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strawberrystepmom · 5 months

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pairing: Kenjaku x F!Reader, past Geto Suguru x F!Reader

word count: 3.6k

about: you become kenjaku's captive to ensure that he will not miss his opportunity to fight the strongest after his return from the prison realm. the temptation of being this close to the last remaining earthly fragment of the man you once loved, suguru, proves too much to resist and you give into your desires despite the hole they're bound to leave.

contents: NSFW - MINORS DNI. DARK CONTENT WARNING, MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS FOR CH 236 AND BEYOND | dubcon, manipulation, violence against reader, asphyxiation, kidnapping | reader is a sorcerer and went to school with geto and they had mutual feelings for one another, mentions of religion and references to god, kenjaku retained some of geto's memories and knows reader through them, reader has breasts and descriptions of vaginal anatomy are given, rough piv sex with little prep, reader is referred to as "girl", major character death (off screen).

notes: i've uh....been going through some things lately LMAO tbh i started this awhile back before thanksgiving but have felt weird about posting it and it very nearly stayed in the "between me and god" folder so i held back but today i said fuck it. if you read, thanks and i hope you enjoy!!!

header art is by jenny holzer and divider is by @/cafekitsune ♡

“The old occupant of this vessel was very fond of you, you know?”

How dare Kenjaku mention Suguru so casually, as if he were a tenant to his own flesh and bone instead of its rightful owner?

“You know nothing about him,” The words are full of venom, flying from your mouth not unlike the way you spat at the curse user’s face two days prior to now. He chuckled when the fluid hit his cheek, wiping it off without a second thought. “Or me.”

You felt so guilty for spitting at his face, the face of a man you once believed that you loved, that you wept until you began to dry heave atop the futon mattress in the room that has been designated as yours. It’s the same bed you rest on now, duvet over your knees that are hiked to your chest. It’s a means to protect yourself from any vulnerability but it’s truly no use. If Kenjaku wants to harm you, he will.

He has insisted your accommodations be comfortable since arriving three days ago given you are collateral and not a captive, his own clever wording for the situation, but you’re more than aware that if you were to attempt to escape from the cage that you’d hit the window just as all birds hungry for a taste of freedom do. There are no cuffs, chains, or bars but your freedom is no longer yours. It is a prize to be won pending the defeat of the man standing across from you in the doorway, shoji door open beside him, flowing hair as dark as the midnight sky brushing the backs of his elbows.

For years you wondered what you’d do if faced with Suguru again. Would you strike him, insisting he deserved it for all the hurt left in his wake? Ask him why in a scream so powerful your shoulders would shake with the weight of your fury? Perhaps you’d forgive him, as you’d been taught and encouraged to do your entire life, and those mumbled prayers cast to the God you believe in above you would be true for the first time since they’ve left your treacherous lips.

“I forgive him, I hope you can, too.” You have begged God aloud and silently since sixteen years old. You have always been devout in your faith despite abandoning most of the tenets that make someone a believer, your lack of devotion not enough to deter you from selfishly asking for absolution for a man who you know deserves none.

God’s answer is clear when faced with the fact that this is not Geto standing in front of you. There is no less mercy a person can be shown than their body being used as a sick prop after their death.

The space where his thoughts and dreams and hopes used to lie is occupied by something far worse than just visions of a world purified through means of violence, a place where people like you could live without the threat of death and sacrifice to keep others safe. Granted, that wasn’t exactly a noble purpose either, but at least it didn’t threaten your life the way that whatever lives inside of his skull does now.

“I know more about both of you than you think.”

Kenjaku’s words drip with smugness and your stomach flips. The natural responses of your body to a man who looks and sounds just like Suguru make you sick but you cannot focus on fighting them off and keeping yourself protected at the same time, you have to simply make peace with the butterflies in your stomach that feels like something is punching you in the gut over and over again. He dares enter the room and you scoot further up the futon, hitting the wall behind you and leveling a glare in his direction.

Suguru’s body reacts to you, as well, something that Kenjaku planned long ago to use to his advantage. It started with hazy dreams, a face he recognized as yours drifting through them, your thighs and your lips and your skirt. It’s a version of you a little younger, a little warmer - less edgy than you are now. You are sharp and finely tuned to harm while the version of you that lived in Geto’s mind will forever stay soft, a freshly unfurled rose.

“All you’ve done is vandalize him,” you accuse and he shrugs, dressed in a cotton yukata rather than the robes he stole in addition to the body they dressed. It’s easy to imagine another life where this is Suguru and you are you and he’s coming to your shared bedside, kneeling on the ground the same way Kenjaku is now while he invites himself to the only space you currently have as your own.

“You’re a smart girl, don’t play dumb.” Your glance moves from the doorway to him, disgusted by how brave he is getting this close to you. “Perhaps I’m simply using the power this body holds in the way he was too cowardly to attempt.”

Despite your current state of sitting in nothing but a yukata yourself, you are physically strong from spending the last decade of your life as nothing more than a glorified weapon to use in the fight against evil. Even if your Cursed Technique would be unlikely to have any effect on the man, you could be a difficult problem for him if you wanted to be, yet you sit and do nothing but wait and refuse to respond to his words. He chuckles at your stubbornness and reaches across the bed and your body to grab your chin between his thumb and index finger. He shifts your head until you’re staring directly at him and a smile crosses his lips.

You do not fight him off.

“Tell me, sorcerer,” he starts and you swallow, bottom lip quivering. You want to reach out and slap him away, to scream and kick but your body stays still, the only place blood is pooling between your legs and in the heat of your face. “Where are those teeth and claws you were so eager to show me on your first night here?”

He reaches his thumb upward and presses it against your mouth, stopping the shake with a single touch - your body’s natural reaction to a man you are now certain you loved, given it’s the only explanation for your behavior. It’s a form of trust, the muscle memory of a kiss he gave you in your dorm room at the school you once shared. The first night you were spitting and hissing, now you’re so placid.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

Stubbornly, you shake your head and Kenjaku chuckles again, pulling his thumb away from your lip but maintaining the grip on your chin. You know this is not Suguru, it’s as clear as the stitches across the forehead of the practically empty vessel that further closes in on you. He moves silently until he’s mere inches away from you, his head hovering over your knees that are still pulled against your chest. You watch him with narrowed eyes, tucking against yourself tighter than you ever have as a means of comfort, but it does nothing to stop him from lingering.

“I could just make you speak if I wanted to,” he warns. The power in this situation belongs to him.

“What’s the point of fighting you? You’re going to do whatever you want with me anyway.” You admit, defeated. Whatever fight you had left in you was smothered weeks ago during the attack on Shibuya. Even the release of Gojo is not enough to fill you with hope for the future. It’s pointless to keep fighting when the only outcome is going to be loss.

The shaky sound of your voice makes the curse user move closer to you and you shut your eyes tightly, refusing to look at him lest your body continue with these inexplicable natural responses. Heart pounding against your chest, it’s inexplicably frustrating that it cannot seem to separate what your brain knows is true from what your body wants to believe.

It isn’t him, you scream within the confines of your own mind but it does not prevent your palms from feeling clammy and the squeeze of your inner thighs against each other to provide some relief against the heat in your core.

It isn’t him. It isn’t him. It isn’t him…

Chanting the words internally, you open your eyes and are met with a pair of golden ones staring directly at you. They’re the same that stared at you in a dorm room a decade ago although they’re missing the warmth they had back then, dripping honey sweetness hidden in the irises turned to tar.

“You’re right, I can.” He nods and dark hair falls over his eyes, catching your eye. Your stomach turns when you spot the stitches across his forehead but your gaze returns to his so quickly you can hardly think about it. “But will it be what I want or is it what this body desires, I wonder?”

This piques your interest and Kenjaku tilts his head to the side inquisitively, dark hair sweeping over your knees and around your body. It feels like a curtain, a veil like the ones you are so used to using to keep people safe and ignorant and outside of your world of sorcery.

“What do you mean?”

A smirk is the response you are granted and he moves closer to you, one of his hands reaching for the duvet you’re using to cover you. Pulling it back gently, your robe covered body coming into view and once again, you make no effort to fight. With this barrier removed, he runs his palm over the outside of your thigh. Muffling your whimper at the touch, you attempt to hide your face in your shoulder but he stops you, still grasping onto your chin and still holding your gaze.

“Interesting.”

His hand travels from the outside of your thigh to the insides and you gently spread them to allow him access before realizing what he’s searching for. Attempting to cut off his access by closing your legs, he holds your thigh in place and lets his fingers dip lower along the soft skin. You quiver and shake beneath him like a leaf clinging to the branches of a tree in winter, desperate for somewhere to remain, and those fingers inch closer and closer to your core. He stops when he feels the coarse hair covering your mound and dares to dip a single fingertip between your folds, raising his eyebrows when he feels the arousal seeping from you.

“I knew it,” he whispers so low you wonder if you were even meant to hear it but the way he gazes at you, like that of a man starved, tells you that the words were meant for no one but you.

Your hand shakes as much as the rest of you when you finally lift it from your side, reaching out to him and taking a strand of hair between your fingers. It feels just as you imagined it would, silk between your digits, and a breathy sigh leaves you before you begin to cry. Dropping the small strand, you choose to reach out toward his forehead and use your hand to block the stitches covering it.

“Suguru.”

You babble the name like it is precious, your lip quivering just as it did before, and the evil man shakes his head, capturing your wrist with the hand he just removed from your chin. He lowers your hand enough that you can see the stitches unobscured.

“Kenjaku, actually.”

He lowers your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, amused when you squirm where you sit, practically delirious with lust and confusion. You do not want this, at least that’s what you tell yourself while parting your legs further and panting, chest heaving with every breath.

Wordlessly, he uses his free hand to untie your robe and it falls off of your shoulders, exposing you to him fully before he can blink. This is something he remembers seeing in one of those dreams but you look different than whatever the imagination of a man who was infatuated with you was able to come up with during his loneliest hours. It amuses Kenjaku that he is the one to see you like this, bare and willing.

Tracing down your belly and lower, he stops between your legs which makes you whimper. You’re so desperate to be touched, to pretend he is someone you’ll never have the opportunity to love as properly as you could have if you’d both lived a different life, that your hips actually arch off of the bed eagerly. It should embarrass you but you are past the point of humiliation, willing to be fucked by evil incarnate just for the sake of a taste of Suguru Geto.

“Pathetic little thing,” he coos and you say nothing in return. You’re well aware of your failings as a sorcerer and a human being as his fingers spread your labia to get a glance at what you have to offer. For a moment, you consider praying for Suguru again; to selfishly beg God to make sense of your own actions but you know that he no longer has mercy for an ill behaved member of his flock. You will simply accept the consequences, whatever they will be.

His thumb brushes your clit and you moan, tipping your head back and toward the ceiling. You wait for the sensation of pleasure to climb through you again but it doesn’t come until you look downward again, eyes fluttering open.

“Eyes on me or you get nothing.”

Too afraid to look away lest it keep you from the only good thing you’ve felt in who knows how long, you keep your eyes glued to Kenjaku’s face while his hand works between your legs, spreading the slick from your cunt toward your clit and back down. If you could just shut your eyes, you could pretend, but they’re open and glued between your legs, watching every feathery stroke of his fingers through your folds.

Kenjaku’s cock hardens against your thigh and for a moment you dare to feel powerful knowing you aren’t the only one surrendering to the most base of your needs. He drops your hand and reaches for the tie of his robe, opening it and giving you the only look you’ve ever been lucky enough to get of Suguru’s bare body.

Scarred, honed, a tool - just like yours. If you weren’t so lost in the moment, the lifetimes you have imagined for years would be playing through your mind.

You gasp and knit your brows together, bucking against the increasing pressure of Kenjaku’s fingers while he brings you back to him and out of your head. Whatever you’re thinking about doesn’t matter when he inserts a finger inside of you, only testing how wet you are with no intention of preparing you for his cock.

When he’s satisfied with how wet you are, he withdraws his finger and you whine. The sound is the most he has heard from you since the first night and it makes his eyes widen in interest. He shifts until he is standing between your spread knees and the realization that this is really happening hits you at once, your face flaming with desire.

“You’re so impatient.”

The curse user tuts at you with a roll of his eyes and spreads your legs as wide as they can go to accommodate the width of his body. He’s broad in shoulder and hip and you bite your lower lip when he runs the head of his cock through your folds, following the same pattern of his fingers. You expect the teasing to last longer but it stops abruptly. Before you can take a breath to prepare yourself, his cock is buried to the hilt inside of you, and you gasp with wide eyes, shocked.

“As good as you imagined?”

Words come to your mind but do not form enough to leave your mouth while he thrusts roughly, your body jerking violently against his. It’s painful, the size of him with little prep in conjunction with how he uses your body as nothing more than a glorified place to take his aggression out, but all of the numbness within you thaws and for the first time since you realized Geto was no longer Geto in Shibuya, you feel.

It’s hard to name all the emotions you are experiencing because they blur into something barely comprehensible. Pleasure and pain and bone chilling sorrow, the kind that makes tears silently drip down your face while he takes what he wants from you. He doesn’t bother to play with your clit and there is no need to, the joy you’re taking simply from being used by Suguru’s body enough that the knot inside of you is slowly beginning to unravel.

Skin on skin punctuated by his low grunts and your whines fill the small room and you are so lost, you lift yourself halfway up to meet Kenjaku and consider kissing him. Would it be close enough to kissing Suguru that you could eventually justify it or would it just sully the one good memory you have of him?

You don’t have long to think about it before you are pushed back down to the bed, one of his hands caging your throat and keeping you pinned to the bed below. A reminder that this is for his pleasure and not yours although you feel yourself coming closer to the edge than you were just moments prior, shutting your eyes tightly. All of the motion inside of you stops, the hard thrusts of his cock ending, and your eyes shoot open.

“Remember what I said. Eyes on me or you get nothing.”

Nodding, you keep them open and he begins again, pace rougher than before. You can do nothing but grunt and struggle to breathe, his cock carving out space inside of you that didn’t exist until he entered you. Every kiss of his tip against your insides knocks the breath out of you and finally you cum in a strangled moan, walls quivering around his length.

His hand inches further up your throat and squeezes experimentally. As expected, you do not fight back and he takes his indulgence with a grin, choking you with varying degrees of pressure and feeling your cunt spasm around him when he surprises you by tightening his grip.

You like this. You want this.

He leans forward and shifts his weight to his arm and hand, finally spilling inside of you with a deep moan. Warmth fills every inch of you and you wish that you felt as full in your heart as you do in your cunt but a void remains.

Kenjaku’s other hand slides up your body and wraps around your neck, both of his palms resting on either side of your neck and fingers splaying over your throat. It’s dangerous to let him have this much access to any part of you that he could possibly crush but you do not move, tearfully looking up at him and sniffling. He increases his pressure, not enough to harm you, but enough to make you work hard and you realize how easily he could just…end this.

“Please kill me,” you beg while struggling to breathe, realizing what you’ve done now that the afterglow of orgasm can no longer protect you from the cold hard truth.

You are a betrayer. You slept with the enemy to sate your own selfish desires and death seems almost too kind to beg for, yet you do.

“Kill me.”

Your face turns in shade and your vision is dotted with darkness, a miserable end to a miserable life you consider, but at least it will be over. The pressure of Kenjaku’s hands around your neck continues to increase until you are certain you are taking your last breath, lungs aching until he abruptly stops. He glances down from where he rests above you, half swollen cock softening and letting his cum leak out around the tip of it that is still inside of you and onto the sheets below.

“I will not give you the satisfaction of death until you give me the satisfaction of watching you fight for it.”

Removing his hands from around your throat completely, he glances down at the pressure indentions of his fingers with a smile. Your eyes flutter shut, you’ve passed out from lack of air, and he admires the heap he has left you in, reaching for your robe and wiping the remnants of his release and yours on the corner of it.

Nobody is coming to save you, a secret Kenjaku knows that you are not yet aware of. Satoru Gojo is dead, defeated at the hands of Sukuna. The news broke this morning and he was preparing to come to your room to let you know until this little distraction occurred. He had an inkling you were susceptible to Suguru Geto’s charms even from beyond the grave but he had no idea it would be this easy, your slumped form resting on the futon beside him. He pats your head as one would a treasured dog, long and loving strokes that do not stir you, your bare breasts swaying slightly with every breath you take.

The new world is on the horizon and he may keep you around as a plaything for a little longer than he originally intended.

#kenjaku x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #kendall writes

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ghostbeam · 1 year

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swore i could feel you through the walls | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Dabi knows that he can’t leave you now. You belong to him, and he belongs to you, and the stars knew before either of you did. And Dabi can’t argue with fate, or destiny, or pure dumb luck, not that he wants to. He pulls your comforter up over his body. He’ll be here when you come home to him. In a place made for staying, Dabi thinks he will.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is an idea that has been bouncing around my head for like. Literal years ajsjsjsjs It’s always kind of been more of a horror idea and then I fanficified it and now it’s this! This was kind of a process and I rewrote and replanned and went over this over and over again but I think it is at a place that I am mildly happy with. It’s a completely ridiculous idea and I’m honestly a little insecure about it but fuck it!! Thanks for reading hope u enjoy<3 (title from Chinese satellite by Phoebe bridgers) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, f!reader, explicit content, yandere!dabi, stalking, Dabi hides in readers house without her knowledge, some paranoia, psychological abuse, slight yandere!reader, mentions of somnophillia but no actual instances of it, violence, non-consensual voyeurism (Dabi watches reader masturbate), unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, marking, biting (shoulder, neck), painplay, one mention of carving names into skin with no instance of it, mentions of blood (reader bites dabi’s neck and draws blood), use of good girl, mutual obsession

Words: 9.3k

He can’t breathe.

Dabi runs from the low-ranked hero, surprisingly fast on his tail as the distance between the two becomes smaller and smaller. With his lungs burning, his skin irritated from quirk use, and the lack of help from his peers, Dabi realizes that he needs to find a way to lose the ice quirk user that is quickly gaining on him.

Turning down a narrow alleyway, he’s disappointed to find that it’s a dead end. He pauses to catch his breath, keeping himself tucked tightly against the shadowy wall. Dabi surveys his surroundings, finding nothing but garbage before he looks up. He’s against an apartment building, he realizes, looking at the lights in the windows above him.

All windows are lit except one.

Dabi doesn’t have the time to wonder about the owner, shaking his head and forcing himself up the fire escape, preparing himself to use his quirk if it comes down to it. He breaks the lock on the darkened window and shuffles inside. He falls over a stack of books that sits underneath the window, freezing on the floor as he listens for any movement throughout the walls. When he hears nothing, he stands from the floor and closes the window, creeping down the hall in search of the other rooms. There’s one bathroom and a bedroom with no one inside, and relief rushes over Dabi as he feels his shoulders relax.

Assuming you won’t be home for a while, Dabi makes his way back to the main room, turns the light on, and heads for the kitchen. He looks through your fridge for something to eat, pulling out a Tupperware of leftovers that he heats in the microwave. As he waits for the seconds to pass, he looks around the apartment.

It sets in, then, how lived in the place is, shelves full of books, records and DVDs, art and photos against the walls, leaving almost no space for the blankness underneath. The kitchen is pink, he realizes, looking around and eyeing the various knickknacks shaped like mushrooms or kittens, unique magnets hang a mess of papers on the fridge beside post-it notes of reminders.

He wants to hate it. It’s a complete mess, chaotic even, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s intrigued now. He ignores the beeping of the microwave and steps away from the kitchen, observing the various pictures on the walls. It’s not difficult to find the owner of the apartment, the face showing up in a multitude of snapshots. Your face.

As he looks at the walls, he finds himself stuck on you, the curve of your jaw, your lips, your eyes. You make his heart beat in his chest, excitement bubbling at the realization that he is standing in your home, in your space, right in the middle of your entire life.

You’re beautiful. He feels his stomach drop.

The more he explores, the more he seems to like you. The Sargent print on your wall, the Rilke in your bookshelf, the numerous albums in your collection that he knows nothing about. He flips through the pages of your books, smiling at your annotations, the ink between the pages, and the tiny star you draw next to your favorite passages. He runs his fingers across the words over and over again, committing them to memory, the need to love the things you love burning in his chest.

It’s not enough, he realizes, looking through just this room. He stalks down the hallway and turns the light to your bedroom on. And oh, how content he feels in here, a room clearly much more personal than the one out there. It’s a bit of a mess, with clothes on the floor and the bed like you’d changed out of many different outfits before leaving. The full-length mirror against your wall is peppered with postcards and pictures from magazines and those same post-it notes: call mom, pay the phone bill, need more cotton pads. So, you’re forgetful. Dabi smiles at the knowledge.

There are string lights of stars hanging on your ceiling and lamps in the shape of flowers on your bedside table. Your bed is unmade and you have sheets with scatters of constellations on them. Your affinity for stars makes him smile, one more thing he’s found in common with you.

It shocks him how interested he is in you, in all of the things that make up your little life. But the more he explores, the more he’s sure you’re made for him.

He looks through your closet, through your dresser, stuck rummaging through your underwear drawer. Every set of lingerie you have is some variation of blue, and Dabi can’t help but feel as though it’s for him. It’s all for him, your things, you. Fate, or the universe, or luck itself is on his side. He pockets a pair of panties that closely resembles his eyes before turning to your desk. More post-it notes are stuck to the surface, and there’s a notebook that he reaches for before your wall catches his eye. There are more photos, haphazardly taped up and not at all as organized as your living room, but he can tell they’re important to you: family photos, people he recognizes from films, rock singers, and—him.

Dabi is on your wall.

The photo is one that went viral a couple of months back when he got into an altercation with one of the top ten heroes. He remembers the fight well because of how large his flames grew, and the damage that he did to the surrounding area, to the people, to the hero he was up against. He’s stood with his arms out in front of him, neon flames emanating from his palms as the moment in battle is frozen in time forever on your wall. You printed it out on photo paper and everything. He plucks it from its spot and turns it over. Your handwriting with his name and a heart is scrawled on the blank space. He runs a thumb over the heart, feeling his face warm up.

This isn't a mistake. You know who he is, and you’re a fan, not just of the photo itself, but of him. He wonders if you’re one of those weirdos he’s seen online with accounts dedicated to him, one of the anonymous boxes that engage in discussions about his quirk and identity, losers grasping at any detail they can that might bring them closer to the truth, or just to him in general.

But the more he thinks about it, the more excited he gets, thinking about you saving blurry pictures of his fights to your phone, watching youtube videos of him with shitty quality, and tweeting about him with stupid little emojis. He wonders if you dream of him, if you think of him while touching yourself, or if you fantasize about silly things like being a villain’s girlfriend. He likes thinking of you like this, just as obsessed with him as he’s becoming with you.

Dabi doesn’t care what it’s called: divine intervention, cosmic love, soulmates. All are true; none capture how this feels.

Your laptop is password protected and his name doesn’t work when he tries, so he moves on from your bedroom. Entering your bathroom, he looks through your medicine cabinet, analyzing your meds and products as he searches for every bit of information he can. He looks at the lipstick that sits on the counter and debates putting it on in the form of an indirect kiss but decides to pocket it instead. He sprays each and every one of your perfumes, deciding which is his favorite, and throwing the one he dislikes out the window he came through, watching it shatter against the cement.

He pulls back the shower curtain and begins to strip, turning the water on and letting the heat hit his worn-out body. He hasn’t felt water pressure this good in years. He uses your shampoo, your conditioner, your rose-scented soap, even though it’s sure to irritate his scars. He uses everything he can to be close to you, to smell like you, to have any piece of you even though you’re not here.

When he’s done, he lays in your bed, against the sheets that you occupy every night except tonight, and stares up at the string lights above him. He picks up the stuffed bear with angel wings that sits against one of your pillows, caressing the ears between two fingers. He thinks about you, about the things he doesn’t know, details you don’t have plastered to your walls or hidden between pages of poetry books. He wants to know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, how you’d look undone beneath him.

He can finally breathe.

…

The keys to your apartment chime against your door as you move to unlock it, hoards of keychains rattling against each other as you push the heavy door open. It slams shut behind you and you toss your keys onto the kitchen counter, hauling your suitcase behind you. The familiar pang of loneliness hits you immediately as you look out over your crowded apartment.

“I’m home.” You mutter softly, running your fingers over the plush fabric of your couch.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself with books and posters and comfortable shag carpets, you still feel the same each time you come home to emptiness.

You roll your suitcase to your bedroom, deciding that unpacking is a job for the you of the future while the you of the present deserves to sink into the couch and watch tv. Your unmade bed catches your eye and you wonder if you’d forgotten to tidy up before you left to visit your mother. You don’t dwell on it, dragging your tired body to your couch and turning on your television. You flip through multiple channels before a name on the news catches your attention: Dabi.

Your obsession with the cremation villain seemingly happened overnight. The League of Villains had intrigued you due to their mission to dismantle hero society, a cause that resonated with you as a quirkless citizen. When Dabi joined the group, you were immediately interested in the aloof and mysterious fire quirk-user. You never stood a chance. You spent hours on message boards, gathering any and all information on the group as you could in order to feel closer to him. Your adoration never made much sense to those you talked to online with the lack of information available about the man. But as the League grew in popularity, details about Dabi became far more accessible to the general public. His true identity remained a mystery but two things you were certain of: his quirk came with a drawback in the form of his own body and fire got him excited.

And now, the news anchor on your television was relaying the news that he had been seen around your neighborhood and still hadn’t been found. You feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest, excitement bubbling up as you think about the prospect of catching a glimpse of him in real life. Realistically, you know there’s no way that Dabi stuck around here, understanding the risks of staying in one place for too long as a wanted criminal, but the thought makes your stomach flip. You lean back against your couch, clutching the remote in one hand and letting out an excited giggle. For a moment, you’re grateful for the emptiness of your apartment, your embarrassing display of excitement only witnessed by you and you alone.

You spend a few hours on LOV fan accounts and forums, hoping to find out any more details about the news, but most people online say it’s not worth looking into. Much like you thought, Dabi was most likely far away from your place by now.

Finding nothing, you stand up from your couch, stretching your arms above your head as you make your way to your bathroom. You turn on the shower and allow it to heat up as you find something to sleep in. When you return, you strip and step into the shower. Your mind wanders toward thoughts of Dabi as you stand underneath the water. You’re disappointed. The one weekend you leave town, the love of your life visits your building. The endless push and pull is frustrating.

It’s something that’s happened to you time and time again, coming across the aftermath of an attack, or arriving somewhere that Dabi was rumored to have been seen. You keep missing him by mere seconds, and this is no different, though you aren’t exactly sure what you would do if you ever got a chance.

After finishing up, you step out of the shower, take a towel from the hook on the wall and dry yourself off. You change into your clothes and reach towards your medicine cabinet before pausing. Drawn in the steam on the mirror is a heart. You stare at it, examining it closely. Had you drawn on the mirror the last time you showered? When was the last time you cleaned the mirror? You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a loud bang coming from your living room.

Without thinking, you rush towards the sound, spotting the door to your hallway closet slamming shut. You freeze where you stand at the end of the hallway, weighing your options before deciding you don’t have much time to think about it. Bolting to your kitchen, you pick up a large knife from its block, before carefully making your way back to your closet. With the knife in one hand, you turn the knob to the door, pulling it open in a hurry and holding the blade in front of you. You’re met with nothing but your own things, coats, and dresses that you never wear, a closet full of items left unused. Even when you push through the racks of clothes, you find nothing.

Relief washes over you at the knowledge that you are in fact here alone. You lower the knife, allowing yourself to breathe as you calm down. You stare down at the weapon in your hand, scoffing.

“What was I going to do with this?” You speak out loud. Even if somebody was in your home, could you really defend yourself? You’re quirkless, you aren’t trained in any sort of self-defense, and you’re not even sure you’d have the guts to actually stab someone. You shake your head, walking to your kitchen to put it back.

You retreat to your bedroom, pulling back the covers of your unmade bed, clutching your bear in one arm, and staring up at the ceiling.

Inside of your hallway closet, up against the wall, Dabi’s shoulders relax. He imagines you with your knife outside of the door, the scared expression on your face, one he could only see from in between your coat and the wall. Your eyebrows pinched up and your eyes wide, your bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. He takes pride in being the reason for that look. He pulls away from the wall, carefully sliding out of the closet and shutting the door behind him. He looks down the hallway, toward the door that you’ve left ajar. He wants to sneak in, watch your chest rise and fall, caress your cheek, and feel you lean into his touch, but he knows you're more than likely awake, still shaken up from his antics.

He’ll be back tomorrow, anyway.

…

The encounters continue into the rest of the week. Doors creak open and things fall from shelves. You hear noises late into the night and find more hearts left on reflective surfaces, your mirrors, your television, your windows.

With no sign of another living thing inside of your home with you, the only explanation you have left to give yourself is something paranormal, even if you aren’t sure of it yourself.

And besides, you kind of like the idea of living with a ghost. This one seems to be in love with you.

On top of all of the hearts, your ghost has knocked off books of love poems from your bookshelves, blasted Linger by The Cranberries from your speakers, and flipped through television channels to land on one playing In the Mood for Love. And when you fall asleep at night, just as you can feel yourself crossing the boundary between sleep and awake, you swear you can feel your bed dip beside you.

You don’t hate it, and you aren’t scared, and sometimes it is comforting to know that you aren’t as alone as you always believed you would be.

Dabi watches you most days. He watches you nap on your couch and laugh at your cell phone. He watches you parade around your home in nothing but your underwear and a t-shirt. He watches you concentrate on the novels you like to read, where a crease forms between your eyebrows as your eyes fly across the page. He watches you talk to yourself about anything and everything, about work, about television shows you enjoy, about him.

He likes that you’re a complete mess in the morning, that you can barely keep yourself upright, let alone keep your eyes open while you brush your teeth. He likes that you spray the perfume he decided was his favorite all that time ago before you leave for the day. He likes that you sometimes switch between multiple different albums before settling on the one you like. He likes to watch you dance to them. He likes that he’s never heard of them before. He likes you.

You’re a natural result of loneliness, much like he is. But where you filled your void with material things, stuff, Dabi left his empty and allowed it to grow. He would have thought it was foolish, the idea of filling that hole in him with anything other than anger and hurt, thoughts of revenge. Had he not fallen for you, maybe he would have hated you. The two had always felt so similar.

You’re happy with him here, he notices, much happier than you had been that first night. You talk to him, your ghost. You ask him about the shows you watch, his opinion on your favorite albums, what shoes to wear to work. He’s a part of your life through knocks on the walls and highlighted lines in between the pages of your books and soft touches in the middle of the night.

Dabi holds it all close to his Molotov heart and hopes that the ruin is worth it.

…

You fall asleep almost immediately, exhausted from your busy day, one spent without your ghost. Dabi sneaks in late, caught up with league business for the past couple of days, and he misses you.

He stares at your sleeping form against the night sky that is your sheets. He feels himself relax at the sight of you, realizing just how much it affects him to be away from you for too long. He takes his boots off at your bedroom door and walks in long strides toward you. He cups your cheek in one hand, running his thumb along your cheekbone, smiling at how you subconsciously lean into his touch.

Dabi moves to the other side of your bed, sliding in beside you. He does nothing but stare at the back of your head for a few minutes, gathering the courage to reach out and touch. He wants to hold you. He wants to do more than just lay beside you and listen to you breathe.

He runs a hand up your arm, dragging his fingers against your skin. He wraps an arm around your midsection and pulls flush against his chest, feeling your body relax in his hold. He sneaks a hand up your sleep shirt and thumbs over the soft flesh of your stomach. Your hair smells like lavender shampoo, and it makes him nostalgic for that first night.

A sudden sinking feeling settles in his stomach as he breathes you in, the guilt of barging into your life and bothering you to the point of delusion makes Dabi feel ill. You’re important to him now in a much deeper way than you were at the beginning. He doesn’t want to hurt you, at least not like this.

“Dabi…” Your voice is soft, starry with sleep. He freezes against you. Your voice comes again, “Dabi.”

“It’s me, baby.” He whispers against your ear, unsure of just how awake you are.

“You’re so warm…Dabi…” You trail off, dragging the last syllable of his name. Your voice is so soft, breathy as you talk through sleep. He can feel his pants tighten at the sound from your lips. Fuck. He can’t stay here, not when you sound so sweet.

He could fuck you. He wants to. He’s not even sure you’d wake up. He’d pull pretty little moans from your throat, slotting himself between your thighs and sliding into you. You’d already be wet for him, and he’d watch your hands ball into little fists in your sleep. You’d chant his name like a prayer. He’d come deep inside of you and leave you to wake up the next morning with the evidence between your legs.

But he does not fuck you. He places a kiss to the side of your neck and pulls away from you despite the whine you let out as he detaches his body from yours. He leaves with every intention of never coming back. His ruin might be worth it, but yours isn’t.

…

The lack of paranormal activity in your home is alarming, which is something you never thought you’d ever think about. Your ghost has been gone for weeks, and you’re afraid that you may have made it all up in your head.

This possibility is one you dread, mainly because it has everything to do with your own sanity. If you had been imagining each event, drawing hearts in your mirrors, underlining passages in your books, and forgetting about it, you know that something has gone completely wrong. And you can’t blame it on anything outside of yourself.

The idea that you’ve been pushed this far, that your own loneliness has you creating imaginary instances of a haunting, terrifies you. What terrifies you more is that you miss him and that you’re alone again.

But you can’t think about it, or you know you’ll go insane, more so than you possibly already are. So you bury yourself in fuzzy blankets, and you play sad albums on your speaker, and you scroll through the same forums that comfort you in times like these.

You know it’s pathetic, pining for someone who doesn’t know you exist, someone completely and wholly evil for all you know. A man you aren’t even sure has a heart.

You think yours may be enough for the both of you, though.

Darkness falls over your living room in what feels like a matter of minutes, though you know it’s been hours since you first picked up your phone. Your record player has been playing the same scratchy hum that signifies the end of one side of an album. You lift your eyes from your phone screen to one of your living room windows, the one with the drawn heart in the bottom corner that you can’t bring yourself to clean off. You let your phone fall to your chest as you stare up at your ceiling and sigh.

Your heart is a greedy, hungry thing and your mind is a tool to feed it. Through daydreams and delusion, through want, want, want. You can hide from the isolation for a while, but the pain always catches up. And tonight it hurts.

You fall onto your bed with a thud, and your phone drops beside you. There’s a dull ache underneath your skin, one all too familiar and unwanted by you. Why had he left you? His absence haunts you more than his presence ever did.

Your phone buzzes against your sheets, a notification from one of the discussion sites you frequent lights up the screen, the subject being Dabi and the recent sightings in the city. The ache subsides.

It’s a video of him, maybe the clearest one you’ve ever seen. He’s alone, and he’s talking to someone, or a bunch of someones, other villains. You can’t make out the words, but you can tell they’re not pretty by the way the men start to close in on him. The smile that crosses Dabi’s face is razor sharp, deadly, reaching up to his crazed eyes. You gasp when he knocks his head against one of the men’s noses. Another one punches him square in the jaw for it, and he stumbles back, touching a finger to the seam in his face. Dabi isn’t a fighter, not with his fists at least, and you’re wondering why he’s letting them get away with this. He goes to punch one of them but misses, and while he’s distracted by his own move, one of the men sends a kick to his stomach. You hear him groan before laughing, his head hanging low as he clutches the place he was hit.

You feel hot suddenly, touching your face with your palm. You watch Dabi raise his head slowly, his laugh low and maniacal and unbelievably sexy. He licks the corner of his mouth before his hands spark with blue flames. He hurls his fire toward the men without a second thought, and that’s when the video ends. You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding against your chest. You squeeze your thighs together as you restart the video.

It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, watching him grin at these men, holding their life in his hands. You like watching him do more than just wield his quirk, watching his head crack against the man’s nose, watching his fist fly through the air. Something has to be wrong with you, you’re sure of it, but you can’t focus on anything but Dabi and his hands. The way that they’d feel against your skin, how they’d feel in your mouth, how they’d feel pressing your hips into your mattress. You slide your hand down your body and underneath the band of your sleep shorts. You’re already wet.

Dabi climbs through your window, the one branded with his fingerprinted heart, the window that allowed him into your life all those weeks ago. Your lights are off, and he can’t see your figure asleep on the couch in the darkness, so you must be asleep.

He promised himself he wouldn’t come back, promised you he wouldn’t. But it hurts without you, and the ache grows, the wanting. The fucking wanting.

He tried to bury it like he does everything else, tried to burn it to ash, drink it to death, beat it out of him. He’d let those guys get in a couple of good punches tonight just to feel something. Nothing works.

But you do.

He takes careful steps down the hallway when he hears your voice. He freezes. You’re moaning. He feels his breath catch in his chest. Of all of the days spent watching you, Dabi has never seen you like this. Desperate, aching, calling his name.

He watches you through your cracked door, spread out on your bed with your phone clutched tightly in one hand. You’re no longer watching whatever was on your screen, but you’ve left it playing as you arch against your bed.

“Dabi…” You mewl. He has to grab the door frame to keep himself steady at the sound. “W-want it.”

Fuck. How could he possibly leave you now? He palms himself through his jeans, watching you bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. He’s so hard that he might pass out. The puffs of air that fall from your lips as your legs shake have him holding back a groan. It isn’t until your noises become quiet that he realizes just what you’re watching.

The sound of his own laugh echoes through the speaker on your phone, and he’s surprised by the pained moan that falls from your lips at the sound.

It’s him. You’re watching him. Dabi holds back a groan. He’s careful to free himself from his pants without a sound, not that you would notice. You’re far too gone to acknowledge him right now. He could probably let out the noises that beg to be free of his throat, but he doesn’t risk it. He can’t do anything that could stop him from watching you come for him.

Your hand is obstructed by your sleep shorts, and the same can be said for the hand that has now discarded your phone onto the pillow beside your head and reached underneath your shirt to pinch one of your pert nipples. You’re close now, and so is he, barely able to keep his breathing steady as he strokes his hand against his cock.

He’d give anything to barge in now, pull you toward the edge of the bed, and sink into you without a care in the world. He wants to feel you tight around him, wants to kiss your neck and bite your skin and leave traces of himself everywhere. He wants to show you that you’re his, confirm what you’ve always known.

But instead he watches you writhe against your bed with his name falling from your lips. “Dabi–fuck! Gonna–”

You come with a loud cry, hips twitching a way that has Dabi cursing under his breath. He spills into his hand immediately after, reaching for your wall to hold himself up as he tries to keep quiet. But when his hand meets the hard surface of the wall, it collapses out from underneath, realization dawning on him that he’s pushed your bedroom door shut with a harsh slam.

At the sound of your door, you jolt up from your bed, the ecstasy of your orgasm quickly wearing off as you freeze. You listen for any other noises, and when you hear nothing, you slowly creep from your bed. Looking around your bedroom for some kind of weapon to protect yourself, you feel yourself growing panicked when you realize you have nothing. You tiptoe to your bedroom door, pushing your ear against the surface to listen to any sign of life on the other side. You hear nothing.

With your heart beating out of your chest, you slowly pull the door open, sticking your head out and looking down your dark hallway. There’s nobody there, and you wonder if this was yet another paranormal encounter after weeks of nothing.

A sinking feeling in your gut tells you that there’s nothing paranormal at all about your experiences.

You walk back to your bed in a daze, tucking yourself back under the covers and staring out your bedroom window. The video of Dabi continues to play on your phone, and you make no move to shut it off. You fall asleep to the sound, his crazed laughter somehow comforting to you in this moment.

The sinking feeling doesn’t leave you the next morning, and there’s no sign of another human in your apartment as you check all of your windows and doors. It all makes you feel uneasy, the creeping suspicion that it’s all in your head. You’re completely alone. You have no one to confide in, and even if you did, you’re sure they’d think you're insane or an idiot for allowing any of it to go on for so long without question.

You have no clue what to do or where to start, but you want whatever it is, ghost or not, gone.

…

The idea is ridiculous. You know that.

You know, standing in your living room with the ouija board you’ve just purchased sitting on your coffee table, that you are being completely ridiculous.

“If this works, then great. Then ghosts are real.” You speak aloud to nothing. “Then I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.”

Your eyes flitter to the bottle of raspberry wine you bought on your way home, something you know is sweet and easy to drink quickly. You’ll finish the bottle in no time. You reach for it, pouring a good amount into your glass and taking a large gulp. You hold the glass to your chest, breathing in and shivering at the cool sensation against your skin. The board sits on the table, and you let out a chuckle of disbelief.

Dabi stares at you from the darkness of your hallway. He’s been in your home since before you arrived with your children’s game and your sugary wine. You’ve been on edge for days, and Dabi knows he has everything to do with it. Still, he watches you quietly, taking in the last moments of invisibility before he has to tell you.

You’re still staring at the board. You take another gulp of your wine and look out of the window that he climbed through. The strap of your spaghetti strap tank top is falling down. He thinks of the painting that hangs on your wall. You’re Sargent’s Madame X. He’s going to ruin your life.

“They sell those things in toy stores, you know.” He finally speaks. It all happens in slow motion: the quick jolt of your shoulders in surprise at the sound, your glass falling to the floor and shattering against your carpet, the scream that falls from your lips.

Then suddenly, you’re looking at him, and he is looking at you, and your hand is frozen in mid-air like the glass is still in your hand. He looks down at the mess, “Shame. That ugly carpet was kind of growing on me.”

“Dabi…” Realization dawns on your face as you say his name. He looks up at you again, before turning his attention back to the mess on your carpet. He holds an arm out and beckons you toward him.

“C’mere. You’ll cut yourself.” He tells you. You don’t move. He watches your chest rise and fall, frozen where you stand, unable to think about anything other than getting away. He watches your eyes flicker to your front door.

It happens quickly, nothing like before, climbing over your couch and rushing as fast as you can toward your escape. He almost loses you, tripping over his feet as he reaches for you. You barely touch the handle before his arm wraps around your waist in a tight grip. You’re both panting, his breath hot against your ear.

“What? You aren’t excited to see me?” He questions. It’s not like he expected you to accept him with open arms, but he didn’t think you’d run from him.

“It was you?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. How are you meant to feel about any of this? It’s what you wanted, right? All the times you missed each other, all those days spent disappointed that you weren’t just a little earlier or a little later. And here he is, in your home, with you, with his arms wrapped around you, no less. And you want to run? What bothers you the most is that you aren’t as scared as you should be.

“Your ghost?” He questions with humor in his words. You feel his grip tighten around you before he speaks again. “Are you disappointed?”

His voice is much softer than he intended it to be, nervousness finding its way through the mask of carelessness he so carefully hides behind. It calms your nerves, the idea that he’s just as unsure of this as you are.

“I’m scared.” You admit.

“Of me?”

“I don’t know yet.” You say. He loosens his grip, arms falling to his sides as he lets you go. You step away quickly, turning to look at him while keeping a good amount of distance between the two of you.

“I’m not–I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” He speaks, holding his hands up. “I would never–”

“Why?” Looking at him, standing in your kitchen, his hands up in surrender, his eyes pleading, Dabi is just a man. You know this, you’ve always known this. It’s why your obsession with him is as strong as it is because, underneath all of the flames, he’s alone just like you are.

“Because you’re mine.” He sighs because he knows he must sound insane, and his answer doesn’t seem to soothe the worried look on your face. “And you know it. You do, because I’m on your fucking walls, and you stalk me like a little weirdo on your phone. You–you’re made for me.”

“Made for you?” You ask incredulously as if this isn’t the exact moment you’ve been fantasizing about since the first time you ever laid eyes on the flame user.

“Look, I didn’t think any of it was real, none of that soulmate shit people make up so that they have something to hold onto. But, fuck, I had never felt the way I did when I climbed through your window that night.” He speaks frantically like he’s trying to convince you, prove to you that what he’s saying is the truth. “You saved me, and you don’t even know it.”

You soften, “I saved you?”

“None of this would've happened if things had gone a little differently that night. I wouldn’t know you, and you could go back to your normal life with your pictures and your books and your forums, but it didn’t so I’m here. And isn’t that something?”

“I’m just…confused.” You explain. “You’re you, and I’m sure you’ve gathered by now how embarrassingly obsessed with you I am–”

“I think it’s cute.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Why?” He questions, leaning forward. “Does it get you all hot and bothered like that night with the video of me getting my ass kicked? That was cause of you, by the way.”

“You have to understand how fucked this is. You get that, right?” You aren’t afraid anymore. You’re angry, a little hurt, but most of all excited. Made for him. He’s probably right.

“Yeah?” He questions, taking another step. You do back away, but he continues to follow you. “I think you like it. I think your life was so goddamn boring before me, so lonely. My little tricks made you so happy, baby.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, because he’s right, and you hate it. His hand comes up to hold your jaw with one hand, his fingers pressing into your skin ever so slightly.

“C’mon…” He tuts, leaning down to your height, “You used to be so sweet for me, snuggling up to me while you slept. You can’t hide from me. I know everything about you. And those feelings that you have for me don’t change in a matter of minutes just because I did something fucked up. I’m a villain, sweetheart, and you know it.”

“So what?” You ask. “You’re in love with me or something?”

You want to hear him say it. You want him to tell you it’s more than obsession, more than the excitement of scaring you.

“It’s not obvious?” He asks, releasing your jaw from his tight grip and running his thumb against your cheek to soothe you. “You ruin me.”

You shake your head, “Say it.”

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

It shouldn’t feel as romantic as it does. With him pushing your hips into your kitchen counter, his lips so soft against yours, you forget all of it. None of it matters to you, anyways. Maybe it’s the worst way for any of this to happen. Maybe it’s the only way.

He pulls away, watching your eyes flutter open, your lips swollen from his kiss. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and you’re touching his face without a hint of disgust. You’ve always been his. He surges forward, catching you off guard and pulling you into another kiss, this one much more hurried and desperate. You gasp when he presses into you, the growing bulge in his jeans hard against your thigh. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, earning a choked whine from your lips. You struggle to keep up with him, with his hands everywhere. You’re overwhelmed.

“Dabi, wait.” You speak for the split second that he pulls away. He shakes his head, kissing down your jaw as you try to catch your breath.

“Can’t.” He speaks in between kisses. “You’re–I need you. Please, please, I’m–”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, pulling him away from your neck to look at you. “Dabi. Hey.”

“Hi.” He speaks, unable to resist the urge to press his lips to yours in a quick peck before pulling away again. It makes you smile, though, so he does it one more time. “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted me?”

“I think there is something very, very wrong with me.” You say because you have to acknowledge it, at the very least. You want him so bad it burns.

“Yeah, me too.” He kisses you again. “Made for me, remember?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “maybe I am.”

“You are.” He says against your lips. “You are, you are, you are.”

You’re in your bedroom before you have any time to think about it, your back against your sheets as Dabi hovers over you. He pauses, his frantic movements from moments ago now at a standstill as he stares down at you. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You speak without hesitance.

“Yeah?” He slots his hips in between yours, running a hand up the side of one of your thighs as you make room for him. “All mine, huh? Gonna let me keep you?”

“Uh huh.” You nod. “You can keep me.”

“Good.” He drags his lips down the column of your neck. “My girl’s so good for me, yeah?”

You’re unable to answer, though you don’t know if you’re supposed to. His hands move from your hips to your backside, grinding you against his length. You gasp, grasping his shoulders for stability as he sucks on your neck.

“Gotta mark you up, baby.” He speaks against your skin. He sucks your skin harshly, biting and nipping different areas of your neck. It’s a sensation you’ve never experienced, all your senses heightened at the knowledge that it’s him who’s touching you. “Show them who you belong to, show them you’re mine.”

“Please!” You whine, arching your back into him as he bites down, hard, on the juncture of your neck. You feel him smile against your skin, kissing over the bite. He begins to lower himself down your body, kissing down the valley of your breasts over your top. He pushes your shirt up as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your stomach.

“Maybe I’ll carve my name right here, yeah?” He questions, lips against your hip. “You can do the same to me.”

When his eyes flicker up to yours, you feel your breath catch in your throat. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, every silly little fantasy you’ve ever had come true. “You’d want that? My name?”

“Fuck, of course, I would.” He groans, pushing himself back up to eye level with you. His hands rest on the mattress on each side of your head, his eyes searching your face. “Want you all over me. I want you forever.”

You wrap your hands around the back of his neck and pull him down to you in a bruising kiss. Pushing at his chest, you hook your leg around his waist to switch positions, straddling his lap as your tongue swirls in his mouth. You pull away to look at him, his eyes blown wide with need. He’s so fucking beautiful. You want him forever, too.

You rise to a sitting position, Dabi’s hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as you stare down at him. You push his shirt up and he pulls it over his head in seconds. You run your hands over his chest and abdomen, feeling his scars and the staples that hold him together under your fingertips.

“I think I wanna mark you too.” You speak, leaning down to kiss him again. “Want you to be mine.”

“I am yours.” He speaks without hesitation. He sucks in a harsh breath when your lips meet the unscarred skin of the left side of his chest. You place soft kisses there before biting down. He cries out, bucking his hips up into yours. “I’ll give you–fuck–everything.”

You continue to leave marks over his skin, satisfied with the noises you're pulling from Dabi. You run your fingers over his hips lightly. You think you would like your name there. Dabi takes the hem of your shirt between his fingers, urging you to pull the fabric from your body. He rises from his position on the bed, running a hand up the length of your spine as he pulls you close. He kisses you once more, moving his hands to your hips to help you grind down on him.

Pulling away, he trails his lips down your neck, burying his face in your chest. He wraps his lips around your nipple, tweaking the other between his fingers as he looks up at you. You cry out, rapidly grinding against him. He continues to play with your chest, kissing you with fervor and groaning into your mouth.

“C’mere.” He speaks against your lips, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving to lay you down on the bed. He hovers over you, slowly pushing his hips against yours in a way that makes you cry out. “Gonna take care of you, okay?”

He slowly makes his way down your body, slipping his fingers underneath the band of your pants and pulling them down along with your underwear. You push your knees together, staring up at him as shakes his head.

“Don’t hide.” He commands softly, pulling your thighs apart. His tongue peaks through his lips for a moment before he speaks again. “Been thinking about this since that night. M’sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to slam the door.”

He runs his hands up your thighs, eyeing your sex as he lowers himself back down. You let out a breathy laugh, “you didn’t?”

“No.” He chuckles against the inside of your thigh, kissing your skin. “It was an accident.”

“Oh, my god.” You giggle, cut off by the feeling of his teeth sinking into your thigh. You gasp, trying to pull away, but his grip on you is tight. He kisses over the mark, eyes finding yours with a warning.

He licks a strip from your entrance to your clit, and you throw your head back, resting your hand on top of his head before he pulls back.

“Look at me.” He speaks, bringing one hand up to run a finger through your folds. You’re already a complete mess, and he feels pride in knowing he’s the reason. He’s always the reason. “Keep your eyes on me, or I’ll stop.”

You nod, wiggling your hips to urge him to continue. He chuckles softly at your desperation before burying his face between your legs again. His tongue runs along your folds in long slow strokes, your hips jolting at the stimulation. No research, or video, or fantasy you had about the man between your legs could have ever prepared you for what this feels like.

Your moans spur him on as he tastes you, the knowledge that he’s the reason for your pleasure more rewarding than anything else. He wraps his lips around your clit and you cry his name. You feel your orgasm building as he continues to lap up your juices, his grip on your thighs tight as he holds you open for him.

“Dabi! Dabi! I’m–” you let out a strangled moan as you grind your hips against his tongue, “fuck–coming! I’m coming.”

Your hips jolt at the pleasure, the feeling of his mouth still on your sex guiding you through your orgasm. He slows his strokes, running the flat of his tongue against you as you calm yourself. The movement of your hips slow as you watch Dabi still buried between your legs. You catch your breath as he tongues your cunt, cerulean eyes staring up at you as you twitch from the overstimulation. He pulls away from your sex with a wet smack, rising to capture your lips with his.

He pulls away, “call me Touya.”

“Huh?” You ask, chasing his lips again. He kisses you slow and deep, his tongue swirling against yours as he pushes his hips against yours. You groan against his mouth.

“Touya. It’s my name.” He says, placing soft kisses against your jaw. “My real name.”

Touya. His name is Touya. You know Dabi’s real name. You get to say his real name, keep that knowledge locked inside of your heart, a secret between the two of you. The reveal makes you feel closer to him, an equal exchange for all of the time he spent inside of your home without your knowledge, though you know it’s really not. You’ll take it, anyways.

“Where’d you go, baby?” He whispers against your lips. “Did the obsessed little freak inside you get excited?”

“Says you.” You scoff.

“Made for each other, right?” He speaks before kissing you again. The kiss is hungry, frantic as his lips consume yours. He fumbles with the studded belt around his waist, pulling away from you only to rid himself of his jeans.

His cock is hard against your entrance, the warmth of him overwhelming as he shifts his hips over yours. He runs his hands up the outside of your thighs, rough hands smoothing over your flesh while he kisses you again. You whimper against his lips, a silent plea for him to do more than grind against you.

“Shhh, let me–wanna remember this.” He wraps a hand around the base of his cock, running the head through your folds as you try to keep your breathing steady. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Touya leans down to kiss your neck, sucking over the already tender marks he left before, hoping to keep them there for longer, the evidence of him on your skin in the ache he leaves behind. You pant as he continues to grind his hips against yours, arching your back and pushing yourself closer to him as he continues his assault on your neck. Pulling away, he lines himself up with your entrance, staring down at you just inches away from your face.

“Kiss me.” He speaks. “Kiss me, please.”

When you kiss him, he sinks into you, swallowing your moans with his lips and slipping his tongue into your mouth as he stretches you. You catch your breath as he pulls away, adjusting to the size of him as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

“Touya.” You breathe, your hands running through his hair as he pushes into you deeper. A contented smile falls across his face as he feels you move your hips against his. “Feels–mm–good.”

“Yeah? Good. S’all I want. Just want you to feel good.” He says as his hips slowly begin to change pace. Maybe it’s the fact he spent weeks scaring you into delusion, or the fact that he can’t get the way you look when you come out of his head, but your pleasure has become his ultimate goal. He wants to watch you come undone again and again on his cock, disregarding his own needs as you're pushed over the edge over and over. He thinks he’d like you to use him, but for now, Touya wants to take care of you.

He speeds his pace up, gripping your hips in his rough hands as he pounds into you. He’s getting carried away, you realize, as his hold becomes bruising, his kiss, starved. It all feels so good with his hands all over you and his lips so desperate. He needs you and he doesn’t hide it, and with every action, Touya shows you just how much.

“It’s so much! Too much!” Not enough, you think. You cry out as he presses into you deep, pushing in and out of you with long slow strokes, his cock hitting just the spot that has you seeing stars. He groans, feeling you clench around him as he moves.

“Take it.” He commands, thrusting into you. “I know you can. You’re so–fuck–good for me.”

You whine, arching into him and pulling him down for another sloppy kiss. He can’t get enough of you, and you’re completely his. He’ll keep you. He’ll take you with him, make a little villain out of you, keep you nice and fucked out on his cock forever. All of his plans, his goals, the one thing he’s worked toward since becoming Dabi, now include you. You have a real role in his life, one that’s meant to stay, one that means forever.

You’re close. He can tell, and he feels himself being brought to the edge just as quickly as you are. His pace quickens as he thrusts in and out of you, bringing one hand to your lips, feeling you suck two fingers into your mouth before he reaches down between your bodies to play with your clit. You gasp, burying your face in his neck and biting down. You’ve drawn blood, Touya thinks, feeling the pain spread from the wound. He groans, thrusting harder and faster.

“Fuck, s-sorry!” You cry, though your words are hurried and jumbled.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” He tells you, panting above you. He runs his thumb against your bottom lip, a faint trace of blood smeared across the inside. He smiles, kissing you and reveling in the faint taste of copper. “You wanted to mark me.”

“Touya, I’m–hah–gonna come!” You cry, moving your hips against his frantically.

“I know, I know.” He coos, swiping his fingers over your puffy clit. “Come for me. Wanna see it.”

Your voice comes out loud and chokes, the end of his name dying on your lips as your hips jolt from the pleasure and your back arches against your sheets. Touya doesn’t stop thrusting, chasing his own orgasm as he watches your face contort in the same way it had before.

“Need to fill you up. Need to make you mine.” He groans, thrusting quickly.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. Please! I wanna feel it!” You whine. You feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he slows his pace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him against you. He kisses you again, tongues swirling against each other as he stills on top of you.

“Stay.” You breathe, pulling away from his lips and feeling his head fall against you.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” He whispers through labored breath. “So don’t try.”

“Never. You said you’d keep me.” You remind him, feeling him smile against your skin. He rises from where he lays, staring down at you with nothing but adoration. You really are made for him. Cosmic love, divine intervention, soulmates. Touya should have known.

“Always.” He kisses your lips, your nose, both of your cheeks.

“Say it.” You command softly.

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #tw yandere #tw abuse

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non-stop-imagines · 10 months

Text

On Display

From this request 💖

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Black Younger!Reader (10 years difference) (Taylor Russell face claim)

Word Count: ~4.6k words w/ 1 smau post

Warning: Porn with a plot somewhere in there, Dom!Daniel, Brat!Reader, p in v, Exhibitionisn (sex against a window), overstimulation, an attempt at writing dumification, Humiliation, brief breeding kink moment, mention of food, one mention of birth control, The word "slut" being used quite a bit 😵‍💫Minors DNI!!! 18+

A/N: Writing smut is always an adventure and this is no different. The funny thing about this is that I used writing this to destress from work all week so have fun imagining writing this while on my lunch break in the break room 👍🏿. But really, thank you for the request, all of the requests I've done already and the requests I've recently gotten that I can't wait to do. You guys are crazy creative and I love to see what you guys come up with it if literally my favorite. 😁💗 Anyway, hope you guys like this. Let me know what you think. Like, reblogs, reply, send asks, talk to me!♥️ Love you all!! 💖💛💖💛💖

Masterlist

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danielricciardo

Liked by yukitsunoda0511 and 501,288 others

danielricciardo Yn sent me random pictures of her and then started crying when I didn't immediately post them. I'm such a bad boyfriend 💔

imynbitch tagged

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imynbitch I stopped crying, didn't I? 😘

> danielricciardo I'll do better in the future

user Yn is That Girl and she just wants everyone to know

yukitsunoda0511 Yeah, you messed up 🤷🏻‍♂️

> imynbitch Thank you, Yuki. I don't know how much longer I can handle such a lack of attention 🥺😔

> danielricciardo Both of you shut up

user All of her looks are so iconic I can't choose which is my fav 😍

user Daniel is the only person that can handle an attitude like YN's. I'm glad they found each other 🥲

___________

Thursdays were boring when it came to race weekends for you, but you loved to tag along, staying around your boyfriend when you could and hanging out in the Alpha Tauri motorhome or next to a window in the paddock building that had a view of the track, which was where you were today. Both Alpha Tauri drivers were taking some lucky fans for a spin in a Honda, of which you were oblivious and uncaring of the model, around the Silverstone track. You would look up from your phone every once in awhile, whenever you heard the the roar of an engine approaching or squealing wheels, but one fateful time caused you to put your phone face down on the table you sat at and stalk to the large window, close enough to see the atrocity happening. It was the last fan Daniel had to drive around the track, a girl around your age, 24, maybe a bit older, whose hands were all over your boyfriend's arms, and your brain went haywire when Daniel's hand ventured to the girl's lower back, which for him was instinctual as he guided her into the car. You didn't even watch them leave the starting line before you picked up your things (your phone, smaller purse and garage pass) and headed down to the garage, crossing the people filled pitlane and ending at the pit wall, placing your face in a window of the fence without chain link. You wanted to love the smile on Daniel's face when he gets out of the car after his trip around the track and sees you, but your view was interrupted by "her", who meets Daniel halfway at the front of the car, giddily hooking her arm around Daniel's as he walks her your direction.

"Hey, baby. Uh, this is Jennifer, one of the lucky winners of a trip around the track with me." Daniel unhooks his arm from the brunette, stepping to the side a bit as she greets you.

"Hi! Ugh, I just love you! You're one of my favorite wags." She holds out her hand for you to shake, and at first you just scowl at the outstretched manicured hand, but after a brief glance at Daniel giving you a stern “What do we say?” look, you take hold of the hand, shaking hers with little to no tension in your hand.

“Thank you. I, uh, like your nails. They’re my favorite color, light blue." There was absolutely no feeling in your voice, but the compliment you gave was like a diamond ring to Jennifer. You cut your eyes over to Daniel, who gets the hint and begins to lead Jennifer away, that blasted hand on her back, a little higher this time, but still there.

“How about you head back over to the group? Let them know I’ll be over in a moment. I’ll be sure to get an extra picture with you, okay?” That smile. It flashed only at “her”, and you could see the slut’s knees get weak. You wanted to cry, seeing that flirty demeanor from Daniel that reeled you in day one, but focused toward someone else.

"Okay! It was so nice meeting you!" She waves back at you, you responding with a constipated grin, before heading towards the group of fans waiting to take pictures with their favorite drivers.

"Are you okay?" Daniel had an amused grin on his face. This isn't the first time you've acted like this. He knew exactly why you were pouting and had glossy eyes.

"I'm fine" You refuse to look at him, instead watching as "Jennifer" walked up to a member of the media team, probably to tell them that Daniel would be over in a minute. You knew that one glance at Daniel would send the tears you were currently holding back cascading down your face.

"You sure?" Daniel reaches to your face poking through the window in the fence, using your chin to turn your face towards his.

"I said I'm fine!" One tear escaped your eye and was wiped away with Daniel's thumb.

"Okay, okay, baby. I know." He looks at his watch, then over at the group of fans, then back to you. "You head back to the hotel, okay? I'll be done in a couple hours. Make sure you eat something, too." You nod hesitantly at his orders then pucker your lips for him to place a kiss on, which he supplements with another, more tongue involved kiss. When he pulls back he looks at you, eyes shifting back and forth and lips grinning at your still glossy eyes. After one last kiss, this time on your forehead, he finally jogs back over to the group, and though the petty, irrational voice in your head is telling you to stay and keep an eye on "Jennifer" around your man, you follow Daniel's instructions and head back through the garage so you can leave the paddock and head back to the hotel.

_________

"A couple of hours, my ass." You mumble to yourself as you exit the bathroom of the hotel suite. It's been nearly 4 hours since you left the track, and the nagging explanation that you had for Daniel’s tardiness was Jennifer and the "Fuck me" eyes that you felt she was giving Daniel. You wanted to feel happy when you heard the mechanical click of the hotel door unlocking, and deep down you were, you loved to have your boyfriend around. But instead you stayed planted in the armchair next to the large window.

"Still mad, huh?" Daniel plants a kiss on the top of your head despite your attempt to move out of the way.

"Well, huh, I don't know. How would you feel if some slut kept making 'fuck me' eyes at your boyfriend and you had to just watch?" You don't look up from your phone as you rant, tapping through Alpha Tauri's Instagram story getting small glimpses at the slut in question.

"Really?" Daniel's words came out as a chuckle that irritated you enough to make you get up and stomp over to the bathroom with him.

"Don't laugh at me! It's like you never take me seriously!" Daniel continues with what he was doing, removing his shoes and placing them in the closet and then removing his shirt to hang it up.

"I'm laughing because I know you're serious, and it's ridiculous." There's a hysterical laugh behind his words that gives you the impression that he's poking fun at you, which he was, but not in the negative way you thought that prompted tears to your eyes. “Don’t cry.”

“No, you think it’s ridiculous for me not to want to share my boyfriend!” You whine, stamping your foot on the ground, the childish act finally making Daniel turn around and take hold of your face. You looked pitiful with your cheeks squished and eyes red from your crying tantrum.

“No one is asking you to share me.” You let out a defiant grunt to his nonchalant response and he shakes your head with the firm grasp he had on your face. “Why would I want to go anywhere else when my dumb, little baby has the best pussy in the world. Only an idiot would give that up.” He finally lets go of your face and walks back into the bedroom, and you just silently follow him out, but stay by the bathroom door. You watch him pace around the front of the bed, frustrated with your attitude, running his hands through messy curly hair, accentuating the tone of his slim, tattooed, bare upper body. “No, don’t shut up now. Where’s all that whining?” You stayed still, pouting and crossing your arms. “Come here.” You follow directions, walking slowly to Daniel, arms still crossed in attempted defiance, knowing that any action of Daniel's, punishment or otherwise, would break down your defenses. You don't know what you expected, but you know the last thing was the tattooed hand at the junction between your neck and your chin, roughly bringing your face up to meet a sensual, sloppy kiss. It was as though you were magnetized to his movements, having no hesitation in accepting the tongue he presented the first kiss, meeting each entanglement and the amount of force transferred between your lips.

"Look at my sloppy little baby. So eager for me to show her that I only have eyes for her." Daniel moved his hand from your neck to just at your jawline, using his thumb to wipe the residual saliva from your lips and then, from spontaneous thought, pushes his thumb into them, to which you willingly accept the appendage into your mouth, earning a twisted grin from your boyfriend. He just watches as you suck on his thumb, head bobbing slightly as if you were giving him a blowjob. One of your hand begin to move on their own down to Daniel's jeans to unbutton them, but it's captured in his other hand as he removes his thumb from your mouth and smears the spit that you lathered on it along your lips. "Ah ah ah. Whiny little brats don't get to touch their boyfriend's dick."

"But-" Daniel uses his grip on your face to bring it back up so he can kiss you again, a light one this time, short in duration that made you lean forward once it was done, aching for more

"No, buts." With one hand on your face and the other grasping the fiendish hand that tried to get into his pants, Daniel takes a step back, admiring your attire. It was simple. A tight, white cami and baggy plaid pajama shorts. But it was what was underneath, or rather what wasn't underneath, that sent him reeling. “You’re not wearing anything underneath this comfy, little ensemble, huh? Did you do that for me?” You don’t answer, just hold the intense eye contact with him, a subtle scowl on your face. In response to your persistent defiance Daniel moves the hand that was on your face back to your neck, applying enough pressure to make your head feel lighter and for you to take a small gasp of air. “Use your words.”

“Yes. Yes.” You words came out breathless and panicked, to which Daniel removed his hands from your body, satisfied with the small answer you gave.

“And you called that poor girl a slut.” Daniel chuckles, and you just look at him with scrunched eyebrows, upset at the fact that the girl you were worried about was brought up again.

"Because she was." You grumbled this to yourself, since Daniel had already made his way to the unobstructed window.

"Whatever you want to believe, sweetheart." He only partially turned his head back towards you to respond to your rebuttal then turned his attention back to the window. "You think anyone can see us up here?" You shrug and hum your unsureness, making your way over to where Daniel was, standing just behind him.

"I mean, maybe if they're trying to look. We are pretty high up." You answer quietly. Daniel stays put, looking out of the window, but eventually turns around, that twisted grin back on his face.

"Good enough." He takes a step towards you and you tilt your head, confused with the implication hidden in those two words. "If I'm gonna show my cute little brat that she's the only one for me, might as well show the world that I only have eyes for you, cutie." Daniel gives you a quick peck between your raised eyebrows, then one to your lips, a preliminary kiss that preceded a second, more desperate kiss, which was repeated with increasing desperation, only being interrupted for mere seconds to remove articles of clothing, and in no time you and Daniel were completely bare to each other, making out and slowly moving toward the window. "You're fucking gorgeous." Your back was pressed up against the cold glass of the window, the change in temperature causing a combined gasping moan to come from your mouth. "And you make the prettiest noises, my love." You want to take in the glorious sight that is your boyfriend completely naked, tattoo sprinkled around his body that you love to kiss. You wanted to touch him, give him pleasure, but the coldness of the window, the sensation of Daniel's tongue now swirling and lips sucking at one of your nipples, physically feeling yourself get wetter, took that desire and tossed it to the side, and now you were chasing your own pleasure. Daniel's hands had pulled you in, one squeezing your ass and the other on your middle back, trying to bring your boob further into his mouth while using his body to continue to push you into the window.

"Danny…" You moan out his shortened name, tossing your head back, some of your gathered up hair springing free from confinement.

"Shh, dumb little babies don't speak unless they're spoken to." Daniel moved away from your chest back to your lips, swallowing the whine you let out from the loss of contact and then the moans you let out from the kiss. "Do you know how much I love your tits? They're absolutely perfect." He swoops his head back down to kiss your breasts, just the tops and in-between, slowly, sensually. "Let's just show the world how perfect they are." Daniel grasps your hips and spins you so your front pressed against the glass of the window, the abruptness of the action making it easier for him to do so because you had no chance to resist. You both knew the window was tinted, sure to a certain extent, but with tint and the fact that you two were mere floors away from the top floor, it was highly unlikely anyone saw you. But you could see out, clearly, and just the feeling of you being bare and open to the world like this makes you hornier than you even expected. Daniel comes up behind you and presses his body into your's, a hand at your pelvis and a hand grasping your hand that braces you against the window, fingers intertwined, placing his head on your shoulder. "What was that you were gonna say earlier?" As Daniel waits for your answer, he takes his socked foot and widens your legs ever so slightly.

"I need you. So bad. Please, fuck me." You were already breathing deeply from your arousal, and also partially due to the limited range of motion for your expanding lungs due to your current position against the glass.

"Wow, that was much more than I expected. I just thought my dumb little slut would just say 'Fuck me' and that's it. But that was fucking poetic." You could hear the frantic slight annoyance in Daniel's voice as he removes his hand from your pelvis to grasp himself, placing his dick between your legs right at your pussy, fucking your thighs a couple of times to lather up the wetness practically leaking from you before pulling all the way back and placing himself at your entrance. "Brace yourself." You did somewhat, but you wished you took his words more seriously because the force at which pressed his dick inside of you wasn't harsh or too fast, he knew better, but it was steady and gave you little time to adjust to having him inside your pussy as he bottomed out just as quick as he entered you. You simultaneously let out a moan that rivaled a porn star's as your face hit the glass, the abrupt sensation making your mind do cartwheels. Daniel's hand that had a hold on yours snaked away from your hand and under your, now back to, outstretched arms to reach under your chin, guiding your face up so he could give you another frantic, sloppy unfocused kiss before kissing your forehead. "Sorry, baby."

You didn't care. Even while he was apologizing for making you hit your face on the glass, Daniel continued to move his hips, thrusting slowly in and out of you, still causing you to let out lewd whiny moans. "Yes, baby. Keep making those pretty noises for me, okay? No one can make me go as crazy as you do with just a moan. No one. Fuck..." A harsh sting on your butt presents itself after Daniel's rambling of words, to which he responds by slowly massaging the the location at which his hand landed on you and proceeding to kiss your neck, happy with the mild scream you let out from the spontaneous action. He keeps thrusting into you at a steady, forceful rhythm. Snapping his hips into your ass and then dragging his dick out of you. Snap. Drag. Snap. Drag. He knew he wanted more from you, so he brought his left hand that was at your pelvis down to your clit, using the juices squelching from your pussy as lubrication for the fast, circular rubbing of the nub.

"Aha, shit. Danny…fuck." You blindly reach behind your head with your right hand, knocking into Daniel's solid right arm that was back against the glass, clumsily finding its way to the back of Daniel's head, which he nuzzles further into your neck for easier access to the location, moving your hands up until you reach some curls to grasp.

"You like being on display for everyone? Everyone seeing exactly how much of a slut you are for me?" He takes a small step forward, pushing your tits into the glass of the window more, changing the angle of your bodies slightly so his dick runs along each spot inside of you longer with each drag. "Answer."

"Mhm. Ev'ryone knows I'm yours. And you're mine." Your words don't match the innocent face that you give him, eyes wide and lips pouting and somewhat parted, shiny and swollen from the incessant kissing.

"Still so bold even when I'm fucking you against the window for everyone to see. That's why I love you." He flashed a giant smile at you before capturing your lips again at the same time as a harsh snap of his hips, producing from you a loud startled moan. He keeps thrusting and rubbing your clit, both paces steady. He can feel you go slightly limp from exhaustion due to how quick the intensity of the act got to maximum, so he adjusted, taking a step back so you were no longer against the window and bringing the arm previously holding him up against the window to reach across your torso, hand coming up to roll your nipple between two fingers.

" 'm gonna cum. Can't hold it. Feels too good." You keep your grasp on Daniel's head but look away, dropping your head down, getting a somehow X-Rated view of Daniel's tattooed hand rubbing your clit. As you said, it was all too much and soon your legs were giving out and trembling beneath you, to which Daniel takes a step forward again to brace himself on the window again, moving his other hand to your abdomen.

“That was a big one. You okay?” He turns you around and holds you steady by your ass, searching for your eyes and waiting for your answer.

“Mhm.” You look up at him, eyes blinking lazily as your mind swirls around with the pleasure you just received. Your out-of-it response, which was adorable to Daniel, earned you another batch of sloppy tongue filled kisses.

“Good, cause we’re not done.” Before you could protest or retort, Daniel’s lips were back on yours, your bodies slowly making their way over to the bed, the back of Daniel’s legs hitting the structure being him you guys' only indication that you made it to your destination. You were chasing his kisses now, so he had to put you at arms length again to speak. “Ass in the air, my love.” You didn’t follow directions, just stood on your tiptoes, puckering your lips for another kiss. “If I give you a kiss, will you follow instructions?” You nod and then climb in the bed kneeling on it so you were eye level with him, then bring him in from the back of his head, you now dominating this kiss, subconsciously showing anyone that has shown any remote interest in your boyfriend exactly who he belongs to. Once you pull away, a string of spit briefly connecting you two, you slowly get into position, wiggling your ass as you wait. The lack of sight was exhilarating, making you even more wet when you felt the bed dip and Daniel rub his dick along your highly exposed pussy. With a hand on your lower back, Daniel pushes inside you and you groan into the pillow you had your face buried in.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this.” He starts with a gentle pace, allowing your juices to really coat his dick to help it slide in and out better, and as his pace quickens, your groans prolong, still feeling sensitive from your earlier orgasm. “Ha, I can’t believe you thought I would even think about getting rid of this pussy. You really are just a dumb. Little. Brat.” With those last three words, harsh thrusts were supplemented with some more sharp smacks on your butt. His own carnal sensations take over for a moment, just focusing on chasing his own climax, but at a certain point he tilts to the side to look at you, still thrusting. He smiles at the picture of beauty in front of him, your drooping eyelids, slightly parted mouth with a small bit of drool falling onto the pillow, unsecured curls sticking to your sweaty forehead, and exhausted whimpers falling from your mouth. “You look so pretty, baby, all fucked out from my cock.” He keeps moving, speeding up as he gets closer and you also get wordlessly closer to another orgasm, but once Daniel feels himself get more frantic, more animalistic, he stops and pulls out of you, to your dismay, and flips you over onto you back. You kept the same face, brain clouded by desire for another orgasm, and your chest heaving from deep breathing as Daniel worked to get you in position. He kneeled between your legs, pushing them up toward your head, hooking your knees in the crooks of his arms, letting go just so he could guide himself back into you, then continuing the same brutal pace that shocks you for a moment, but then your brain goes numb, mouth hanging open, allowing whatever noises you make to come out uninhibited. “Look at that pretty face you're making for me,” He reaches down and squishes our face, abandoning one of legs to do so. “You think I would want to leave this face?” He bends down to kiss you, stretching your hip and pushing his dick deeper inside you to do so. You had no choice in the matter to kiss him, your lips were already puckered from his hand squeezing your face and your brain couldn't think of anything past cumming again from your boyfriend’s cock, but you still let out a moaning gasp from the intense mixture of sensation. Once Daniel pulls back, he seems to put complete and utter focus on fucking you, hard. “Do you know how much of a brat you were today?” He took your legs and wrapped them around his waist so he could bring his hands down next to your head and get a clear view of your face. “All because you didn’t want to share. And now here you are, being fucked in front of windows, from behind, just so you know that there is no other pussy I would rather fuck. My poor insecure little brat.” You couldn’t respond. You wanted to. Wanted to be snarky back, but everything felt too good, sensitive, and you were too close to cumming to think of anything to say except warning him of your upcoming climax.

“Danny…cum…” You held eye contact with him for the first time in a while, biting your bottom lip hard and begging him with glossy eyes. He just smiles maniacally at you and makes his thrusts rougher, knowing that he was coming close to his own end.

“After such mean words, too? You really are just a little slut for me.” He moves his arms around so he could be stable on one arm in order to reach down and rub your clit, causing you to make the loudest, unabashed moans until you finally got over your hump and came, hips bucking into Daniel’s, back arching, and hands bundling up what you could of the bedding. The rhythmic convulsions happening inside you during your orgasm were working to bring Daniel closer to his own, evident in the groan that he let out just as they started. He continued to fuck you through your climax, but purely for the sake of cumming too, his steady rhythm becoming frantic and unpredictable. “Why don’t we try out that implant, huh? I’m gonna cum in you so much it’ll be leaking out and we’ll see if you end up all round from me. That sounds fun, huh?” You weren’t listening at all, brain going haywire from the continued stimulation to your sensitive pussy, so Daniel’s words were truly just to bring him up and into his own climax, fucking into you wildly as he came inside your pussy, bending over to kiss all over your fucked out face as he did so. Once he came down a bit he removed himself from you and found enough strength to prop up onto his side in order to watch his cum leak from you, gently caressing your aching pussy to help you come down. “You did a good job. I hope now you know that I’m yours forever, okay?” He looks up at your face to see that you seemed to have fallen asleep, unquestioningly exhausted from the night's festivities. Daniel just chuckles and kisses your forehead. “I guess we’ll talk later.” He does what he needs to clean you and himself up enough to sleep comfortably, then climbs back into bed and rolls you into him so that your head is on his chest, and caresses your back until he falls blissfully into sleep with you.

_________

When you finally woke up it was nearly 10:30 in the morning. The room was quiet and the curtains to the windows were drawn so very little sunlight made it into the room. You reach behind yourself to the nightstand beside the bed, finding your phone that was conveniently plugged in and now fully charged. There was a text from Daniel.

Danny💙

Had to leave for the track pretty early. There's donuts out in the kitchenette-thing and iced coffee in the fridge. Make sure you eat real food when you get here. 😘

You smile coyly to yourself, then type out an answer you knew he wouldn't see until after you got to the track anyway.

Thank you, baby. See you soon 💗

You take a moment to fully wake up, stretch out your body, then get up to find and put on the pajamas that were carelessly tossed to the side last night before tiredly stalking out to see a rectangular box of 3 assorted donuts and a white tulip next to them, your favorite flower. You then make your way over to the refrigerator, flower in hand, opening it to see the aforementioned iced coffee, pulling it out and then grabbing one of the donuts before heading back to the bedroom to get ready for the rest of the Saturday.

#black reader #request #f1 x black!reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x black!reader #f1 imagines #f1 fake text #f1 smut #f1 smau #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x black reader #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #Daniel Ricciardo scenario #scenario

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aropride · 11 months

Text

you open a 16 year old’s rentry and its like nick ++ 6teen ++ it he she ++ 💐🥩🦟🌈🧃 ++ vincian and you click random words before realizing the png of the anime boy brings u to the next page which is like

[ “OUT OF THE ASHES…”

dni: “bi bisexual” supporters (kys) ++ antis ++ bigots ++ use the window curtain flag ++ think demiboys can say faggot ++ freaks ++ authoritarians ++ dont like kys jokes ++ int. with user catboyblorbo ++ hate my favs ++ general dni criteria

[ “…STARS WILL RISE ❤️”

and by this point youre in too deep you need to know more so u click on random words and pngs until u find the next page

~~ 🧚‍♀️ smiling unicorn system 🦄 ~~

freq fronters: emma she it they ++ jace no prns ++ nick it he she ++ naruto gore rot xe

and the last page (which u can only find once u realize the “t” in fronters is underlined) is like

transrace (white -> autistic) ; 12-16yrs ; antis dni ; 🏔️🌈⏰🧪🥩 ++proud. rabies (selfdx) adhd (profdx) ibs (med recognized) ; ex discourser

and then ur significantly cooler teenage mutual sends u an ask letting u know that the emoji keysmashes means they go around public parks beating up small children for fun and in 2019 they were called out for breaking into peoples homes and beating them to death with golf clubs and thats what they meant by “ex discourse blog”

#edit: OP IS A SYSTEM #text #not screenreader friendly #im only strawmanning a little bit i did genuinely see someone with ‘transrace (white -> autistic)’ on their rentry and thats what inspired #this. i think im anaphylactic #not a word of tjis is englsih #anyway this strawrentry (like a strawman for a website) took half an hour to write. it wasnt worth ir #f slur tw

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 11 months

Text

Chapter One: When Opportunities Come Knocking

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Language, use of medical terms, diseases and procedures, as always, DNI if under 18

A/N: Excited to post the first chapter for the Highland General Series! Please note I am not a medical professional, and while I did my best to be accurate in my descriptions of medical procedures and conditions in my writing, some things may be incorrect.

“Wes!”

You banged on the bathroom door with the heel of your hand, your head pounding from the headache that had carried itself from the previous night.

“Wes!”

You boyfriend couldn’t hear you over the blaring of the rock music playing through the speaker, his tone-deaf singing drowning out your calls further. You jiggled the handle, the brass object falling off into your hand, never having been correctly installed by your inept landlord. “Piece of shit apartment”, you whispered as Wesley finally opened the door, a confused look on his face. “What are you doing with the door handle?”, he looked down at your hand, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. You took in his toned body, too tired to ogle over his chiseled six-pack, his skin still damp from his recent shower, a towel draped low around his waist. You pushed past him, placing the doorknob on the toilet tank, and turning the hot water knob to start the shower.

You turned to him, leaning against the towel rack. “Did you cut your hair?” You asked the question in vain, seeing the clumps of hair in the sink, the clippers that did the deed settled on the edge of the porcelain bowl. “You like it?”, Wesley looked back at himself in the mirror, running his hand over his newly buzzcut head.

“No. Why did you cut it?” You were already mourning his jet-black locks that you used to love running your hands through as you were falling asleep. He looked fucking fantastic; he had the bone structure for any haircut, his dark features a stark contrast to his porcelain skin. His emerald-green eyes glistened in the sunlight peering through the small window.

“I just wanted a change. I’m starting the new job today, didn’t want to go in as the old Wesley.”

“What was wrong with the old Wesley? That’s the one I fell in love with.” You pushed your lip out in a pout, giving him a hard time. “He’s still here, baby, just with a new suit of armor. He flexed his biceps to make you laugh, but you had to squeeze your thighs together to resist pulling that towel from his hips.

“This new job, explain it to me again. I don’t think I understand.” You tested the water with your hand, the water still cold. “It’s a pharmaceutical rep position. I’ll go around to different doctors and hospitals around the city, trying to either maintain or build a relationship to sell particular brand name drugs.” He rinsed his toothbrush off, dropping it into the cup on the sink.

“So, you’re a pill pusher?” Wesley laughed, his face dropping when he caught your serious expression the mirror. “What, no! This is a legitimate job.”

“One that they gave you without a pharmacy degree?” You narrowed your eyes at him. Wesley’s life had not always been easy, and he had a hard time staying out of trouble for most of his life. The thought of him being around prescription strength drugs scared you. You had met him for the first time at a free clinic you volunteered at during medical school. He had been a heavy drug user, needle marks on every possible inch of his body. It wasn’t until years later when you ran across him again. He had worked to get cleaned up shortly after he met you, and he seemed like a completely different person. You fell in love with him pretty quickly, your relationship progressing faster than any of your past boyfriends. You were able to keep a close eye on him when you moved in together, and it really seemed like he had turned his life around. He was even in school, studying to be an architect.

“They don’t give me any pills anyway. All I get to carry are monogramed pens and notebooks we’re supposed to give out to the doctors. It’s harmless I promise. Don’t you trust me?” His eyes were pleading; he really needed your support.

“Of course, I do. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” You shook your head, the thoughts of him relapsing leaving your mind.

“I appreciate you keeping me afloat here, but there’s nothing to be worried about. Now get in the shower before you’re late for work.”

You chuckled as you undressed and stepped into the tub. The shower in your apartment had seen better days. Chunks of fiberglass had chipped off in the basin, the tile slowly peeling away from the wall. Neither of you had the money to find a better apartment right now, with Wesley between jobs, and your first year of residency barely giving you a living wage in the city. Still, the two of you would search the New York Times for any listings every Sunday, most of them out of your price range and essentially a pipe dream at this point in your life.

You shrieked as you were hit with ice cold water, jumping back. “Oh my god! It’s so cold!”

“Did you pay the water bill?”, you asked in between huffs, your teeth chattering as Wesley pulled the shower curtain back. “Yes, I went up there myself to pay for it. Hold on.” He left the bathroom in a haste, returning with a wrench in hand. You watched in annoyance, crossing your arms over your chest to cover your body from the cold, as he turned the cold-water knob counterclockwise. “You just have to listen for the click”, he grunted out the knob resisting against his push. You held your breath until you heard a silent thump of the pipes following his efforts. You saw the steam billowing from the showerhead after a couple of seconds. “You’re my hero.” You gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I take card, check and showers with my girlfriend as payment.”

“Nice try, I have to be at the hospital in 30 minutes.”

“I take delayed payments, ya know!” He called out to you as he left the bathroom, making you giggle.

“Jack! Jack, wake up.” Jack’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of a voice through the darkness. The air was stifling, the room hot. He groaned, his back immediately aching when he realized he had fallen asleep in the on-call room, again.

“Dude, did you sleep here again last night?” David flipped the switch to the small, concrete block room that all doctors and residents frequented when they were on an overnight shift. He stood in the doorway, blocking Jack from view to people passing by in the hallway. Jack shieled his eyes from the bright florescent lights, eventually making his way to a sitting position. He looked down at his scrubs. He was wearing the same ones from the past day, a stain on the leg from dropping soup on them during lunch yesterday.

“I’m kind of in between places right now”, he admitted, hanging his head in his hands. That was the understatement of the century. His latest argument with his parents had resulted in him losing his apartment that they so courteously decided to pay for on the condition that he continued his duties as a member of the Harlow family, including attending dull fundraisers and mingling with New York business pricks. Showing up to his mother’s party drunk last week was the last straw. His parents justified his homelessness by saying he needed to grow up and “live in the real world”. He scoffed at the words, as if his parents weren’t the reason he was struggling right now anyway.

“C’mon man, rounds are about to start.” Jack looked up at David, one of his fellow first-year residents. His scrubs were pristine, wrinkle free and starched, his hair neatly slicked back with the help of gel. He gave off the air of a frat boy who’d wandered into a hospital, but he was very smart, and Jack admired that. They had become close over the last couple of weeks, the residents spent a lot of time together, and Jack was glad to have someone in his corner.

“I’ll be right there.” He waived David off, trying to clear his throat which was drier than the desert.

“Hassler says whoever impresses him today gets to scrub in on his nuss procedure1. Jack’s head shot up. “This is the first time anyone has gotten a chance to scrub in.” He felt his words caught in his throat at the thought of finally getting a chance to scrub in on a procedure. Jack took off sprinting down the hallway, David following closely behind him as they made their way down to Cardiothoracic wing of the hospital.

You noticed the two of them catching up with the group just as Dr. Hassler was about to begin his rounds.

“Nice of you to join us. Sleep well in the on-call room last night?” You threw the jab at a whisper, knowing Jack was going to be the only one to hear you. You noticed that he had been sleeping at the hospital about a week ago, not sure why he wouldn’t want to go home to his penthouse apartment, fit with a butler and maid.

He didn’t even bother to acknowledge your presence. Any other day, he would have liked nothing more than to go toe-to-toe with his rival, but today he had more important things to focus on. His fingers tingled as he resisted the urge to snap back at you. “I mean, if I was a lonely jerk, I don’t think I’d want to go back to my apartment either, but it’s gotta be more comfortable than the paper mattresses here”, you continued, feeling bold this morning.

Your eyes were still focused on Dr. Hassler’s movements as he conversed with another surgeon. Dr. Hassler always looked like he had stuck his finger in a socket before heading into work, his salt and pepper hair in a mess atop his head. You couldn’t understand it, but he was very popular with the nurses in the hospital. It was tradition for the residents to put up money bets on which nurse he was going to sleep with next.

“See, I told you.” Jasmine tapped your shoulder, pointing in the direction of Dr. Hassler. One of the nurses passed him a cup of coffee, something that was definitely not her job, her eyes filled with lust for a man who looked like his mom still did his laundry. “You owe me 10 bucks.” She looked you up and down, holding out her hand impatiently, a cocky grin on her face.

You didn’t know what to make of Jasmine. She was cutthroat, top of her class at Baylor, but would be nothing but sweet to your face. You weren’t sure if she was going to be your friend or your enemy, and you really didn’t need any enemies right now, so you were always careful of your words.

“I’ve got your money at the end of our shift, okay?”

“What are we betting on, ladies?” You turned suddenly at the sultry voice in your ear. Dr. Cleveland, your boss and a fourth-year resident, was one of the most attractive men you had ever laid eyes on. He had snuck up on you at some point, hearing the majority of your conversation.

He was one of the youngest doctors in the hospital, definitely the youngest in the cardiology ward. He was tall and slim, his skin a rich black. You blushed red, embarrassed that your boss was privy to your childish games. “Nothing sir.” You gave him a forced smile, earning a genuine one in return.

“We were betting on which nurse Dr. Hassler was going to sleep with next.” Jasmine wasn’t as easily humiliated; hospital hierarchy was just a suggestion to her. “I won this week.” You elbowed her, hard, in the side at the last comment.

“I’ll get in on that”, Dr. Cleveland pulled a $20 out of his wallet, “my money is on the blonde in the pediatric ward. I saw them having lunch yesterday.” You let out a soft chuckle, Dr. Cleveland noticing immediately. “What? Did you think that your class started this whole betting thing? This goes years back. If you’ll excuse me.” He pushed to the front of the group, giving you a wink as he passed. You felt your stomach do flips, the familiar heat creeping up your cheeks again.

“Good morning, everyone!” He addressed the crowd of interns, his pearly whites hidden behind a tight-lipped smile. “I hope everyone had a good night’s sleep. A small group of you will be with Dr. Hassler today.” He scanned the file in his hand. “Okay, let’s do Dawson, Russ, and Johnson.” Jasmine squeezed your arm when her name was called, walking away with the rest of the group.

“Jack and Y/N, you’ll be with me in cardio today.” Jack nodded politely, disappointment coursing through his veins. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands, the pain keeping him occupied enough to stop him from objecting. He didn’t need to make waves with any of the doctors, especially if he wanted to make a name for himself that wasn’t followed by “son of the best doctor in the city”.

You weren’t going to stay quiet. “Sir, I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I need to be with Dr. Hassler so I can get a chance to scrub in on his nuss procedure.” You were talking a mile a minute, your head spinning. It was bad enough you weren’t going to get a chance to go into surgery, but now you had to spend the day with the person you hated more than anything.

“Are you second guessing me, Y/L/N?” Dr. Cleveland looked down on you from above his file. As cordial as he had been around you up until this point, he had to remind you that you had crossed the line by questioning his authority.

“Of course, not sir, it’s just-“

“Listen.” He held up a hand to stop you. “It’s out of my hands anyway. Dr. Harlow asked for you personally.”

Jack stomach dropped to his feet at hearing his father’s name, his hands beginning to shake. He clamped them behind his back, hiding his fear from the group.

“I’m sorry, but what does he want with me? He doesn’t even know who I am.” You turned to Jack, hoping he could answer for his father’s actions, but he looked straight ahead.

“Apparently, he does. He asked for you by name this morning. He wants you to visit his office before we begin rounds.”

You knocked softly on the heavy wooden door, the nameplate displaying “Dr. Jackman Thomas Harlow II” in gold lettering shaking with each hit of your knuckles.

“Come in.”

“Sir, Dr. Cleveland said you wanted to see me?” You struggled to push the door open, making sure it closed softly before you entered the room. Dr. Harlow’s office was sterile, impersonal, not a diploma or family picture on the wall. He was a stoic man, average height and fit, his expression always deadpan. His bright blue eyes were mesmerizing, Jack carrying the same face and nose structure. They looked exactly alike, all except Dr. Harlow had straight brown hair to Jack’s curly locks. You had seen a picture of his family in the New York Post years ago (they had been the subject of a cheating scandal, but you couldn’t remember the details) and you distinctly remembered Jack’s mother having curly blonde hair, so she got that from him. As you continued to study him, you realized that you could see hints of Jack, he probably looked just like him in his youth, but like he had been worn down, dragged through life in a way his son had yet to experience. You had only heard of him through whispers and passed him in hallways around the hospital but had never taken in his face. It terrified you to your core.

“Please sit.”

You placed yourself gently in the chair in front of his desk. The room was silent; you could hear a pin drop.

“I wanted to properly welcome you to Mount Sinai. It’s not often we get an intern as gifted as you, so I hope our hospital can live up to your expectations.” His tone was flat, as if he was reading from a script and he was a terrible actor. The forced smile he gave you was more unsettling than his straight face.

“Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be here.”

“I noticed in your file you are interested in a cardiology specialty. We have one of the finest cardiology programs in the country.” He barely made eye contact his voice projecting as if he was talking to a wall and not a person.

“Yes, sir. I’ve always dreamed of being a cardiac surgeon.”

“If you’re interested, I usually take an intern under my wing every. It would mean you wouldn’t get much exposure to the other departments, but if you’re serious about cardiology, I can almost promise you a position at this hospital when your residency is complete.”

You cocked your head, trying to take in what he had just said to you. You were suspicious of his motives, the man barely knew you, and a file couldn’t tell him enough about you, but this was the chance of a lifetime, and you needed to separate yourself from the pack if you wanted to stay at Mount Sinai.

“Can I have a couple of days to think about it?” You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, your heart beating out of your chest.

“Of course. This opportunity does have an expiration date, so I will need your answer by the end of next week.” You excused yourself when he returned to the papers on his desk.

Jack was quick to question you when you met back up with him. “What did he want with you?”, Jack asked quietly as the two of you followed Dr. Cleveland into the patient’s room. “Nothing.” You shook your head.

“He never wants “nothing”. What did he say to you?” Jack continued to press.

“I said, nothing.” You snapped at him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barnes. How are you feeling this morning?” Dr. Cleveland addressed the older woman lying in the hospital bed, her skin gaunt and pale. She took a shaky breath, her oxygen tank doing most of the work. He grabbed her hand delicately, his bedside manner admirable.

“Better now that you’re here, Aaron.” She gave a weak smile, her hand shaking in his.

“Mrs. Barnes has been with us at the hospital for the last couple of days. Jack, please update us on her condition.” Jack slid his hands in the pockets of his scrubs, his stethoscope swinging around his neck.

“Angela Barnes, 61. Symptoms began approximately 2 days before and had progressively worsened with no associated, aggravating, or relieving factors noted. She had similar symptoms approximately 1 year ago with an acute, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) exacerbation requiring hospitalization. She uses BiPAP ventilatory support at night when sleeping and has requested to use this in the hospital due to shortness of breath and wanting to sleep.”

“Very good, Harlow, but that doesn’t answer why she’s here with us in cardiology”, Aaron countered as he checked Mrs. Barnes vitals.

Jack cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with the patient. “The years of smoking have led to lung cancer, which became metastatic, and she is currently on the transplant list for a new lung, kidney and heart.” He rocked back and forth on his heels, his physical discomfort obvious.

“Don’t ever smoke, dear. Or you’ll have to listen to handsome gentlemen like him tell you how sick you are for the rest of your days.” She choked on her laugh, earning a small smile from you.

“Angela, you are in the care of the best doctors in the city.” Aaron’s attempt at being reassuring fell on deaf ears, the room falling quiet. “One of the interns will be back to visit you before the day is over.” You could hear a buzzing sound as Dr. Cleveland looked down to his side, his pager blinking. “I’ve got to run down to the OR.” He looked to both of you. “Catch up with Dr. Hassler’s group, I’ll come find you when I’m done.” He rushed out of the room, leaving you and Jack with the patient. “I’ll come by your room before the end of my shift, Mrs. Barnes,” you reassured her before turning to leave. Jack shuffled out behind you.

You pulled out you phone, checking for any messages from Wesley about his first day at his new job.

“I’ll catch you around.” Jack gave you a lazy wave as he turned to the left down the hallway.

“Wait, where are you going? We’re supposed to go down to Thoracic.” You slipped your phone back into your back pocket, the only messages the ones you had sent him this morning wishing him luck.

“He’s already chosen who’s going to scrub in with him, no use in wasting my time kissing his ass now.” You hurried after him, matching his pace as he continued walking. “What is your problem? It’s not just about showing off. There are real people in these surgeries. We’re trying to save lives.” Jack stopped in his tracks, letting out a deep sigh. God, you were so naive.

“You’re cute.”

“What?” You were flustered by his response.

“Smokey in there, she is in multiple organ failure, not even able to breathe on her own, literally counting down her last days. Do you honestly think we’re going to be able to save her?” His blue eyes were piercing as he searched your face. You dropped his eye contact, feeling scrutinized under his gaze.

“So, we’re just supposed to not try? Are you really that much of an asshole that you think you’re above trying to save someone’s life?” You were at your wits end with Jack and his holier-than-thou attitude.

“I won’t waste my time on people who don’t want to help themselves.” Jack closed his eyes; he had become echo chamber for his father’s teachings, they had burned themselves into his brain.

You scoffed, your facial expression incredulous. “You have a fucked-up way of thinking, Jack.”

He looked almost ashamed of your words. “I’ve got to go.” You watched him walk away in disbelief.

After you made a couple more rounds, checking in on some of Dr. Hassler’s patients, you were finally able to take your lunch break. You had your phone in one hand, a soggy sandwich you made in a hurry this morning in the other. Wesley had sent you a selfie he had taken from his car, jokingly pointing to his backseat, piled high with suitcases where he carried his branded merchandise. You decided to see if you could catch him at a break in the day. The phone rang a couple of times before Wesley finally picked up. You could hear the voices of a crowd in the background, echoing off tiled walls.

“Hey, baby!” You swallowed your mouthful of turkey when he greeted you.

“Hi! How’d it go today?”

“I’m actually on my way in now. Got a late start today.”

“Well, I’ll let you go, just wanted to say, I love you and I know that you’re going to kill your first day.”

“Thank you, babe. I love you too. Will you be home for dinner?”

You swallowed a drink of your water. “Go ahead and eat without me, I think it’s going to be another late night.”

“Bummer. Ok, talk to you later.”

Wesley tapped his visitor pass against the metal railing of the elevator while he waited for the car to climb to the 10th floor. He checked his watch: 3:29pm; he was right on time. He pulled his two suitcases behind him, a messenger bag carrying a handful of business cards and his script for his presentations. He came to an abrupt stop in front of an office door at the end of the hallway. He straightened his navy suit jacket, the only thing he had in his closet that remotely represented business professional. It was the jacket from a suit you had bought him to wear to your sister’s wedding a couple of months ago, but it would have to do today. It was a bit small now; he had put on a few pounds during his unemployment, left to his own devices every day while you were at work.

He knocked his fist against the door, startled when it opened suddenly.

“Hi, I hope I’m in the right place. Please say you’re Dr. Cleveland?” Wesley gave Aaron a toothy grin.

“Yes, you must be my 3:30, please have a seat.” He followed Dr. Cleveland into his office, his décor an amalgamation of his numerous running medals and photos of his celebrations at the peak of different mountains. His desk was an absolute mess, papers strewn across the top, business cards haphazardly stacked in the corner. Wesley made a mental note to slip one of his cards onto the pile as he was leaving. “You have an impressive medal collection there.” Wesley waived his finger over to the corner. “Yeah, it’s a good stress reliever, and there is no shortage of stress here.” Aaron chuckled as he threw a wadded-up napkin into the trash. He plopped down in his leather office chair, taking a sip of the energy drink in his hand. “Sorry, you caught me in the middle of what most people would consider a “cry for help”, but I call my lunch.” He waived the empty aluminum can in the air, making Wesley chuckle. “I’m not here to judge.”

“What are you here for? I’m sure its not to watch me spiral. Mr.-“

“Oh, Clark sir.” Wesley extended out an arm, connecting with Aaron’s hand in a strong handshake. “And you’re right. I asked to meet you today to talk about a potential business opportunity. I heard that your last drug rep was on the out, and I thought I would just slide on in and shoot my shot.” Wesley winced at the mixed sports metaphors, his attempt at quickly impressing Aaron failing. He knew nothing about sports.

“Do you have any literature I can look at? I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no.”

“Yes, of course.” Wesley hands Aaron a pamphlet. “You’re right about us losing our drug rep, he just disappeared into thin air one day. No notice, no nothing.” He scanned the pages, not bothering to remember any of the details.

“Well, that’s why I’m here. I want to make sure that Dolson Pharmaceuticals and Mount Sinai start their relationship on the right foot. If opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door, right?” Wesley cleared his throat, shaking his head. He was sure he had cleared his mind of those stupid sayings, but they always came back at the worse times.

“What can I do to convince you, Dr. Cleveland? Dolson wants to assure you that money is no object. They are very invested in continuing this partnership.”

Aaron held up a hand, throwing the folded paper on the desk, immediately lost among the others. “Listen, I’m not one of those people that you can swindle, I can’t be bought. I can’t say the same for other doctor’s in this hospital, but if Dolson is willing to run a clean business, you might be a contender.” Wesley’s eyes lit up, a smile creeping on his face. “Again, I’m not saying yes. I have to run this by my boss first.”

Wesley stood, slinging his bag across his chest. “I’m sure that he will be as thrilled as we are. Dr. Harlow and I go way back.” Aaron stopped him as he began to walk out of the office, sitting up in his chair.

“By the way, I asked Dr. Harlow about you, he said he didn’t know a Wesley.”

Wesley turned on his heels, rolling his shoulders back as his face dropped the forced smile.

“I'm surprised he didn't mention me before. I started going by my middle name years ago. My first name is Brandon. I’m his son.”

Notes:

1 A Nuss procedure is a minimally invasive surgical repair to fix pectus excavatum (congenital chest wall deformity). People who have this sunken chest issue are candidates for the Nuss procedure instead of an open repair with a larger incision. The procedure uses a titanium bar or bars to push a child's sunken breastbone out.

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63 notes · View notes

fedtothenight · 8 months

Text

tw for graphic description of suicide and cyber bullying

on october 9th, 2023, an italian call of duty cosplayer going by the name inquisitor committed suicide on live tiktok.

for hours his body lay offscreen as hundreds of people watched the stream, and some ironised that the phone set-up, angled towards a glass door to the outside, with no speaking and music in the background, was him being “mysterious”.

then, a hit against the glass door. another one. another one. a man was seen break in, crouch down off screen, receiving instructions on how to perform cpr from a woman still outside, on the phone with a 111 operator.

the live ended just after paramedics came into view, thanks to the reports of some users who had understood what had been unfolding in front of their eyes.

for a day, conflicting information regarding the outcome of his attempt flooded tiktok. it is now seemingly proven that he is no longer on this earth and that his funerals are today, october 11th 2023. in italy, it is common for funerals to happen within a 48-hour window from passing.

inquisitor was 23 at the time of his death.

weeks prior, inquisitor, who had privated all his accounts before reactivating for this last live, was accused of grooming and pedophilia. screenshots came out of him allegedly flirting with a 17 year old and/or a 15 year old. the cod community rallied around the minor(s): he was, to put it in tiktok terms, ‘cancelled’. he was named a p*dophile and a groomer.

other popular accounts, with thousands of followers, posted ‘call out’ videos about him, spreading the voice. the same accounts, the ‘batman of the fandom defending minors’, barely old teenagers themselves, mocked his live as it was happening — claiming it was for clout.

it had since emerged that the allegations were, allegedly, false. yesterday, multiple other cosplayers and users in the fandom posted screen-recordings of the minor admitting that they had lied about their age to flirt with him—who had a ‘minors dni’ in his bio.

it has since further been alleged, with screenshots, that the minor and their boyfriend orchestrated the call out, with the latter, who claims to be in the us army, egging the minor to ramp up their flirting until it became sexting. it is not proven it ever got to that point. the intentions to ruin someone’s reputation, however, were apparently there.

in italy, which is not the usa, and where high school is compasses ages 13 to 20 for those who do repeat years, it is also culturally accepted for someone in their early twenties to flirt or date someone who is around 18.

this is true irrespective of anyone’s feelings about it.

regardless of all that, regardless of whatever amount of the allegations, it not all, were false, a young man is dead and his death was live-streamed to thousands of people. in his own words to one of his friends, who showed some of his last messages, he committed suicide live on purpose to show what the past few weeks had done to him.

it should have never come to this point. at least please let it be a reminder that mob mentality is deadly, that we should never let go of our empathy, and that all suspected crimes, especially if this serious, should be reported to and dealt with by the proper authorities, not people on the internet.

i won’t stay his name because to the best of my knowledge he only gave it out privately, but: he was 23. he loved star wars and worked in a tattoo shop. he lived in bologna. he liked tortellini. he had a cat named loki and a sister who sometimes joined his lives off-screen. he was loved. all this information he gave freely.

although denial still wants to make me hope he made it out, and that he is okay, and alive and well, because what’s what denial does, my thoughts go out to him, to his family, to his friends.

inquisitor, if you're not here anymore: sit tibi terra levis.

#suicide tw

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twoheartswrites · 1 year

Note

Hi can you write a Connor x deviant reader where Connor meets the reader before he deviates and he’s trying to take the reader into the staton (by like tracking him down and stuff im bad at explaining 😭) and the reader does the thingy where their skin goes up and they like show memories and information and the reader shows what happened to them (like the reader being in a group for like a care center and then humans like destroy the other androids and the reader escapes) and then Connor and the reader just talk for a bit and Connor kinda just deviates a bit after that (btw I’m so sorry if this doesn’t make any sense)

Software Instability

Fem aligned people (+ She/Her users) DNI

[FTM Friendly] DEVIANT Male Reader x Connor

Fluff/Long Fic

Detroit Become Human

Connor's POV:

Where is he? This deviant is the best link we've got to Markus, but he's difficult to catch. We've been practically playing a game of 'cat and mouse' as Hank says.

He leaves notes and shrines for us yet leaves little trace of himself. The closest I've gotten of useful information was a couple drops of blood from our first encounter with him. He got injured at a care center, where supposedly an entire group of deviants had attacked the people new batch of people who needed help. It seems unlikely considering the past links of deviants who just wanted to live a normal life, but justice needs to be served...

It's getting late and I've been standing in this snowy area of the city, surrounded by abandoned building that the deviant led me too for the past hour, trying to find any hint of a shrine or note, but even those aren't here.

Hank had already wrapped his stuff up to go, and at this point- I think it's time for me too. Until I hear a loud hissing sound, like spray paint, coming from inside these abandoned buildings. I quickly (and quietly) make my way around where the sound is coming from.

I climb up on of the buildings where a rusty ladder was, and found one of the buildings with a huge gap in the window. I take a peak inside to find 3 androids. One is spray painting a Jericho symbol onto the walls while the two others are walking away with a large box. Deviants.

I note that the broken glass is how they get into the building as they've built platforms fit for people to safely walk in from here. As the two other androids are no longer in hearing distance, I start to silently sneak myself towards the one left. The closer I got, I was finally able to read what type of Android they were--

A Care Android.

"Joey are you ba-?"

I interrupt him, grabbing onto his free arm, and then the hand that carried his spray can. Immediately, he started fighting back and tried shouting for help "JOEY, SIMON"

His led blipped red in a second and he pushed me up against the wall next to the spray painted symbol. I finally had a good look at his face-

A tear across his cheek, not to deep but still enough to make someone wince at the injury.

"God dammit, Connor just give me a damn second!" he yelled. Him knowing my name was the least of my problems in this moment, but I'm starting to realize I may have underestimated how strong he is.

Care Androids are made to hold heavy weights considering that they had to carry people, help bring in shipments of medication and food, and so on.

But no matter how much I budge, his hold on me gets tighter. "Connor, please" He pleads loudly, making me stop, "Just listen to me. Hand, give me your god damn hand" he demands.

A look of desperation slips into his eyes, and I can't help but hesitate. After seeing these many deviants so far, it's impossible to think his intentions are purely evil.

As I finally stop fighting back, we stare into each other's eyes, silently checking for approval of a truce. His eyes soften, and he lets go of me. We stand frozen for a moment before he pulls out his hand. The flesh of his hand is pixelated away as he waits for my hand as well.

I delay for a second before finally grasping his hand and close my eyes with him.

------

"It's okay, Ellie" I whisper, running my hand over the little girl's forehead. In reality, there's androids getting torn apart down there, and I'm hiding with the sick little girl I was told to take care of. I'm afraid, for the first time in my life, I feel a nauseas feeling as I try to find a way to leave this place while leaving everyone in this room safe.

If I want to live, I must leave, but it's my job-- my only reason to exist is to defend the people who live here.

I feel myself become a traitor, I feel selfish for leaving and wanting to live. But they're human, they'll be safe. I know I have to live for something in the future.

The little girl looks up at me on last time. Hopefully she finds her gift after this whole mess. Hopefully she sees the little happy birthday note I've placed in her room. I'll visit her one day if I live to get out of this.

I open the door and quickly shut it, looking around. Androids attempting to fight back while others lie limp to the suffering, and humans have had enough of us.

I grab onto a broken rail from the stairs as I try to sneak across to the other side where I find of group of deviants trying to escape from.

No eyes on them just yet. One care android, now deviant, looks over to me with worry, almost like they're telling me to be careful and that we'll meet after, before heading out.

I take a deep breath, for the first time I feel something like adrenaline. Like I'm alive

I make a run for it, and finally as I'm about to reach the window, I feel something trip me. I fall onto my side, finding a human lady over me. Anger and hatred has filled her, and pinned me down, pressing a knife against my cheek and slowly trying to slide it against my face, but by instinct, I swing. I swing the rail right onto her head. She cries out, getting the attention of the other humans. Fuck.

I scamper up and pull my way out of the window as the shouts get louder and closer. I slam the window closed, and as I'm about to run away, my legs finally give in, fear and tiredness swallow me whole.

-----

I let go of his hand, panting. I could feel all of it, I could hear everything, his thoughts and the shouting and crying.

He looks at me with worry, gently placing my hand on my shoulder.

"You understand me now" He says softly, "you see me"

He lightly presses his fingers against his tear, before leaving it alone. I do, he's right, but I can't let him know that. I look away from him, still trying to recover from the feelings.

"I just wanted to care for them, Connor-"

"How do you know my name?" I ask, scanning them.

"Echo and Ripples. Those girls you let live from the Eden Club. They heard what your buddy cop called you and then told me. An android deviant who didn't shoot the deviants then and there? I knew you were already in your first phases of deviating..." he confessed.

and though I wanted to deny it, it was becoming harder to.

He sighed, taking a deep breath, almost basking in his new ability. And seeing him so happy about it was almost contagious.

"So detective... you gonna cuff me up now?" he asked, "Or ask me about Markus?"

Markus, right. That.

I nodded, "I need information as to where he is"

His led flipped back to yellow, "So that's why you found me. You didn't find my note?" He smirked, "Mr. Detective Android couldn't find a deviant's note? That'll surely look good in your police files" he teases. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head before pulling out a crinkled paper from his pockets, "This. I made a copy just in case, but it- uhm. It would've sent you to a ship bay, I would've met you there in... a better situation with less fighting and shouting, and then I would've introduced you to him. But I guess this works too" He hums, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

I take the note, reading the information from it.

"So how about this? We meet there tomorrow, 6 pm, you can bring your one buddy cop if you want, and then I introduce you to Markus. Sound good, Mr. Detective?" he smiles, giving me a bright and wide smile.

I study him for a moment, knowing this isn't a trap, and that I shouldn't trust him so easily-- but I understand him.

"Sounds good" I say.

[[Software Instability]]

#Connor DBH #DBH Connor #x male reader #male reader #m reader #x m reader #gay #detroit become human #DBH #ftm reader #x ftm reader #trans male reader #x trans male reader

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paintedperiwinkle · 3 months

Text

plant dashboard simulator part 2

🧃candied-app1e Follow

red apples are just so much better in every way idk i don’t make the rules

🍏 greenfiend176 Following

bold statement from someone who hasn’t even begun to flower or bear fruit yet but ok

#you are literally a sapling get off tumblr and go do your homework #this website really needs to be more serious with its age restrictions

874 notes

🌶️ redhoticecold Follow

she venus on my fly til i trap

🌶️ redhoticecold Follow

easy website

#hall of fame #25k #50k #100k #150k #200k

203,274 notes

🫑 pepper-bella09 Follow

why is it that humans only use fruit to make juices and smoothies but not vegetables?? when are we gonna get shown some appreciation?

🍌 fruitsalad Follow

because no one wants to drink a carrot rutabaga smoothie??

🍅 tom-mat0 Follow

bro hasn’t heard of V8 juice & green smoothies 💀

🍑 peachykeen22 Following

guys i know we all think this post is hilarious bc i keep seeing it circulate on my dash but can we pls stop reblogging it because op is a vegetable supremacist

#can someone who’s NOT a vegsup remake this post instead #discourse

71,338 notes

🪴 homegrown Follow

some of you were NOT grown in south facing windows and it shows…

🌷 pinkandpretty Following

um this is not it op… some houseplants don’t have access to south facing windows…

🌱 sproutaloud Follow

can we not bring this discourse back to the tl like it’s 2016 please

#we don’t need to relive this

15,209 notes

🍁 nevergreen Following

i can not believe i have to fucking say this but if you support controlled fires fuck you for real. those are living trees you fucking idiot

#controlled fire supporters dni #discourse

6,971 notes

🌹 positivity-rose02 Following

flowering plants/trees who are reaching mature age and have not flowered yet don’t be so hard on yourself!! everyone flowers at their own rate and your time will come 💚

🌼 daisy-dew Follow

reblogging for anyone else who needs to hear this because i did <3

#thank you :) #positivity #encouraging #self love

4,639 notes

👩🏽‍🌾 greenthumbs46 Follow

does anyone know how to get rid of aphids?

#gardening #gardeners

24 notes

🍑 peachykeen22 Following

if you guys put pepper-bella09 on my dash one more time it’s gonna be a hard block. i’m so fucking serious.

#cause i’ve said COUNTLESS times how problematic they are and i’m tired #this applies to moots too btw #mutuals tag

87 notes

🐝 bees-knees19 Follow

just pollinated my first flower!! :33

🦋 magicalmariposa Following

that’s incredible i’m so proud of you!

🌻 de-flowered Follow

THAT WAS YOU????

#HELLO??????

788 notes

🥥 tropical-chill Follow

reminder to please help tropical fruits feel welcomed this season!! it’s a new and scary place to a lot of us and we could really use the support!!!🩷

🍍 f1ne-apple Following

please! we really appreciate it!!^^

🍌 fruitsalad Follow

maybe don’t come here if it’s so scary for you then??

🥥 tropical-chill Follow

um.. anyway…

#not the ‘local produce supremacist’ opening their mouth again… #stay off my posts you fucking freak

87,451 notes

🥥 tropical-chill Follow

would like to take a moment to congratulate user fruitsalad for being the stupidest fucking plant on this app for 2 years in a row

🍇 leavesfromthevine Following

THEY STILL EXIST???

🥥 tropical-chill Follow

unfortunately!

#anyway. using this as a reminder to you all to please block them

937 notes

🐛 veryhungry Follow

these leaves are so fuckign good

3 notes

🌱 sproutaloud Follow

hey uh not so friendly reminder that if youre a plant who is not endangered by lawn mowers/weed whackers/hedge clippers etc then it’s not ok for you to joke about them and it’s extremely problematic if you do. thanks 👍

#making this post bc i keep seeing certain Plants™️ make jokes when they should not be #like girl you’re a house grown monstera you don’t need to be making jokes about lawn mowers

15,390 notes

☘️ 3littleguys Following

4leafers aren’t gonna like this but the way you treat us 3leafers is very telling. we know what you think of us

🥦 greens-n-beans Follow

you all love to repackage the same “discourse” about “oppressed” plants and give it a new name every 3-6 months. this week it’s clovers. no one cares

☘️ 3littleguys Following

are you a clover? no? then shut the fuck up

#like fuck off actually #SO sick of being dismissed on this app #nonclovers dni #3leafer safe

5,798 notes

#dashboard simulator #long post #i <3 making these

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just-antithings · 5 months

Note

So I found a browser game with an active community and a cute aesthetic some time ago. The forums are open for non-registered users to see, so I decided to take a peek at its community. Cue my surprise when I saw that a decent amount of users had Carrds and Rentries linked on either their signatures or their profiles. Most had proship DNI on them, and a bunch included death threats. I was really hyped to make an account whenever next registration window hit, but I guess I'll be avoiding the site

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #image #dni hall of shame #death threat mention

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decayedgender · 2 years

Text

— Soullesic / Eyelesoulic

a gender relating to the phrase- "eyes are the window to the soul" however the user feels they have no soul in an eyeless way.

Can involve not having a soul, having no eyes/blacked out eyes, having no name or having no memory to do with yourself. Can be related to in a undead way or a living way.

[Image ID: 2 flags made up of 7 horizontal even stripes. From top to bottom the colours are black, dark grey, light grey, white thats slightly grey, light grey, dark grey, black. In the centre of the first flag there is a black eye with the pupil transparent, the second one lacks the eye and is just the colours. End ID]

Make sure to read my DNI before interacting ♫ Coined by me + not a req !

#📖💤 ; coined #gender coining #mogai safe #mogai #mogai coining #xenogender #xenogender coining #xenogender flag #flag coining #liom friendly #liom pride #liom

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charophyte · 10 months

Text

Jotaro x OC - Hospital

An idea I got months and months ago that started out as a joke and ended up being genuine. Ash gets their ass kicked and rizzes it up in their hospital bed.

post-p4 Jotaro x OC, sub/botttom Jotaro, hospital/injuries (no graphic depictions), NSFW (minors/ageless blogs DNI), more warnings under the cut

Word Count: 7439

p4 Jotaro x OC, sub/botttom Jotaro, semi-public (hospital setting), protected sex, anal sex, riding

Being stuck in their hospital bed is the most bored Ash had ever been, or, at least, for as far as they could remember. At present, the lack of stimulation and excitement is more painful than the cracked rib in their chest and broken bone in their arm. They browse the TV catalog with their one usable arm, sitting alone in their private hospital room. At first, they were thankful to get a very nice private room, paid for by the Speedwagon Foundation, but... the large room did make them feel very, very isolated. Very, very bored. The view from the window was equally as uninteresting. Ash couldn’t even people-watch.

Ash knew that they were also in for an earful for what they did: they got a little bit too cocky with a Stand user they'd assumed was just some hack; as it turned out, he was more capable than they thought, which in hindsight is unsurprising for any Stand user. Luckily, they were able to get out alive, but not without some broken bones. Before getting chewed out by their superiors, Ash had actually figured they'd done a good job for getting this far in their field of work without getting maimed, but now their ego was simply bruised, though they’d never admit it.

And none of the chewing-out Ash had gotten would compare to whatever condescending looks Jotaro would shoot them once he's back from his own work trip. Ash is aware that he would arrive at the hospital as soon as the end of the day, which means they only had a matter of time to silently figure out how to smooth out this situation as quickly as possible before Jotaro could make it unbearably awkward.

Going through conversation after conversation in their own head, Ash tunes out the jewelry channel on the television and instead focused on their hands: one of which was immobilized in a cast. In their mind, they retread the same conversation over and over, trying to forecast how they'll be scolded or pitied for being so weak.

After around the twentieth loop of the same conversation in their mind, Ash considers using their Stand to slip away somewhere to pass the time. They then consider that, due to the nature of their Stand, doing so may cause their broken and fractured bones to not set correctly, and this idea frightens them into complacency.

Looking around the room, they look for something to grab and mess with using their Stand, but all they can find is an information pamphlet on the center table and the blinds on the windows. They extend their left hand into a thin, green tendril of algae, wrapping around the bottom of the pamphlet to drag it back to themself: after investigation, it's nothing that they didn't already know. They try to fold it into a paper airplane, but their Stand is too unwieldy to manage: it’s tossed and immediately plummets to the ground, laying defeated on the floor.

This was it, Ash thought, this is how they were gonna die. They weren't gonna die in some dramatic Stand battle protecting their loved ones, or dying from old age with their family at their bedside: they were going to die in this hospital bed because their heart became too bored to continue beating.

That's when Ash heard the door open, and they quickly recoiled their Stand back into them, reforming the cold mass of algae into the warm flesh of their hand. They politely put their hands in their lap, acting as if they weren't just messing with everything inside the room. Once the door is open, they hear a muffled conversation and see Jotaro step into the room, ducking his head under the doorframe as he walks in.

Ash inhales from the first amount of excitement they'd felt in the last 72 hours, about to tease Jotaro for taking so long to see them, but a sharp stabbing pain rips through their chest, and they cough instead, reeling from the sensation. They lift their hand apologetically as they steady their breathing, and speak.

“Jojo... about time, heheh.”

As per usual, Jotaro doesn't respond. He takes a few steps to clear the space across the hospital room, ending his stride by Ash's bedside, staring down at them with an unreadable expression. His brow furrowed, and he frowned.

“It's been a while since we last saw each other, don't you wanna be polite and say hello or somethin'?”

Jotaro's shoulders continue to ride up as he carefully looks over Ash's injuries. He huffs, casting what Ash believes is a condescending look down on them. “You're okay?”

“Of course I'm okay. What, you think some random punk would do me in?” Ash replies, their voice weaker than usual, trying to keep the pain from returning. “You need to have more faith in me, big guy.”

The line of Jotaro's mouth straightens out as he's clearly holding something back. ”I have plenty of faith in you.“

”Oh please, don't give me that,“ Ash laughs bitterly. ”It was an accident, alright?”

Jotaro steps closer, looming over Ash as he inspects their wounds, seemingly not listening to Ash's reasoning. ”It's just a fracture?“

Ash scoffs. ”Do I look like a doctor to you? Well I know I'm- fuck, you know what I mean!“ They cough as the emotions in their voice cause their ribs to sting again.

”Don't talk so loud,” Jotaro says plainly. ”You'll only make it worse.“

”I don't need you to mother me,“ Ash wheezes, gritting their teeth in pain and frustration, ”I don't need you to treat me as if I can't take care of myself just because I got my ass kicked, okay?“

Jotaro stiffens further. ”That wasn’t my intention.“ He pauses, thinking about how to express his feelings. “I'm… it’s a relief to see you’re doing well.”

Ash raises their eyebrows. “What, did you think I was on death's door or something?”

“…I was concerned about your ego.”

Ash holds their tongue, biting the inside of their lip as they think of what to say next. Finally, they scoff. “No, no. Listen, mate, you know I'm as mentally tough as they come.” They look up at Jotaro, at his unchanging face, and they crinkle their eyes up at him in a teasing smile. “You're really that worried about my confidence, eh? Why's that?”

Jotaro's face softens, and he looks away at the wall, grabbing the brim of his cap with his fingers. “I don't know what I'd do if you couldn't protect yourself anymore.”

Suddenly, Ash’s left hand is on Jotaro’s jacket, running their thumb over the fabric. They gently tug the collar of his jacket until he awkwardly shuffles closer, and their hand trails up to brush the side of his face. “You don’t need to worry so much, Jojo…”

The grip on Jotaro’s cap tightens, and he ducks his face under it, not able to hide from Ash’s low vantage point on the bed. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders relax as he sighs.

“I promise I’ll be more careful next time, okay big guy? I can’t stand seeing you get all worked up over this…” Ash continues in a teasing, quiet voice, caressing Jotaro’s cheek with their forefinger and thumb.

“I overreacted. I see now that you’re perfectly… yourself.” Jotaro was going to say ‘normal’, but decided against it.

“Fine, fine. I’ll accept that if only I can feel less guilty about dragging you across the planet just to see me…” Ash replies mockingly, though they couldn’t help but feel endeared to Jotaro despite their dislike of being fussed over.

“Don’t be stupid…” Jotaro warns, dragging one of the guest chairs to sit at Ash’s bedside (and also to be at a lower angle compared to Ash’s point of view, to facilitate the hiding of his face underneath his cap).

Ash takes Jotaro’s hand in theirs and feels him squeeze down hard on their fingers. “That’s only more proof that I’m alright, ain’t it?”

Jotaro just gives an indignant, “hmph,” and sits in the chair, holding Ash’s hand firmly and staring at the far wall of the hotel room. The only sound for a while is breathing: Jotaro breathing a bit heavier due to his worry and Ash’s condition, heaving sighs as he tries to relax. Once again, Ash was acutely aware of every step in the hall, every beeping noise the surrounding machines made, every time the air conditioning kicked on, and every creak of the floor above them, but Jotaro was there to keep their heart from stinging.

Ash still got bored though, eventually.

Staring at Jotaro’s face, Ash breaks the silence. “You thinking about something mate?”

Jotaro’s eyes move over to Ash’s face again, and he quickly breaks eye contact. He mutters something under his breath and turns his body, leaning over Ash and carefully planting a kiss on their lips.

Ash reciprocates, watching Jotaro as he sheepishly sits back in his seat, carefully watching his face for any reaction. “Well… if you’re gonna treat me like that, I think I have to get injured more often, hmm?”

“Don’t say such things.” Jotaro scolds, looking back to the far wall. Ash gazes up at him affectionately as they watch his little tells appear on his face: the way his brow furrows, his eyelids lowering, his bottom lip pouting as he feels embarrassed by the insinuation.

“Well… you kissed me first,” Ash whispers as if they were telling Jotaro a secret.

“Don’t mention it…”

Ash puts their hand on Jotaro’s cheek and leads his head down to meet their own once again, planting a gentle kiss against his lips in reassurance. “Don't worry, I won’t… heheh.” They speak lowly after pulling away, their breath mingling with his as they hold his face close with their good arm.

Huffing, Jotaro leans back in the chair, clearly having had enough of Ash’s affections already. “You shouldn’t get too excited that I'm here, you need to rest…”

“Yes, nurse.” Ash tucks themself back into their own hospital bed, the thin and flimsy mattress still better than their own at home. They pull the thin sheet over their body, almost in a mocking gesture. “So, are you gonna go back to work after this, hmm?”

“I’m done with it for now. I’ll be going back home after this.”

“Oh, so that’s the only reason you were so quick to get here, eh?”

“...yeah,” Jotaro utters, looking to the ground.

“Heheh, it’s okay Jojo, I get it…” Ash closes their eyes, finally at peace since they were admitted. “You don’t have to say or admit to anything you don’t want to, ya know?”

“I’m not, I’m just telling the truth.”

An awkward silence stretches between the two (though the awkwardness was so common, it might as well not be noteworthy); but despite this, they seemed comfortable enough to continue it, not bothering to interject with any small talk or teases. Ash’s hand reaches up past Jotaro’s sideburns, then back to behind his cap. When he doesn’t pull away, they begin to tousle the hair exposed at the back of Jotaro’s head, a privilege reserved only for when he was feeling particularly patient with them. Jotaro leans forward to rest an arm across Ash’s chest, but when they flinch at the sensation, he recoils, instead opting to drape himself over the side of the bed. He seemed… oddly comfortable for being in such a public place.

Eventually, Ash does break the silence again. “Aren’t you afraid a nurse will see us like this?”

“Well, the Speedwagon Foundation already knows about us.” Jotaro replies, still sounding dejected over the ‘mutual predicament’ they were both in due to their relationship being discovered.

“No, not that,” Ash laughs quietly, affectionately at Jotaro’s straightforward way of thinking, “I meant… if we got caught by someone, you know?”

“...I can hear if someone’s coming down the hall with Star Platinum.”

“Oh…?” Ash chuckled, running their thumb over Jotaro’s cheekbone playfully. The nagging feeling of boredom tugging at their psyche urged them further. “So… you would feel comfortable if we did more, perhaps…?”

It took Jotaro a few moments to catch on, and once he does, he quickly sits back in his chair when he processes what Ash has just said. “You’re injured…!”

Ash seizes up, already prepared to defend themself. “I told you to not treat me like I’m so fragile, Jojo!”

“Ash,” Jotaro says sternly, looking down at Ash with a terse look, “you have a fractured rib. You shouldn’t be doing… strenuous physical activity.” He elaborated, continuing to not make eye contact while talking about such an uncomfortable subject. “I can’t believe you would bring up such a thing while I’m taking the time to visit you.”

“You’re not the one stuck in a hospital bed,” Ash offers, still keeping their voice below a yell so as to not disturb their chest injury. “With a broken arm, I might add…”

“Please spare me. You can go without for a few days.”

“You don’t understand, Jojo. It’s so fucking unbearable in here!” Ash would never admit to begging, yet they did it all the time when they didn’t get their way. “It’s… it’s already been so long since we saw each other… you’re really gonna make me wait?”

“That’s enough.” Jotaro stands up from the, frankly uncomfortable, guest chair, taking a step back from Ash’s bedside. He grips the brim of his cap hard and brings it over his eyes, casting a harsh shade over the contours of his face. “I should have known you would act like this, regardless of your injury or not.”

Ash leans back further into their bed as if Jotaro was being unreasonable for acting this way after being offered sex in a hospital. “Well, I figured I’d ask if you only visited on a whim; it was convenient to you, after all,” Ash continued to smile, their scathing comment honeyed with the tone of voice they used to tease and prod. “You can probably manage on your own while I recover.”

“You’re right.” Jotaro turns away from Ash as if he was looking for a way out of the conversation they were currently having.

“What if I used my Stand, hmm?” Ash offers, hiding the fact that deep down, using their stand on their injured body terrified them to the core.

Before Ash can elaborate, Jotaro turns to look down at Ash again. “You already know the answer to that. I refuse to see Stands in such a light—“

“Right, I get it. I got this Stand to protect you, you know! To become stronger… and you won’t even let me use it when I need to.” Ash grunts; at first, they were teasing, but now their words sound more scathing. “I know that your own Stand manifested from… an unfortunate circumstance,” Ash spoke more carefully now, knowing that even now this is a sore spot for Jotaro, “but mine is… it’s one I wanted, I’ve accepted it as part of me.”

“...This isn’t a conversation we should be having in a hospital.”

“I don’t care what we should and shouldn’t do,” Ash chuckled darkly, “besides…” they lean in to whisper, almost insidious, into Jotaro’s ear, “...I know you’re still considering it, since you haven’t outright said ‘no’ yet–”

Jotaro doesn’t respond, beginning to pace to the far wall of the room and back. He has an iron grip on his cap: Ash can see that his knuckles are white. “I haven’t said yes, either.”

“Well, I’m good at getting what I want, so you better make a decision.”

“...you must always make things so difficult,” Jotaro complained, his voice still flat and statements still curt. “Why are you always so… irresponsible?”

“I’m irresponsible,” Ash started, “but I at least let myself be irresponsible, rather than yearn and yearn for it while I standby, stuck in,” they look Jotaro up and down, his body tense like a wound-up spring, “stuck inside my own head while screaming to be let out!”

“This isn’t about me– you’re bedridden…!”

“I told you to stop that…!” Ash barks, hissing through their teeth again as their ribs stung again. “Either stop treating me like glass or let me use the strength I gave myself.”

Jotaro doesn’t respond. He’s looking away, but he doesn’t say no, even still.

“Nobody will know. I’ll be fine.” Despite Jotaro avoiding eye contact, Ash still gave him a genuine smile, “You know it’s not just because I’m bored, right? I wouldn’t have suggested it if it were something as pointless as getting off…”

Jotaro continues to stand by Ash’s bedside, silent.

Ash watches Jotaro intently, feeling the tension in the room chill their skin. They knew exactly how to get Jotaro wrapped around their little finger every time: while his lack of emotion isn’t intentional, his tendency to deprive himself of any sort of physical, mental, or emotional repose certainly was; and Ash knew that their own free and hedonistic lifestyle got under Jotaro’s skin, not just from their tendency to be obnoxious but from a deep-seated yearning to live a life where he can feel joyous again.

And with Ash feeding Jotaro any excuse, any rational explanation for him to act out was enough, like they were throwing him a lifeline.

Before the silence ends, Ash gets an intense chill down their spine, the same feeling they felt before getting into a fight. They look across the room to see a spectral hand holding the doorknob tight, surely immobilizing it. The Stand showed itself, putting its ear to the door, making no moves to shake or rattle the door as it did so. Then, they look to see the back of Jotaro’s head, noting that the back of his ears were burning hot.

“...you will not ask me for something like this again,” Jotaro stated quietly, calmly.

“I won’t.” Ash lied. Both of them knew it was a lie. They were only willing to lie for the sake of preserving Jotaro’s dignity.

Keeping his face obscured, Jotaro continued. “…and I presume you want more than only my hand?”

“Oh, Jojo! Well, if you’re offering…”

Jotaro finally turns his head to look at Ash, his face a deep shade of red. He just gives them a curt yet pleading look, words caught in his throat.

“Alright, alright, I’m done teasing, okay…? I’m fine with whatever you want to do.”

Jotaro gives an embarrassed sputter as he exhales, trying to relax now that he needs to focus. His next question is barely a whisper: “Do you even have condoms with you?”

“Oh, come on, of course I do—“ Ash uses their Stand to reach over to their belongings, blindly flipping through their own wallet and producing a wrapped condom. “I always keep one on me, just in case I meet some other tall, rugged man with beautiful eyes and a nice ass—“

“Enough—“

“Right,” Ash laughs quietly, recalling their Stand and fiddling with the condom between their fingers. “Well, you’d better get yourself ready then, mate.” They gesture with their head to the door to the small connected bathroom. “You can use my private washroom, courtesy of the Speedwagon Foundation.

“…Oh,” Ash pauses, Stand rifling through their belongings again, “and you’ll need this.” An algal tendril presses a small container of lubricant into Jotaro’s palm.

Jotaro wraps his fingers around the bottle firmly, letting Ash's Stand escape his grasp before he tightens his grip. His entire body stiffens with embarrassment, so instead of risking stumbling over his words he just nods and marches to the bathroom. He looks pointedly away from Ash's position laid out on the hospital bed the entire time..

Ash adjusts their position on the bed restlessly; they've just suggested that they have sex in a hospital room, but they still didn't feel very aroused at the moment. Even Jotaro's sheepishness, which is usually cute enough to get them at least halfway there, didn't make them feel much at all. They continued to think as they removed the IV embedded in their arm: was it really only the desperation of not being stimulated enough that would cause them to go to such extreme lengths to alleviate boredom?

It didn't take long for Ash to stop introspecting, realizing it was pointless in their eyes. Plenty of people have had sex in worse places, for worse reasons.

When Jotaro comes back from the bathroom minutes later, he walks unsteadily, seeming unsure of every movement he makes as he approaches Ash's bedside again. His Stand continued to play guard dog at the door, practically invisible from his lack of focus on it. Instead of focusing on the hallway, every step toward Ash's bedside felt deliberate, as if he was walking through mud.

Ash's neck slowly craned up as Jotaro approached the side of their hospital bed, standing noticeably closer than he was before. It was only now, after seeing Jotaro's hard face below his cap, unable to hide how warm his face was, that Ash feels their insides stir, holding their breath in their throat. They played it off, chuckling quietly as they could, “Heh, are you sure you're ready?“

Jotaro's arm reaches all the way across the hospital bed, planting his hand down and making the metal and plastic creak under his weight as he loomed over Ash for a moment, his eyes scanning their injury once again. ”You've already convinced me.“

”I have?“ Ash uses their free arm to guide their hand up Jotaro's arm and to his shoulder, holding it gently. ”It seems like there's still some convincing to be done.” Their hand squeezes down as if to feel the tension being held under their fingers.

“I'm still going to be careful. I'm not as reckless as you are.” Jotaro made a move to put one knee on the bed, bracing himself to climb on top.

Ash scoffs at Jotaro's comment. “Don't act so high and mighty. You still agreed to have sex in a hospital.”

Jotaro swings his leg over Ash's body, the entire bed shifting as his massive body centers above Ash’s. Once his body is situated in the bed, he looks down to see Ash’s body framed by his thighs and knees, which both reach the edges of the narrow bed. It was an awkward position: the plastic handles of the bed protruded in multiple spots causing this position to be uncomfortable for someone with such a large frame. “I still care about your well-being, more than you do yourself.”

Running their hand absentmindedly over Jotaro's tensed thighs, Ash hums as they consider his words. “Maybe I'm more willing to take risks than you for a reason, mate.” Their eyes are looking down at Jotaro's frame as he knelt over their midsection. “I've got less to lose.“

One of Jotaro's hands moves to brush Ash's hair out of their face, causing them to look up at the same apprehensive expression he's worn throughout his entire visit. “I told you to stop saying such stupid things...“

“It's not stupid, it's true.“ Ash continued to smile up at Jotaro as if they weren't admitting to something rather sad.

”You always have to have the last word, don't you?” Huffing, Jotaro's brow furrows, “I could lose you. So, let's trust we both take care of each other's interests then.”

Laughing again, louder this time, Ash reaches up to smooth Jotaro's brow with their thumb, which they often did when they know they've annoyed him. “So, you're saying my dignity will remain intact by letting you ride my cock, hmm?”

Jotaro swats Ash's hand away from his face, looking down at them as if they were nothing but some aggravating insect. ”You're not doing a good job at convincing me.“

”Oh, am I turning you off...?“

Not responding, Jotaro looks away, still very self-conscious of his position over top of Ash.

Ash's hand moved to brush over Jotaro's sweater, pushing it up to reveal his belt buckles. ”Well, why don't we make up for this then, hmm?“

Jotaro's entire body shudders at the touch, his shoulders somehow rising even higher as they feel Ash's fingertips across his belly. It seemed like he was no longer keen on talking, breathing through both his mouth and nose slowly in order to maintain his composure.

”…It's really funny when you get like this, you know?” Ash laughs darkly, sliding their hand over one of Jotaro's buckles before dragging their hand under his shirt, feeling the trail of dark hair that ducked beneath his pants. “You worry so, so much. About everyone, about me.” Their eyes trail up his body to meet with his own gaze again. “I like to make you forget, even when I'm in no position to take care of you, you see?”

Continuing to remain calm, Jotaro sighs through his mouth, his breath already beginning to shake. “I don't need... I don't—” He doesn't finish his sentence, just stammering now as Ash's hand moves further up under his sweater.

”I don't need this either.“ Ash smiles, chuckling at their own statement. ”I'm not the romantic type who believes in that kinda stuff. But...“ Their voice drops to a whisper, tilting their head back so Jotaro can hear, ”...that won't stop us, will it...? We're doing this because we want to.“ They punctuate their sentence by grasping boldly at Jotaro’s plush chest.

Jotaro sighs again, swallowing and nodding along to what Ash says. ”Right... right.“ It was odd how much Ash's harsh honesty actually settled Jotaro's anxiety, almost as if their words weighed his thoughts down back to Earth.

It wasn't long before Jotaro's thoughts scattered again, though, as Ash's hand moved back down to his beltline, tugging at the latch for the top belt. Their hand wasn't deft, especially considering it was their dominant arm that was broken, but eventually, they got the belts undone. Jotaro knew better than to try and help, instead looking away as Ash tried to divest him of his trousers.

After about a minute of fiddling, Ash tried to get Jotaro's pants properly undone: after struggling with the button for longer than they found acceptable, they used their Stand to make their fingers a bit more nimble, playing it off as if they had done it unaided.

”Now...“ Ash starts, tugging Jotaro's pants down his thighs, ”are you convinced?“

Jotaro swallows thickly once again, just nodding his head 'yes'. He continually distracted himself by watching the little movements Ash's face made as they focused on him, trying to drown out the rational part of his brain that was telling him they'd be caught in the act.

Once Ash had gotten Jotaro's pants undone, which was typically the hardest part of sex considering his fashion sense, they dipped their thumb beneath their own hospital bottoms, pulling them down to reveal their own underwear. The sight of the both of them being so exposed on their own hospital bed made Ash's emotions surge, and with the sharp inhale they took their injured rib began to sear with pain.

It doesn't take much for even someone like Jotaro to notice Ash is in pain, and he sits up quickly. ”Hey...!“

”I'm fine—“ Ash wheezes once again, trying to calm their breathing back down. They knew that Jotaro would be too worried to continue with any more incidents like that, and so they were now determined to keep their breathing under control. “I'm fine.”

Jotaro, still going through with all of this (supposedly) for Ash's sake, lowers his body back down. He begins to inch forward on his knees, urging Ash to place their broken arm just above their stomach to make room for his ridiculously long legs. Eventually, he's sitting far enough forward to sit down in Ash's lap, still not touching Ash's obvious erection. “You're okay...?”

Now Ash was the one breathing through both their mouth and nose, trying to keep calm as Jotaro slowly positioned himself, achingly slow. “I told you...” They spoke through gritted teeth, “I'm fine... I'll be fine.”

As if to demonstrate, Ash's fingers worked their way under the hem of Jotaro's boxers, pulling them down with little fanfare. They hold their breath as they lazily watch Jotaro's erection fall to the side. Being this exposed had him bowing his head as low as he shuddered and gasped, keeping his eyes shut tight as he was exposed to the heavily air-conditioned room.

Ash inhales slowly and shallowly as they see Jotaro's reaction to their brazen move, starting to work his boxers further down his legs to expose him further. Their fingers dragged across his still-clothed ass, grasping there for only a moment before pulling the back of his boxers down. All it took after this was a back-and-forth movement of Ash's hand to pull Jotaro's bottoms down to the middle of his thighs. They exhale.

Seeing Jotaro's eyes screwed shut, Ash spoke, quietly and evenly. “Is this okay...?”

Jotaro nods once again. He realizes Ash is trying their hardest to remain calm for his sake, so he honors their question with a verbal reply. “Yes...”

“Good...” Ash's hands now move back to their own bottoms, tugging down their own underwear nonchalantly to let their own erection free. They pad around for the condom they left in their bed until recovering it successfully, ripping the wrapper open with their teeth (which was more out of necessity than being sexy in this case) and rolling it over their cock. They wipe the residue from the pre-lubricated condom off onto their shirt.

”Wait.“ Jotaro stiffens, his hand going to tug up his pants partway. Ash's hand darts out to hold his wrist, a silent warning to not be too hasty. The two stay completely still in a stalemate as Jotaro's focus goes elsewhere, Star Platinum's ear leaning closer to the door. It hears the sound of someone's shoes against the tile, getting ever closer.

”We're not gonna get caught—“ Ash starts, stopping abruptly as one of Jotaro's hands covers their mouth, nearly causing them to gasp. They both continue to stay still, Ash totally unable to hear what was happening in the hallway. The grip that is being maintained on the door handle increases in pressure as the sound gets closer and closer.

As the footsteps approach the door... they don't stop, instead continuing beyond the door. After the person in the hall walks away, Star Platinum hears a door open three doors down on the other side of the hall. Jotaro pulls his hand off Ash's mouth, looking away when he sees the look on their face.

”You know... I quite like it when you do that.“ Ash's eyelids lowered suggestively.

”I am not covering your mouth while you have an injured rib.“

Ash raises their hand defensively. ”Hey now, I didn't say that.“ They speak a bit louder now that the moment has thoroughly passed.

Jotaro groans in frustration. “Let's get this over with.”

“Aww, Jojo, no...” Ash's hand, sticky with the leftover condom residue, rests on Jotaro's cheek. “I enjoy taking my time with you...“ They pulled his head down, kissing his cheek after he bows his head to their level. ”...you don't want me to get hurt now, do you?”

So now Ash cares about getting hurt, but only when it suits them. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Jotaro re-positions himself on the bed as he leans back from Ash's kiss, planting his hand between their legs to steady himself; his other hand reaches around from the front, carefully pushing his fingers past Ash's hips and legs towards their erection. He goes slowly as if to warn them what his intentions were, pulling Ash's dick to press up against him.

Ash breathes quickly and shallowly, watching their own chest remain still as they try to keep themself from taking deep, heaving breaths as they feel Jotaro rub the head of their cock against his hole. “S-shit, I don't know if this is better or worse—“

”I trust you to take care of yourself.“ Jotaro's voice is shaking too, feeling an intense surge of emotions himself as he hovers directly over Ash.

”Hah... sounds like something I'd say to you, hahah...“ Laughing breathily, Ash continues to keep themself quiet, an odd sight considering how boisterous they were during any kind of sexual encounter.

Looking down at Ash with a sheepish expression, Jotaro moves his supporting arm forward, bending back over to give Ash a gentle kiss on the lips, which is just his way of getting Ash to calm down and shut up.

Once he's sat back up, Jotaro warns Ash with a nod of the head and begins to slide down on Ash's dick. Ash pushes their head back as they resist the urge to inhale deeply, instead letting out a long, silent breath as he continues to leverage his body weight down on their erection. The relieved sigh that Jotaro makes Ash’s guts twist up, driving Ash mad as they try to keep quiet and still.

Ash's body was as relaxed as they could manage, laying limp below where Jotaro knelt. Their breath is coming in short bursts, never giving their lungs any moment to be filled as they try to avoid irritating their rib. Once Jotaro moves as far down as he was comfortable with, Ash breathes through their teeth, “Keep going...”

Unsure but still willing, Jotaro began to slowly rock his hips, working his body around Ash's cock as he attempted to satisfy them. He already began to sweat, not from exertion but from the intensity of the scene laid out before him. Remembering how irresponsible he’s currently building sends another surge through his body, causing his insides to clench down as he knots his brows in concentration. When Jotaro moves his hips just unpredictably enough to make Ash gasp, he feels them seize up in pain for a moment. Immediately he sits up on his knees, unmoving as Ash catches their breath.

When Ash sees the worry in his eyes, their hand moves to steady Jotaro's hip. ”Just trust that I'll be okay, Jojo.“

Jotaro nods and sits back down, letting out another sigh of relief. He becomes more confident in his movements when Ash holds his hip with a gentle hand, letting them set the pace of his movements. Even with how slow he was moving, the frame of the hospital bed below the two of them creaked warningly, reminding Jotaro of how easy it would be for him to accidentally hurt Ash by being careless.

Ash keeps their mouth open as they pant quietly, their lips becoming chapped from the chill air. They throw their arm over their eyes, trying their hardest to not freak Jotaro out again. It’s so hard to keep their body still when all they want to do is take care of their partner.

Not wanting to break Ash's concentration, Jotaro continues to move as fast as their hand would let him. His body is still very conflicted on if having sex in such a place should turn him on or not, but his mind doesn't come to a conclusion, too focused on Ash's injured body below him as he hurried his movements. He tries to stay quiet, but he can't help but grunt when he moves in a way that pleases the both of them.

”Fuck...“ Ash hisses out, Jotaro's noises getting to them. Their characteristic smile disappears as their mouth dips into an open frown from sheer concentration. ”Keep making those noises and I won't last much longer...“

”You'll hurt yourself...“

”Fuck, please, Jojo...“ Ash spoke in a desperate, hushed whisper, almost too quiet to hear. ”I missed you so much...“

Jotaro quickly caved in. As embarrassing as it was, he let out more sighs and groans as he worked himself faster on Ash, letting himself finally start to let himself go.

Ash's jaw clenches down as this continues, the feeling of Jotaro's body squeezing sweetly around their erection becoming almost too much to bear. They felt very lucky that he would even consider doing this with them, much less letting himself go like this while they were injured. ”Shit...“ They couldn't hold back anymore, reaching between Jotaro's legs to get him off.

The movement of jacking Jotaro off quickly became too strenuous, causing another ache in Ash's chest and Jotaro to stop, grabbing Ash's wrist in the same way they did to him earlier. They both stood still once again, waiting for Ash's pain to subside. Jotaro gives Ash's wrist a warning squeeze as if telling them to keep it stationary as he begins to move again.

“Let me help you, Ash.”

Ash let out their breath, resigning as the urge to finish eclipsed their own ego. “F-fine.”

With that, Jotaro's hand moved to cover Ash's. As he rolled his hips, once again at his own pace, he began to stroke himself with Ash's hand, as if he were completely and totally guiding them.

“Y-you're...?“ Ash starts, but they stop as they grit their teeth and close their eyes, trying to block out as much stimulation as possible. They become deaf to the beeping in the room, the sound of the air conditioning; everything faded into the background as all Ash could hear was their own heart beating in their ears and the quiet sounds coming from their partner above them as he worked both of them towards the edge. They don't dare move, not even breathing as their body quivers and shake.

It's something that they would never admit, but the gentle and caring way that Jotaro led their hand is what ultimately causes Ash to white out. Their chest aches one final time as their entire body seizes up, legs writhing as they feel their own cock pulse against the inner walls of Jotaro's body, which sit still atop of them with as much weight as was manageable. Now, Ash hyperventilates in earnest, whining from the mix of stabbing pain with the warm pleasure radiating from their core.

Jotaro stays totally still. ”Are you...?“

Ash just nods, tears pricked at the corner of their screwed-shut eyes. They smile once again as they sputter out a response. ”I told you... I'll be... f-fine...” Before they've even steadied their breath, Ash resumes the movement of the hand still in Jotaro's grasp. “Please, let me—”

Realizing Ash will never be anything but insistent, Jotaro runs Ash's hand quickly up and down his erection, wanting to get his own orgasm over and done with as soon as possible, so long as Ash didn't have a say in the pace. They lay back tiredly as they feel Jotaro pulse in their hand, using their thumb to lazily rub circles underneath the head of his cock.

Getting off as efficiently as he could, Jotaro finishes quietly in Ash's hand, still rocking them against his prostate as his body seizes up. His other hand swiftly pushes up Ash’s shirt to keep it from getting soiled, realizing he should have brought a tissue to come into. Ash applies gentle pressure as they try to coax Jotaro's orgasm out for as long as they can, the sensation making them feel more satisfied than their own orgasm had. Once he's done shivering, Jotaro lets out a low groan and leans forward on his elbow, letting his forehead rest on Ash's collarbone.

Moving their left arm back, Ash goes to pet Jotaro's hair, but realizes their only usable hand is soiled. Instead, Ash leans their head forward to bump his scalp with the tip of their nose. “Hey...” They're smiling again, still catching up on their oxygen deficit.

Jotaro just makes a noise in his throat, not bothering to speak.

Ash's smile widens, smug with satisfaction as they see how their idea has panned out. They rub their nose further into Jotaro's now sweaty hair. “I told you I’ve missed you...”

“Hmph,” snorting at the comment, Jotaro presses his forehead further against Ash’s collarbone. “This isn’t hurting you, is it?” He spoke between pants.

“Nope,” Ash says, wiping the cum off their hand onto their now soiled shirt while Jotaro is too tired to notice.

“Good…” Jotaro closes his eyes, sighing deeply from his nerves finally quieting down. Sitting up, he separates from Ash at the hip and slides his boxers and pants partway up, carefully ensuring they weren’t dirtied. He quickly moved off the bed, much quicker than he had climbed on, now nervous that someone would catch him with his pants down.

Well, it was nice while it lasted. Ash makes a quiet whining noise in their throat as they feel the warmth and weight of Jotaro’s body leave the admittedly cramped hospital bed, watching him as he fiddles with some tissues to get himself clean. They attempt to sit up and complain that he should let them take care of his mess before realizing they don’t even have the energy to sit up and complain. Instead, they whimper idly in the bed, adjusting their free arm uselessly.

Jotaro comes back to Ash’s bedside. “Good grief, what is it now? You’re never satisfied.”

“I wanna take care of you…” Ash frowns.

“How can you be this overbearing? You’re not even this bad when I’m the one who’s hurt.” Jotaro scolds, taking care of the used condom before some nurse catches the two of them together.

“...” A response gets caught in Ash’s throat, causing Jotaro to flinch as if he’s hurt them again. Holding up their hand to calm Jotaro’s nerves, Ash looks away to hide their own expression from Jotaro’s scrutinizing eyes. “...thanks, by the way. For taking care of me.”

Once finished with cleaning up, Jotaro pulls Ash’s clothes back up on their body. He sits back in the chair at Ash’s bedside and leans forward to settle his head against their shoulder on the bed, casually throwing his arm back around their midsection, minding the injury. “...no problem.”

Jotaro keeps his upper body in Ash’s bed for quite a while, suddenly feeling the exhaustion from his recent work catching up with him all at once. His hand reaches across Ash’s torso, fiddling absentmindedly with the edge of their shirt. Closing his eyes, he lets himself pant and sigh as the stress in his body left him.

Ash is staring at the top of Jotaro’s head, eyes bleary from exhaustion and pain; however, they feel the best they’ve felt in weeks. They shift slightly to knock their shoulder and head against Jotaro, “Are you ready to admit that I have good ideas?”

Jotaro spoke directly into the bed, unmoving, “That was not a good idea.”

“Don’t you feel better now?”

“I try to not partake in outcome bias.” “Oh, you’re so dramatic, you know that…?” Ash rubs Jotaro’s sweaty hair with their fingers, taking their chances. “You don’t have to treat everything like a Stand fight, you know that mate?”

“Don’t rub your grubby hand in my hair.” Despite Jotaro’s complaint, he doesn’t move to push Ash’s advances away.

“I told you, you can use my bathroom,” Ash smiled fondly, “you just have to be quick about it.”

“I’m not in the mood to come up with an excuse as to why I took a shower in your hospital room.”

“Fine, have it your way.” Ash’s fingers dig deeper into Jotaro’s scalp. They feel him sigh and see his Stand return to his body. Seeing Jotaro finally relax in their presence causes a wave of exhaustion to wash over them, their eyes suddenly becoming heavy.

—

Jotaro wakes up hours later, sitting in the recliner he had dragged across the room to lay by Ash’s side. He looks up to see a nurse tapping his shoulder.

“Dr. Kujo? Sorry for waking you.” The nurse withdraws his hand, bowing his head apologetically before continuing. “You’re being called for in the lobby.”

“Right.” Regretfully, Jotaro stands up, trying to act as if he hadn’t dragged the heavy recliner across the room to sit comfortably beside his partner. Sometimes he forgets that their relationship is no longer a secret to his superiors.

Ash stirs in their sleep; despite how light of a sleeper they were, the toll that recovery took on their body knocked them out stone cold. Jotaro notices the idle smile on their face, even while bedridden.

Jotaro looks down at the nurse with his typical unreadable expression. “…Tell them they’ll see me out in a few minutes.”

The nurse nods, turning to leave and quietly closing the door behind him.

#ashton #jotaro kujo #jjba #oc x canon #selfship #jjba oc #original character #ash x jotaro #aeg writes #not sfw #mdni

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