO SATORU → [ CONTENT & TAGS ]: sorcerer!fem!reader x ex-boyfriend!satoru gojo ( powers not described ), hints of virgin!gojo, relationship talks, angst, undertones of smut, fluff, hurt and comfort, canon divergent, mention of Geto and Shoko, mention of smoking, alcohol. // syn. | Gojo never liked the idea of piling up unfinished business, and he was not tough enough to chase you so he waited for you to come back. + word count -1kish // back to blog navigation.

“This was a mistake.” Satoru unzips your jacket holding the apex of the zipper in between his teeth; along with the tiniest sliver of modesty that you had kept carefully tucked underneath your skin.“I should have never come here.” His galactic eyes stilled on you. He is still holding the zip in between his teeth. The jacket is not undone yet. He has paused halfway. “S'to0ru, why did you bring me here again?”

Great! The painkillers are now slowly kicking into your system. But at least you are safe now. You are in his vicinity. That's all he cares about. That's all he needs to protect you. That's all he needs to —

“was I supposed to leave you there?” He unzips the rest of your jacket. Your belly is on display. Not that he could not see it, he always did. With his six eyes, he could see anything he wanted to. But with his limitless being off, he is more embarrassed than you are right now. This is the first time he is touching you, the first time ever touching a woman. “Seriously, how bad do you think I am?” There is a tone of mockery in his words. He finds it funny. hah! Of course, he does. His hands are resting alongside your shoulders. He scans your body. You are wearing a bra and three-quarter jeans; wherever his eyes land it is bruised. “God, what kind of missions were you doing past these years, babe?”

Now that he is hovering above you, you can meet his eyes properly. “Babe, huh?” Satoru notices your face contort, lips tremble and eyelids blinking rapidly. You look away holding your tears back. A second later, you feel Satoru’s lips graze over your belly. He inhales, strongly. You could hear him. “Oh god! Stop it Satoru. It tickles.” You protest throwing your hands at him in all irregularity preventing him from inflicting another wound on yourself.

As Satoru hears you laugh he remembers the good old days he spent with you. If he had not been so hooked on you there is no doubt you would have lived a much better life. But that is not the case. He is your doom which is why you are the only one he allowed himself to be vulnerable with. He feels he owes it to you. He feels he owes it to you because you were brave enough to love him, brave enough to confess, and more brave than him to let Suguru go so easily.

Unfortunately, your heart mistook it as affection, sometimes even love. But that is not the worst part of all this. Satoru played along with you until he was aware of your emotions, his emotions. And before he could reconcile, you left. You had to because you could not forgive him so easily for what he did and how he did.

Moreover, he had enough on his plate. But Satoru never thought he would see you years later at a pub sitting opposite to Shoko sharing a smoke and a couple of beers. How could you let go of him so easily? Did you not love him enough? Or was it just a silly teenage crush? Secretly, he wished to be like you— empathetic, honest, and blah blah blah! He is everything that you are not. He is everything that you do not deserve. He is everything that you would drown in the pool of regret.

Satoru leans forward kissing your cheeks. You do not protest and even if you did he could easily overpower you. After all that is exactly why you are in such a predicament. Your so-called ex-boyfriend towering above you while you are wasted. You had to take painkillers because the moment Satoru saw you with Shoko, you knew you could not lose him even if you ran away.

“don’t let me lose you too.” he murmurs as he starts kissing softly along your neckline, towards your cleavage, and down to your stomach. “you’re the last good thing left for me in this world.” You get up and hold his face in between your palms. He retorts to give you space but you do not let go of your hand from his face.

“I hate the way that I don’t hate you,” you remarked with a scoff. Satoru jerks away from you. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He is going to dissociate any minute now— “I know you have a heart because I feel it breaking.”

“Oh, now you care?” He snaps. Of course, he does.

“you always push people away.” You start. “Let it care,” but Satoru is quick to interrupt.

“this time I won't. this time I — he sounds so earnest that you think he must have spent all these years without you stuck in a flux of regret and hurt which is unexpecting of him“You know how things were back then. Geto left—”

“yeah.” You pause. “I know.” You inhale heavily, trying to swallow your tears. “which is why I left. So that neither of us had to deal with the hurt we were supposed to deal with. Does that makes sense to you ’tooru?” God! You sound awful with that breaking voice of yours. The painkillers are not helping either. Your mind is so fuzzy and you could feel your nerves tickling but there is nothing to worry about. You have always been honest with him. Maybe that is why he pushed you away.

Your eyes were almost on the verge of betraying you but a firm grip on your wrists kept you awake enough to feel the fervent kiss of his. You did not resist but rather let him sink his teeth into until his grip loosened, groans softened and you tasted a little blood while sucking his lips. You are not sure whose blood it is and you do not need to. He was not playing when he said he won't push you away this time. This is dangerous. You can not run or hide from him anymore. What a pain! Satoru rolled over the bed with you on top. He settled you on his lap quickly before discarding your jacket on the floor.

“There is no turning back now.” He stated holding by your waist.

“Too late to regret now” You murmur against his lips before kissing him. You feel him smile while giving him the taste of his own blood.

—

@angelshub @public-safety-network

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endlessthxxghts · 7 months

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You Better Jump... (1 of 2)

neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈2.5k

Summary: You wake up after a drunk night out to the lock on your door broken. The neighbor who lives in the same apartment complex as you offers to fix it for you.

Warnings: canon divergent (no outbreak) & mentions of Sarah but we don't see or interact with her (AU - she moved out, lives on her own). allusions to further sexual activity between reader and Joel, mainly fluff and flirting and embarrassing interactions that'll give you butterflies, an unhinged best friend (vulgar dialogue from said best friend), cellphone audio connecting elsewhere where other people can hear..., 18+ MDNI. F masturbation in a bathtub, Joel having incredible self control until he doesn't, making out... (I think that's it! As always, let me know if there's anything I missed that should be in here!)

Author's note: I intended for this to be a one shot, but I just know the next part will be pretty long. I still need to write up a few more details for part 2, but it will be posted VERY SOON! For now, please enjoy this. :)

PART 2 HERE (VERY NSFW, 18+ MDNI)!! || MASTERLIST

“Shit, I don’t even know which lock to get,” you mutter to yourself as you stand helplessly in the middle of the aisle.

You went to the bar last night, got a little too drunk for your own good, and when you woke up in the morning, your front door’s lock was broken. You genuinely don’t know how that happened, but you do know that you need to fix it as soon as possible, especially with the fact that you just moved in not too long ago and you live alone.

“Hey there,” a rough Texan drawl says, pulling you out of your thoughts. You look up to see a tall, broad man. Soft, brown eyes, a mustache and some scruff along his jawline. He’s clad in a dark blue t-shirt and some jeans. He’s handsome, and oh god, you’ve been completely gawking at him instead of responding. You finally meet his stare, and his eyes twinkle in delight, like he’s enjoying the attention you’re giving him. “Oh, hi, uh- I’m sorry, just kinda zoned out there for a sec,” you ramble on, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “don’t worry about that.” He smiles, and you’ve never experienced anything more beautiful. “I, uh, couldn’t help but recognize ya, and overhear ya about the locks?” You give a confused look, and he continues, “I think we live in the same apartment complex. You just moved in a few weeks ago, right? I’m Joel.”

You are seriously so confused right now because you are so sure you would never forget if you had a neighbor that looks this handsome. And apparently all your defenses are down right now because you just fucking said that out loud.

You can see Joel’s cheeks and neck flush into a bright red, his hand shooting up to rub the back of his neck and the blush in your face follows. “Holy shit, I did not just fucking say that out loud,” you groan as you bury your hands into your face. You realize you still haven’t introduced your name, so you quickly squeak it out. He tells you it’s nice to meet you followed by your name, and he rambles on, “And I, uh, I’m flattered...you’re, uh, not too bad yourself.” Your head shoots up, and you swear your face cannot get even redder, but somehow it does.

He senses that you can’t handle anymore of this god awful attempt at flirting, so he saves you by continuing his original thought. “Well, what I was tryna say was- I overheard you sayin’ ya didn’t know which lock to choose? I’m pretty handy in the maintenance department, and I’ve helped a few neighbors in our complex with much more complicated than door locks. Maybe I can help ya?” You feel all the stress from your body completely fade away, and you absolutely take advantage of this beautiful man offering to help with your locks.

“Oh my god, really? I owe you one, thank you so so much,” you tell him. He smiles. “It’s no trouble at all, darlin,’” he says as he grabs the correct lock for the apartment complex, “this is the one we’d need.”

All you came here for was for the lock, but you ended up staying with him and having conversation throughout his entire Home Depot run. Turns out he’s a contractor, used to live in a home but since his daughter moved out he doesn’t find the necessity of having a big home for himself. He didn’t sell it though, he let his brother and his wife take it over. Very minimalist kind of guy.

You forget you two didn’t drive to the store together, so you’re almost kind of bummed at the fact that you have to separate from him. He bids you goodbye and says he has to run a few more errands. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Is it okay if I swing by your place then?”

You’ve been so entranced by his presence and your guys’ conversation that you forgot the entire reasoning behind why you began talking in the first place, and it’s heavily evident in your confused look. His lip quirks up again, “…to fix your door lock,” he adds, amused.

You mentally slap your forehead. Fucking get it together, you think to yourself. “Yes,” you immediately blabber out as soon as you realize you’ve gone quiet again. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Alright, darlin’, I’ll see you in a few,” he says as he shoots you a wink and begins walking in the direction of his truck, and there goes that nickname again.

Oh, you are absolutely fucked.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s a ten minute drive back home, and as soon as you get back in the car, you call your best friend and tell her what an absolute fool you made out of yourself.

“BITCH,” she screams, gasping for air at how hard she’s laughing, “I can’t fucking stand you, oh my god, I’m crying.”

“You’re such a bitch,” you tell her, while tears are also streaming down your face, attempting to catch your breath. “Dude, I swear, once you get a good look at him, you’ll see what the fuck I’m talking about, and you’ll see my reaction was VALID to such a beautiful looking man.”

She stays on the phone with you for the rest of your little drive, and ends your guys’ conversation with, “In all seriousness, though, you better jump on that di-”

You gasp out and yell her name, “OH MY GOD, you’re done. Goodbye.”

She cackles, “Update me later, babe. I love you.”

“I love you more, you fuckin’ menace,” you say as you park.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Your next few hours are filled with you absolutely stressing. You know Joel is just coming to fix the door, but you can’t shake away the nerves. So you spend the first hour absolutely deep cleaning your apartment.

You still have about maybe an hour left, so you decide to try and calm your nerves some more with a quick bath. You quickly undress and give yourself a quick wash in the shower to wash all of today’s dirt before you set up your bath.

Filling up the tub, you throw in some lavender scented bubbles and light your favorite cashmere vanilla candle, the combination of the scents immediately relaxing you. Maybe a little too relaxed, though, because as you sink deeper into the tub, your body can’t help but continue to rise in heat at the thought of Joel. Without thinking, your eyes slowly close and your hand drifts closer to where you’re aching the most.

You start by drawing soft circles on your clit, pulling soft little mewls from your throat. The thought of those big rough hands pushes you to move a little faster, and the thought of that scruff rubbing against your inner thigh pushes you to dip your middle and ring finger into your entrance, pumping in and out with such a need you haven’t experienced in a while. The sounds coming out of you now are high pitched and whiny, and you can’t help the way your body writhes against the bathtub, sloshing water out the sides.

Your hips are grinding up against your palm, stimulating your clit while your fingers hit that velvety spot that drives you absolutely mad. You bring your other hand up to your mouth as a reflex to silence your sounds, but an image flashes in your mind that it was Joel’s hand over your mouth instead, and that’s what ends you.

Your eyes clamp shut, head thrown back, spine completely arched, and all you can see are little white fireworks behind your eyelids as your orgasm breaks you, the lukewarm water feeling hotter than when you first drew the bath.

You sit there for a moment to catch your breath, willing your body to work since the man you just touched yourself to should be here in any minute.

You dry yourself off, putting your hair up in a towel and dressing in some gray sweat-shorts and a tank top, not caring to completely doll your figure since he’s in your home after all. Right as you finish up your skincare, you hear a knock at your door. You take one more look at yourself, and you’re still absolutely flushed with a hint of that orgasmic glow, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If he can make you cum like that with just the thought of him, you’re absolutely gonna take your best friend’s advice from earlier.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You open the door for him and immediately the heat you tried to save yourself from is back, tenfold. “Hey, darlin’,” he says with a smile. The nickname makes the butterflies in your tummy flutter harder than before. You give a sweet smile back. It’s his turn to melt, but you don’t clock it as easily as he can with you.

He steps inside, a little closer to you, and immediately he falls to his knees. You watch him, wide-eyed, as he pulls out a few little tools from his back pocket, and suddenly you realize you were holding your breath. Here he is, wasting no time getting started on fixing your door for you while you stare at him like he’s giving you a strip tease, all because he got down on his knees.

You clear your throat, trying to regain your composure, and you offer, “C-can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?”

He looks up at you, and he cannot get enough. Your flushed cheeks, the way your body language shows your excitement and nerves all in one, your towel lopsided on your head. So goddamn beautiful, he thinks to himself. Again, it’s his turn as he zones out in his thoughts, but this time, you do notice, and you can’t help but feel a sense of confidence shoot down your spine at the fact that you’re affecting him just as much as he affects you.

Your smirk grows the longer he stares, and finally he realizes what’s happening, and his face goes tomato red. He’s pretty sure no one has ever seen him blush this much since he was a teenager. “Some water would be wonderful, sweetheart, thank you,” he says, thanking whatever God in existence that his words were coherent and not a blubbering mess like his brain.

“Coming right up,” you say, and make your way into your kitchen, thankful for the little private moment to yourself. As you grab Joel a cup and fill it with ice and water, you feel your phone ring in your pocket. It’s your best friend. You bring your phone to your ear, hitting the answer button on the way up.

“Hello?” you repeat several times before you hear your best friend, but not through your phone. Forgetting the water for a minute, you scramble to the living room, where Joel is right next to, to hear your best friend coming from your living room speaker: Hello? Can you hear me?? I said did you jump on sexy neighbor’s dick ye-

You hurriedly end the call and throw your phone across the room. Your heart starts to pound even harder when you see Joel in your peripheral view, still working hard on the lock, but he is definitely in the proximity to have seen and heard everything. You quickly turn back to the kitchen to grab the glass, purposely avoiding Joel’s eye.

Quickly you grab the glass and place it on the little table near the front door. Joel sits back on his haunches for a moment and takes a long gulp of the ice cold water. Too amused at the display that happened moments ago, he can’t help himself when he says, “So… sounds like ya got your hands full with that friend of yours, hm?” He looks up at you with mischief in his eye.

And just like that, any sense of confidence you had at having the upper hand over this Texan man went down the drain. You completely fumble. “Oh- I- yeah, my best friend… Did you hear- Fuck, no, of course you heard, I-”

Joel pulls himself up to stand at full height, now towering over you. He brings his pointer finger and thumb to your chin, pulling you to meet his eyes while also pulling you from the hole you keep digging deeper. You immediately shut up. He has a crooked grin plastered on his face when he says, “I didn’t hear a thing,” followed by a wink. You can feel your knees wanting to buckle. You breathily squeak out an okay and he assures you with another okay in response. You two stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before Joel, without thinking, says, “Let me take ya out to dinner.”

You slowly pull away from his grasp, afraid you’re invading his space even though he just asked you out on a date. He takes it as a sign of discomfort and immediately creates an arm’s length of space between you. “I-I’m sorry if I overstepped or made you uncomfor-”

“No, Joel, hey,” you cut him off quickly, stepping slightly closer. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’d love to go to dinner with you,” you beam up at him, your bottom lip wedged in your mouth to ease your nervousness. “I just pulled away because I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything,” you quickly add.

“That’ll never happen,” he softly says. He steps closer again. “I’m sorry, but I- Shit, okay, I’m a gentleman through and through, but I-” he pauses for a moment, “I just- I really need to kiss you-”

You don’t let him finish his thought as you grab onto his arms and pull him into you, guiding both his arms around your lower back and guiding your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. It’s a battle of teeth and tongue, and the way your noses bump each other ever so often is enough for you to completely buckle. His hold on you is tight enough to keep you standing, but you truly don’t know how much more of this you can take with a certain bulge pushing into your lower belly. His one hand falls lower and testing the waters, he lightly grasps onto your asscheek. You moan into his mouth at that, and he takes that as your signal for him to fully grab you, hiking you up onto your tippy toes in an attempt to consume more of you. He breaks the kiss a little to give you some airflow back, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brings his kisses to the side of your mouth, to your cheek, gliding down your jaw and neck, licking and nipping anywhere you give him access to.

You were right. It’s not quite exactly your thighs like you were imagining earlier, but the way his plump lips, mustache, and scruff feel along your neck is absolutely sinful and addicting, and…

Oh, you are absolutely fucked.

Author's note - extended: I hope you guys enjoyed this enough to tune in to part 2! The 2nd part will be very SMUTTY, so... ;)

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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tunatoge · 9 months

Text

like the branch of a tree – s. geto x reader

contents: canon divergence (suguru lives and is a teacher at jj tech), fluff, ooc, reader is also a teacher at jj tech, not mentioned but insinuated satosugu, insinuated nsfw, brief mentions of third years and possible manga spoilers, title is based off of 'would that i' by hozier, NOT PROOFREAD

a/n: this is my first time posting on tumblr, i'm nervous LMAO sorry for any grammatical errors

shoko is quiet as she sits next to you at a slight angle, her knees bumping into yours as the two of you look at her phone together. the two of you look at the silly selfie satoru had sent her and you frown a little. the picture he’d sent depicted him sitting on a bench in a weirdly rundown part of town, megumi pouting next to him. in the background there’s a copper haired girl peering outside of an old, beat down building with yuuji next to her. you know there’s a curse somewhere on the scene from satoru’s crudely drawn red circle in the air, an equally poorly drawn angry face in the center of it.

you’re a little envious that satoru gets to hang out with his students. if kinji hakari hadn’t been suspended you’d be with both him and kirara. of course you didn’t have to supervise their missions anymore but you did admittedly miss your students. you were the only teacher on campus that wasn’t teaching–which was debatable seeing as suguru and satoru weren’t really teaching anything either. still, helping your students through some of the basic required educational courses would have been significantly better than the stacks of paperwork on your desk.

shoko knocks her knee into yours, drawing your attention to her tired (but very pretty) face. she nods her head towards the door of the morgue and you instantly brighten at suguru’s appearance. his hair is completely down and his uniform jacket is draped over his arm.

“morning,” he greets as he moves to sit next to you and shoko. “‘m guessing you two saw satoru’s selfie.” he nods towards shoko’s still unlocked phone as she hums in agreement and pockets her phone.

“your hair’s down,” you say in response instead, not having heard his previous statement.

suguru cocks his head to the side in confusion at your words before letting out a soft ‘ah’ as he laughs bashfully in a somewhat boyish way. “i woke up late,” he admits, “i slept through my alarm and got to the school a little after the morning class.” he smiles somewhat awkwardly (pointedly ignoring shoko’s knowing look, her raised brow seemingly yelling, “i know what you and satoru were doing last night!”) before offering his wrist, “i was gonna put it up when I got here.” his smile turns from awkward to somewhat confident when he finds you blinking up at him, captivated by his long hair.

you look towards his still outstretched hand and eye the black hair tie before shyly looking back up at suguru. when your eyes meet, an unreadable look crosses through his eyes as he swallows. he looks towards shoko behind you as she smoothly pulls her phone out again, an unlit cigarette in between her lips.

“may i?” you ask, drawing his attention back towards you as you gesture towards his hair and he almost immediately agrees. when he offers you his hair tie again you softly shake your head and pull a bright blue one off of your wrist. he pretends to be blind to the tiny little bow on it as he shifts so his back is towards you.

as you’re doing suguru’s hair, shoko texts satoru an image of you with the tip of your tongue out and your hands threaded through suguru’s long hair. she gets a jealous angry frowny face in response.

that’s MY hair tie!! >:(

notes: satoru is the first years' teacher, suguru is the second years', and you're the third years'. satoru made you play with his hair after he got back on campus. he said it was only fair because you'd given suguru the hair tie he'd given you. maki made a face when she saw suguru's hair later in the day. she asked if the twins had done it for him.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #gojo x reader x geto #jjk x reader #getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #vians.scribbs

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tsukimefuku · 2 months

Text

Let me die

I've been obsessed with a bit for a fic I want to write, so I just decided to put it here. Nanami fluff and some angst ahead, be careful.

Disclaimer: NO ONE DIES, it’s just a conversation in a bar where y/n requests something.

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a fic I'll eventually write (eventually). To see the ever-growing list of one-shots, please visit my masterlist :)

Disclaimer: they’re NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

You had just finished a mission that left a pretty bad taste in your mouth. You were forced to choose between two people to save, and one of them was your friend. Was.

The glare she had as she embraced her beloved's dead body made you sure that she would never forgive you for saving her instead of him. You chose to save her for egotistical reasons, you knew that. You knew (or thought you knew) that his death would not weigh on your shoulders as much hers would. However, you just didn't account in your egotistical equation how much his death would weigh on her, and how much more suffering you bestowed upon her by choosing to let him die in exchange for her life.

"Nanami, I need to drink." you said on the phone. "I had a horrible day. I'd like some company."

"We can meet at the bar by your house at 7PM." He promptly replied.

You and Nanami had grown close during the course of the last few months. He was assigned to you as your informal mentor until you were promoted from a grade 2 to a grade 1 sorcerer. There was some history before you went to work for Jujutsu High. Both of you met when he was on a mission that led to him eventually saving your life, and your gratitude eventually started to become something more. Sometimes, you wondered if he felt as close to you as you felt to him. These night drinks were turning into a regular thing, and you usually let your mouth say things you couldn't think to say out loud if it weren't for a few beers in, and Nanami being the person you were talking to.

***

After a while, when you spend so much time around somebody, you tend to pick up on their mannerisms, like their brows frowning, the way their mouths twitch when they feel mad, or how they are dead silent because they're drowning in unsaid things.

"What is it?" Nanami asked, out of the blue, surprising you. Both had already been drinking for a while, and you specifically were 4 beers down in misery. "I can hear your thinking from the other side of the table."

“I have a request for you.” You answered.

He took another sip of his drink, and said, unfazed, "What request?"

He inquired like he already knew you wanted to ask something from him, even before you knew you would.

"If you’re ever faced with a situation where you have to choose between saving my life or someone else, don’t choose me." you said. Nanami lifted his gaze to meet yours, and seemed surprised.

You continued. "Please, don’t make me live with the fact that me being alive is because someone died in my place and I had no choice over that. Don’t assign me that guilt.”

It would be something harsh to say to anybody, but you knew Nanami. You knew him well enough to be sure he'd not take that as an accusation of sorts. That's why you chose to tell him this kind of "if this ever happens" desire before telling anybody else. Shoko would probably chastise you for such a request, given you were prone to overthinking and martyrdom, and Gojo would never listen to that in the first place, simply doing whatever he felt like.

Nanami went silent for a while, mulling over what you asked him to do. Different from you, someone that had a little trouble controlling your emotions and how they impact your words and actions, Nanami was the man that you used to call in your head as nerves of steel. You had never seen him lose his composure. Ever.

He started talking, his face lightly flushed from alcohol. “There are two sides for this. You assume I’d be willing to live with the guilt of not saving you when I could have done so."

You were not expecting that answer. He was the most dutiful sorcerer you had ever met — hell, he was the most dutiful person you knew. If there was one thing Nanami was known for, it was not letting his emotions interfere with his judgement when making a decision. You never thought he could ever feel guilty if you died in a situation where you gave him permission to let you die.

"You'd feel guilty?" You questioned.

"Yes." He replied. "Your request would make me live with a guilt I don’t want, either."

"My request of letting me die, with my authorization, to save somebody else?" You inquired.

"Yes." He replied, looking down on his glass.

You were both silent for a moment.

"I can't accept your request, because you’re assigning me your guilt just as much." He took another sip from his now almost empty glass of whiskey. "I don't think I could bring myself to let you die, even if you asked me to.”

That pulled on your heart strings. Hard. You were instantly flooded with all the memories of the time you two spent together working, or simply chatting like this. All the times you had a silent but deep understanding of each other. Could he be...?

"I never pegged you for someone with any dose of egoism of not letting someone go when they'd rather die." You responded.

"Not letting you die." He answered. His answer made you fluster, ever so slightly, and you reclined yourself in your chair, trying to hide your face in the bar's dark ambiance.

“Would you ever curse me for that?” You asked. "Curse me for dying to save somebody else?"

“No, I wouldn't.” He replied. "That's who you are, and that is something about you that I respect, even if I don't understand it."

You chuckled softly, trying not to get too emotional. The alcohol was not helping. “Well, I might just have to curse you, then.” you responded, smiling.

“To curse me for saving you, you'd have to be alive.” He bottomed his drink. "I can live with that.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jjk fanfic #nanami x reader #nanami x you

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1-800-local-slut · 3 months

Text

Decisions

Rio x Black! Fem! Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, sad ending, lies and deceit, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, broken family, break ups, arguing, reader has a bad mom, mention of smut, kinda creepy Rio, abusive childhood, suicidal thoughts, recreational drug use, mentions of sex but no smut, Rio calls Beth annoying but make no mistake I love me some Beth, slight canon divergence, not proof read we die like men 💪🏾

Rio get’s close to the reader, due to him having an issue with her mother. He falls for her and they start dating but 8 months into their relationship she finds out the first six months of their relationship was a lie. She realizes she can’t trust him and dumps him.

PSA: The reader has an abusive mother and no father, there's only one mention of the reader getting punched in the face. If that's something that would trigger you then please don't read for your own sake

Please let me know if you guys enjoy!

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When he saw her for the first time, it was dark out. She was standing under the streetlight, waiting for her bus and Rio was standing in the bushes behind her. The light above made her luminescent, giving her dark skin and gorgeous glow. He didn't even know why it shocked him to see her there. He had been waiting for her after all.

It was a chilly April night, she was shivering. Rubbing her hands together and exhaling a puff of cold air. He even remembered thinking that it was weird how cold it was for April. She held her phone in her hand, her headphones lightly bled music. Rio could've stared at her all day, if only he wasn't here on business.

He needed to put some pressure on someone and this was how it needed to be done. Stepping out of the bush, Rio slid close to the target of the evening.

His eyes scanned her up and down, looking for some sort of entry point. She didn't notice him, he wasn't standing too close to her yet. With a final scan, he noticed the Jordan high tops that hugged her feet. Perfect.

Taking another step, a bigger step, he made sure his presence was known. Her eyes glanced up at him, a natural response. She carefully observed him, like she was deciding if she should take a large step away or just ignore him. The leaking music shut off and Rio fought back a smile. Best not to freak her out. It was time to finally put things into motion.

"Those shoes are nice, I was looking for a pair for my cousins quince gift but I couldn't find any in her size." Of course there was no way to start a conversation with a woman this late at night in t he middle of nowhere waiting for a bus without sounding like a creep but Rio was pressed for time.

She raised an eyebrow, and glance him up and down before she glanced at the time. Checking how much time before the bus came, smart.

"Thanks. I picked them up last week." Curt and to the point. Rio admired how quickly she went on the defense.

"They suit you. The color I mean. If you don't mind can I ask where you brought those? I just moved here, and I don't know where anything is." Her plump lips pushed into a straight line as if she was contemplating.

Mentally, he willed her to just go for it. Just take the bait, so the guy he had in the bushes who was about to take a few pictures for evidence could get something.

"Yeah, you just have to head to the store on 83rd. There's a place called Sole Symphony. You can get a good deal if you talk to the right person.

"Oh I passed that place on my drive in. I'm Rio, by the way." Extending his palm, Rio heard the bus pulling up behind them. Sure, he knew her name already. But what if he wanted to know more than just her name?

As she placed her hand in his and said her name, the doors of the bus slid open behind the two.

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"Baby what do you want to eat?" She was leaning on the arm of the couch, while Rio rested his head on her lap. Clad in one of Rio's black t-shirts, and a pair of his boxers that outlined that ass he worshipped. Under the lights of her living room, she still looked radiant.

"What, you can't cook?" Rio teased, only to be playfully swatted on his head.

"Stop being annoying, I'm ordering dinner because someone's stupid self forgot to go to the grocery store."

"I forgot to go because you wanted to play around all day, so had to I come home and handle business." Rio smiled, a true smile. A smile he hadn't had in a really really long time. She giggled and bent her face closer to his, and hummed. She rubbed her thumb over his forehead, in a way that made Rio shudder.

"I only did that because you finished all my weed and then got me the wrong strain. So maybe that's your fault?" Rio rolled his eyes playfully, and accepted the soft kiss she planted on his lips.

It filled him with a warm, thick feeling. If someone made love into soup, it was filling his stomach at this very moment. Giving him a full, heavy feeling that Rio never wanted to lose. After a second they pulled apart and Rio stared deeply into her eyes. She did the same, like she could see Rio baring his soul to her.

Every now and again though, he remembered though that this was merely temporary. He never, and he cannot stress how much he means never, let himself fall for someone he was using for business. Still, some rules were meant to be broken.

Whenever he remembered that fact, when he remembered that once his debt was settled with her mother (the whole reason he approached her at that bus station in the first place), his heart died a bit.

The past four months had been nothing but a mix of stress and bliss. Stress, the stress of accidentally hurting the person who broke into his heart. Bliss, from laying with her just like this. Every night, or going to dinner with her. How six months could change a man so much was beyond him. Just being with her, even if it was technically for leverage. Though he would never hurt her.

Still, if she knew, it would hurt her more than anything. It would be like a knife, piercing her heart before twisting and causing her to bleed out unstoppably.

Realistically, speaking anyone would be. If you knew your drug addict mother got herself in too deep and your boyfriend was only with you for leverage against her, you'd be pretty cut up about it, wouldn't you?

The drug addict mother, who started exhibiting psychotic jealousy at what seemed like the moment you turned 12 , and who punched you in the mouth after you refused to be nice to her new boyfriend, who you fought so hard to get away from after your nightmare of a childhood? Who told you everyday that not only were you not shit but you'd never be shit? The mother you don't even tell people you have, like the father you never met?

How would you feel to find out that after fighting your entire life just to live a life that wasn't filled with filth, bearing your entire being to someone (the only one who knew the truth), that finally when you found happiness none of it was real? All because of the mother who you don't even acknowledge, after fighting tooth and nail to get as far as you could from, was still giving you grief.

It killed Rio to know all of this too. To see the scars that she trusted him enough to explain. To explain why she's afraid to have children of her own, to understand what made her into the beautiful, strong and confident woman she turned into too. How could Rio hurt someone who accepted him so wholly?

It made him sick to think about. Honestly, he felt like a toxic rapper who does his woman wrong and everyone but her seems to know. He felt like the definition of shit.

"...be?"

"Huh?"

"Is thai food alright with you, babe?"

"Yeah. Yeah sorry I just dosed off for a moment." Just like that, her voice was like a light shinning through the dark. Her face reflected concern, and she ran a manicured nail over his cheek. On instinct he clasped her hand in his.

"What's wrong with you?" Her voice an even whisper. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her literally everything, and he meant everything. Everything about himself, not the partly fabricated tale he told her about his life for the sake of keeping her at an arms length.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Rio gave a small chuckle.

"Nah just thinking about you mamas." Rio smirked up at her and saw her playful eye roll.

"Boy, if you don't do something with yourself." She laughed with a the smile he'd fallen in love with, pinching him on his chest and he winced before letting out a laugh. Rio grabbed his pants from the side of the couch where he hastily threw them when he came home to 'handle business'. Pulling out his wallet, he plucked his credit card out of the folds. He chuckled and handed it to her, where it was gracefully accepted. Within seconds, Rio felt like he could feel the money being pulled from his heart and his card.

"I'm gonna go take a shower, you keep an ear out for the food." She announced, slipping out from underneath him and leaving his head to connect with the couch.

"Without me though?" He watched her walk out of the living room and to her bathroom, sliding the boxers off in the process. If anything she was relentless in her desire to tease him.

"Don't be gross." She chastised, tossing her shirt off behind her and Rio admired her perfect body before she was out of sight and the door behind her closed.

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"Flowers?" Beth raised an eyebrow at the large bundle in the back of his car. Rio glanced back, the flowers and immediate reminder of what was waiting for him right after this. He couldn't even fight the grin. This girl had him feeling butterflies, kicking his feet and giggling when she wasn't even there and it was only eight months.

"For my lady." It was Fall now. The changing leaves reminded Rio of his changing heart, his changing mind. How he changed so much in the last eight months in so many ways that he couldn't even describe.

Coming up on their eight month anniversary and Rio wasn't even close to playing when it came to celebrating. That big ass bouquet was just the first part. He had a pair of matching necklaces for the two of them, a set of twin cuban links with a nice romantic saying, 'Semper Fidelis' (Always Faithful) carved into them.

Especially since his relationship with Beth had been a recent source of anger between the two. In all fairness, Rio told her he was involved in the stock market, which technically wasn't a lie. She knew he did something illegal though and didn't seem to care as long as neither of them got arrested.

What he didn't explain was what a big tittied white woman was doing calling his phone in the middle of the night and why she sounded so upset when she answered instead of him. Or why there were so many calls between the two of them when Rio was at work when Rio requested she don't blow his phone up when he's at work. Or why when he came home early to have lunch with her he had to leave in the middle because Beth had been blowing his phone up during their entire meal.

Honestly though, Rio knew better than to trip about it. Shit, Rio knew he wasn't even feeling Beth's annoying ass like that. If it was him, some dude called his girl in the middle of the night then had the audacity to sound annoyed when HE answered the phone? He would've flown off the handle before the call even hung up. He'd be out of bed, pulling up his pants and boxers, grabbing his gun and his keys and half way into his shoes.

"You have a girlfriend?" Beth asked, eyes bugging out of her head, mouth open in shock. Why did she look like a salmon?

"You sound shocked. I got game, Elizabeth. Anyways, about your issue tell your FBI man that I hit or whatever." Pushing down the button, she still sat there gaping at him.

"What...?" She blinked, hushing her voice as if someone was gonna hear them. Part of him wanted to tell her to get the fuck out so he could get the fuck home. But in the past eight months, he learned how to have a bit more patience.

"Tell him we made love." Wiggling his eyebrows he made a motion for her to get out of his vehicle and she made her way out. Thank God.

Turning on his engine he winded down the window of the passenger window.

"Make me sound good." And with that he was gone.

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As crazy and inebriated as her momma was for most of her childhood, sometimes she was smart. Like when she taught her how to fight when those girls at school wanted to jump her. Like when she taught her and her sisters to never and she meant NEVER leave your sister in a pinch no matter whats going on between you three. When she taught her how to hot wire a car, and especially when to know if a man was lying.

There were more life lessons, like how to make a crack pipe on the go or how to hide from the police but what can you really learn from someone who was drunk as shit most of your life?

So imagine how shocked and confused she was when she realized 'dang. my momma was right, all niggas are liars.' because her boyfriend had been lying to her their entire relationship? Was it lying or omission? Was she gonna pack her shit and leave without a word to his no-good-low-down-lying-scheming-dirty-bastard self, or put hands on him and go to jail? Lots of decisions for a girl to make in one night. One thing she did decide on the moment she got that phone call from her mom this morning, and got those photos that were taken that first night they met: it was over.

She wished all she felt was anger but that was a lie. With Rio, no Christopher, things were easy. She really was in love, he made her heart swell up like a balloon. When she was at her worse, he was right there and understood and helped her in the best way he could. Understood her anger, understood her sadness. Whatever choice she made, he stood behind it no matter what. He wasn't the type of guy (maybe he could've been, it was clear that she had no clue who he really was) to just sit there and act like he always knew better than you. No, he listened to her, gave her an ear and when she asked for it advice.

This hurt. This wasn't just sadness and betrayal, it was despair. To know that after she fought to get away from her mother. After she got up, walked out that house with nothing but the clothes on her back and said 'if i'm homeless i'm homeless, but its better than being with you' and never saw her again it was only because of that woman that she met someone who she was so head over heels for.

Because of that woman she was sitting here, heart broken. She was sitting here, after sobbing her eyes out in disbelief, after deleting every single picture of the two out of her phone. She was sitting here drowning in rage and betrayal. No. No for once, she couldn't put all the blame on her.

Christopher made the choice to play in her face. He made the choice to waste eight months of her life. To lie, and say he loved her like would be the only woman for him. He probably was cheating on her with that white bitch (with a name like Elizabeth she had to be) and they were probably laughing at her for the past eight months cuddled up together. He made the choice and she fell for it. Outside, the lights of his car pulling up roused some sort of rage deep inside of her. A little voice in her head spoke, it said take a bottle to the backside of his head.

Taking the bottle of liquor next to her, and rearing her arm back over her head she pondered if she was really going to listen to that little voice.

It an easy decision to make.

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"You stupid fuck! Really Christopher, this is what we on?" The scream, and the bottle hitting the wall right next to the door was his greeting. Not a 'hi baby, how was work' like usual. He could already guess he was not about to hit tonight.

"What the fuck? What is your problem?" He yelled back, in this instance he was justified in his screaming considering the murder attempt.

"My problem? My problem? You dickhead, your my fucking problem! You thought shit was sweet? You thought I was just gonna let it slide?" She laughed, anger literally rolling off her.

Taking a moment to look around Rio noticed a few things: the photo of them that was on the table next to her couch was tipped over, the glass shattered the frame on the ground. There was a half empty bottle of wine and a broken glass in the sink. There was a manilla folder, one that he was praying he didn't recognize (but he was starting to think he did), clutched in her shaking hand. Her curly hair was a mess, like she'd been tugging at it in anger.

Sure he knew she'd always been a little bit crazy, he was actually really into it, but did he think this was how their eighth anniversary would start? Nope.

His stomach started to drop. It had been a few months since his business with her mother ended and he was truly hoping from the bottom of his heart hoping she would never find out. He ruled out her mother somehow finally worrying about her enough to tell her.

"What is that?" Rio asked, slamming the door behind him and stepping into the apartment fully. Her neighbors only needed to hear the first part of their exchange, nothing more. She took three defiant steps backwards. The lights were all off, and only the TV was on.

"Got this in the fucking mail today." She growled, throwing the packet at his face. Clear as day, the pictures he had taken of them. For proof. One the first night they met, two on their first date, three when they went to the arcade together and played every game you both could manage and he found himself really trying to impress her. That was when he realized her had a bit of a problem. Then a few more, but eventually they stop after the first two months of their relationship.

The next four months of them being together he resorted to threats and by some miracle her mother found a way to pay off her debts and he was done with her by month six. But not using her for only two out of eight months of their relationship was not a good look.

An awkward silence settled over the two, his stomach feeling heavy. He started to feel warm from shame and fear. The room felt like it was spinning and his mouth felt dry. Even before she said it he knew that he just lost the best thing in his life.

"And some phone calls. Not only did you fucking use me, you also threatened my mom and found my sisters houses?! You dickhead, I'll kill you." She roared, throwing a near by object, which he narrowly dodged.

"Why did you play in my fucking face? For eight fucking months you decided to play in my face and be laid up with me and act like you love me, are you serious?" His head hung low, shame and disappointment and anger. Anger because he knew one thing for sure, this was no ones fault but his. He made the decisions he made. That was on no one but him.

"What you can't fucking talk now? You don't know words? But when that hoe Beth called you could sit up on the phone with her about bullshit right?" She yelled. Rio couldn't even find words. Where should he even start? Beth seemed like the worse place to start.

"Right?" She yelled again, getting in his face before stepping back and breaking into deranged laughter putting a hand on her forehead in outrage. He was panicking. What did he do? Yell at her when he knew he was wrong? Yell at himself for hurting her? What was he even supposed to do in a situation like this? A dry and tear-filled laugh shook him from his thoughts.

"Why though? Why did you do this, I trusted you. I gave you my heart, I gave you my fucking everything. If you can't trust you, then what can I trust?!" The broken sob cut through Rio like a knife. She threw her arms out and drunkenly staggered a bit. She stared, eyes pleading for an answer. An explanation. Anything? But for the first time in a long ass time, Rio had no idea what to say. He felt his palms sweat, gaze still fixed on the photos.

She would never smile at him the way she was in those pictures again. And she grinned as bright as the Sun in each photo except for the first.

When she was still met with silence, Rio resigned. He wanted to say something. Damn, why couldn't he speak? Why was he just sitting there? She was just as confused (surely more confused) as Rio.

"I can't believe this. I let you in and you really sat there and played with me. And you really don't got shit to say either? Well guess what nigga, it's done. I'll die before you hear my voice again, before you ever seem me again. And I could sit up here and yell and scream at you but you know what my momma taught me? As worthless as she was she taught me one thing: the best way to hurt a man is to move on. Get the fuck out." And just like that, before Rio could even say a word it was all over.

The next few minutes were a blur. A trash bag with all his shit was thrown out the window after he was shoved out of her apartment. All the gifts he'd gotten her, the shoes, the jewelry, even her cart that had her name custom printed on it, were tossed out there too. Rio sat out there, outside her apartment complex for what felt like hours.

Shit it probably had been hours. The flowers in the back taunted him. He wanted to stomp on them, he wanted to kick and scream at the world. Why did he fucking do that? For his job of course. Fuck that job, look where it got him. Standing outside the apartment of the love of his life.

Worse, he didn't even speak to defend himself, and she tossed him out so quick that it left his head spinning. He wasn't even sure how he walked to the elevator and made his way to his car. He wanted to die, he wanted to collapse, he wanted to go all the way back in time and tell himself to call off everything and meet her some other way. Now he lost everything that could've been lost to him.

And it was all because of his decisions.

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@eddiemunsonreader

#black reader #x reader #fem reader #x black reader #rio x reader #rio good girls fanfiction #nbc good girls #rio good girls

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