Learning To Accept Love With Every Bite.

Say it with your hands Scaramouche x gn!reader Tropes Hurt comfort? Sort of. Just rambles about kuni

Scaramouche loved you.

You knew that, there's no way he didn't. The soft eyes he gave you paired with the silent promise of love. But it was always silent with him. It was like he expected you to know he felt the same.

And you did. You knew he wasn't someone that could declare bold statements of love like you. But the fact always lingered in your mind.

Did he not want to? Did he think it was useless? Did he think you were useless?

“What are you frowning about?” you heard his voice call out. Both of you were tangled together in bed. His lavender-hued eyes were hazy with sleep and concern.

Concern for you, you noticed.

You smiled at him and turned so that your back was to his chest and moved his hands so that they were essentially hugging your body.

“This is better” you mused, as the warmth from his body and the contrasting cold of Snezhnaya lulled you to unconsciousness but not fully sleeping.

Scaramouche, probably thinking you slept, nuzzled your neck. It felt good. This was something he would never do if you were awake.

Should you move and tell him you were awake?

Mentally shaking your head, you decided against it. It wasn't every day he was in a mood like this. Smiling to yourself you succumbed to the gentle press of his lips against your neck.

Suddenly, you felt him put some distance between the two of you and felt your heart drop. But just as quickly as it dropped you felt it soar. He was writing something on your back. Again and again. The same letters but it was taking all your effort not to move due to the slight tickle.

The next time he did it you would definitely catch it.

O-V-E-U

What? What does that mean? You probably missed a few letters, you thought to yourself. He wouldn't just randomly sketch letters onto your back with his fingers

I-L-O-V-E-U

oh.

You felt your heart race up at the implication. You just hoped he didn't notice it. It would all stop if he had noticed it.

You wanted him to do it a little longer. You wanted to feel the soft press of his fingers delicately gliding across your back.

A while later he stopped and turned his back to sleep. Your heart was still beating soundly even though it felt like you had died and gone to heaven.

You moved closer to him and felt his breath hitch, knowing him he was probably having a meltdown inside.

“I love you too Kuni”

got inspired by the trailer

<3 masterlist

pro gamer bf kinich who can’t even remember how he got recruited. his streams have the most basic layout. just a random box of his deadpan face at the side of the screen. not even saying shit 80% of the time and the only noises you’d hear from his live are the angry sounding clicking noise.

sightings of you at the background happen so often, fans make compilations and even post screenshots on twitter of you cuddling with a purring ajaw at your shared bed.

kinich, with his powerful resting bitch face, tolerates the loud cheers whenever he enters tourneys with his team. the only smiling face beside him is your supportive presence, along with mualani who excitedly invites everyone to a victory dinner.

during a bloodborne endurance stream, your bf who never struggles to keep his cool, was bursting with bubbling frustration which surprised his audience.

you, not knowing any better and assumed he wasn’t live, began consoling his hunched form while petting his hair. unaware to the speedy way his chat is spamming at the unexpected way kinich nuzzles into your stomach. some would even say he whined.

the team loves dragging his ass for that, they never fail to mention how soft he is whenever it comes to you.

during a backstage interview after another seasonal victory, he almost jumps on sethos who had the courage to tease and expose him to the interviewer. mualani starts recording the scene so that she could send it to you while xiao and ga-ming watch from the side, the youngest occasionally trying to mediate the situation.

you only found out about the whole ordeal through twitter, asking him about it while kinich grumbles into your shoulder.

sigh. monotone and deadpan streamer kinich w a feral fandom who eats up his interactions with his s/o

— I CAN SEE YOU ⊹₊⟡⋆

scaramouche x f!reader social media au

SUMMARY — you’ve been stanning scaramouche, a soloist, since before you can even remember. with the thinking that “he is out of your reach” and “we live in different worlds” already ingrained on your mind, just what are the odds that he already happens to be one of your stan account mutuals?

status: on-going | taglist: open — please reply to this masterlist in order to be added !! note: asks for being included will be invalid; only those in the replies will be added so that we're organized tyy ^^

genres: social media au, celebrity au, modern au, crack, fluff, a sprinkle of angst (?), hidden identities

extras: playlist — [click here] 🤍 (still a wip tho hehe)

author's notes:

3rd smau hello???

privacy (my ayato smau) spinoff !! scara will finally have his own story after 2? 3? years ToT

updates may be inconsistent, i don't have a posting schedule :>

again, idk what i'm doing haha

english is not my first language so expect grammatical and typographical errors (bear with me please :"D)

will contain swearing

ılıılıılıılıılı FEATURED ARTISTS. ---- sky.

----- scara.

TRACKLIST. ılıılıılıılıılı

intro (prologue): being a scara stan

track 01: him again ▸ track 02: make me track 03: not in public ▸ track 04: our little secret track 05: tba ▸ track 06: tba track 07: tba ▸ track 08: tba

outro (epilogue): tba

TAGLIST I (closed; 50/50) @kararisa @aries-afk @aetherialcrafter @jamieexistss @lordbugs @aerisellesuchi @adres-tia @luvlockettt @kinichval @miiltrix @suzueuieeeee @automaticpatroltragedy @ahirusstuff @kyuki07 @kunikuni1819 @hungryreadingaddict @deariroha @rosieyama @slayzzz @tired-jaz @mellowberrie @kyouzki @riabriyn @ravenbc @lalalaloveallmydays @moonlitreveri3 @skyoverkill1 @xiaomainlmao @phoenix-eclipses @yomishen @anemosmybeloved @iaraluvs @kunikuzushiit @lockandkeys @yoursockstinks @idkwhattoputasmyusernme @d1gital-data @shyentsmissingink @liuaneee @najaemism @mywillt0live @aswiftiechildofapollo @toekissers @meigalaxy @nishiriks @executeher @verafunny @gl00muraaii @lily-isalittlegirl @just-a-hopeless-romantic @franaby @shrimplyasleep @scaraenthusiast1 @kyon-cherri @kunikissr

TAGLIST II (open; 19/50) (can't mention bc tumblr limits 50 mentions per post :'( but rest assured you guys are added ^^)

@withnners @audristarzz @heusalettle @mayarisan @eternallykira-143 @cindywasneverhere @meowrenapurrdo @itsjustmillie @flowzel @ohmyfinggod @zuhahearts @scarasbaby @euphoraia @yotraumainthebuilding @pinkismyfavcolor @dazqa @jym-jazzily @usagiarchive @ddivilove

TAGLIST III (open; 0/50)

-The Cruel Prince-

NSFW, 18+ only Plz~ 

Summary: Prince Scaramouche is a ruthless Prince ruling over Inazuma. His engagement to a princess has him upset. You are his servant who he talks to regularly. He invites you to his private chambers one day...

Pairing: Prince! Scaramouche x Servant! Female Reader

Warning: Mean/Nice Scara, power relationship, fluffy cuteness, mean princess she don't got no name, unprotected sex, foul language, mutual masturbation, porn w/ plot, and cream pies hehe.

Word Count: 6.3K (...These are too long. I'll be making some shorter smuts without so much plot!)

Enjoy~

“Hmph, you, servant. Meet me in my personal chambers when you are finished. Do not leave me waiting long.” Splashes of dark lavender pooled from his eyes, his gaze piercing and powerful as he stared intimidatingly in your direction. The flashes of his Royal outfit shining under the chandeliers of the palace. With a swift turn, the prince left the kitchen where you had been cleaning up with the other servants. Low murmurs were exchanged among your co-workers, most in envy, some in fear, and some with pity. Prince Scaramouche of Inazuma truly was someone to be feared among all ranks, Including those of other nations. Just the mention of his name and the sound of thunder struck fear into the souls of even the dead. Now here this terrifying man was, inviting you to his personal chambers. 

What could Prince Scaramouche possibly want with someone like you? 

As a product of Queen Ei’s corrupt contract with an outcasted mage, Prince Scaramouche was conceived purely from the virgin queen. She needn’t no king by her side, only a son to take over in her steed once he was of age. The prince was a cruel man. He was merciless to those who deceive him. Unforgiving to those who do not yield under the frigid gaze his familiar lavender eyes cast. And spiteful to the trespassers and criminals that threaten to tarnish the reputation his name held. The fluidity of his tongue was similar to the way he held the sharpened blade adorning his hip, precise and always going for the kill. The frostiness of his dark lavender eyes was enough to scare the strongest men in any kingdom to bow to his feet. The prince truly is a cruel man. 

But he can kind. 

In fact, your first meeting with Prince Scaramouche was somewhat pleasant. After dusting the library, you had a bit of free time before your next task and chose to enjoy reading a novel. Being too engrossed in your book, you failed to notice the prince entering the room. His harsh tongue broke you from your intense concentration, standing up to bow to him with an apology quick on your lips. He was silent for a moment before he asked what you were reading. You briefly explained a vague summary of the book and the prince gave only a hum of acknowledgment. He didn’t disturb you more and simply left off into the library to retrieve a book of his own. A week later, you identified his lonely figure sitting at a cushioned royal blue sofa reading the book you had been reading. Thus, starting your complex relationship with Prince Scaramouche. Meeting in the library every two days to quietly discuss literature over tea. 

Going to his personal chambers… was new. 

Once you finished with your task, you made your way down the quiet hallways towards Prince Scaramouche’s private chambers. The sound of your own footsteps echoed in the stillness of the halls, almost identical to the sound of the thunder that often reined in the quiet and gloomy kingdom of Inazuma. The large mahogany doors of the prince’s private chambers came into your view, the smooth oak fragrance swimming through your nostrils, making you remember just how wealthy and powerful the prince was. Muffled voices came from the other side of the wooden doors, and you debated whether you should leave and come back at a different time. Reflecting over the prince’s words, you gave three firm knocks on the door, silencing the voices on the other end until one spoke loudly and sternly. 

“Enter.” After an approval was voiced, you carefully entered the room and laid eyes on Prince Scaramouche and his fiancé. The cold look in his eyes never left, even for the woman whom he was betrothed to. The princess was already looking at you when you entered, a disgusted and envious look in her eyes. “What is this servant doing here in your room, Scaramouche? You knew I was coming today yet you still invite someone to your room to bother us?!” The prince paid no mind to the princess’s obnoxious question and beckoned you with his index finger. With quiet and careful steps, you made your way to the prince, standing in front of his desk looking down at him. “(Y/N).” Your eyes widened upon the use of your name. In the palace —at least in Inazuma—royals were not supposed to speak or even know their servants’ names. It was deemed unnecessary and a bit too close for blue-blood liking. Getting close to a servant was strictly forbidden, so you never told him your name even when he requested it of you. “Escort the princess out.” 

“What?! But we’re supposed to be planning our wedding! You can’t throw me out! I won’t leave!” The princess sat down on one of his purple cushioned seats accented by a midnight threading. The prince merely looked at her and back to you, his eyes sharply narrowing as if to tell you to obey him. With a deep breath you politely spoke to the princess, “Please, princess. The prince has requested you-“ The princess stood making you stop your sentence as you believed she was going to leave. Her body turned towards you, her expensive heels clicking along the wooden floors of the prince’s private chambers until she was on you. In a blur, her hand rose and left a nasty red imprint on your cheek. Your legs felt shaky and the sting from her slap made tears water into your eyes. “Don’t ever speak to me so carelessly like that again, servant! I will be your queen! You treat me with respect! Do not let this happen again! I will return later to discuss our planning!”

The princess left, leaving you alone with Prince Scaramouche. The silence was utterly deafening. His dark lavender eyes were focused on your cheek, studying the rising redness that stained your perfect skin. A slender gloved finger rose and instructed you to come to his side. Your steps were shaky towards him, the thumping of your own heart loud in your ears the closer to got to him. You stood by his chair; gaze set down to him relaxing in his expertly crafted chair. The moment your eyes met you could feel how intense and threatening his gaze really was. Dark lashes fluttered against his eyes once he spared you a few lucid blinks. Your hands clasped together in front of you, awaiting an order from the prince. 

“On your knees.” The command was stern and deep, practically forcing you to your knees beside the arm of his chair. Prince Scaramouche turned his chair to face you, his knees so close to your face you thought he was accidentally going to kick you in the face. You closed your eyes, lips tightening in a thin line awaiting his words. “…Lift your head.” You did as he instructed, your eyes landing on the smug and prideful expression that plastered itself onto his pale features. A cruel and teasing smile spread onto his lips, obviously pleased by your unwavering obedience. “Do you know why I’ve asked you to come?” Your head shook honestly, any sense of words dying in your throat as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him. A low chuckle slipped from his throat, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Truly pathetic you are…” 

“F…Forgive me, Prince…” His midnight gloved hands gripped your chin causing red to blossom over both your cheeks. The smoothness of his thumb rose to glide over your lips, his eyes now focused on the plush softness of your lips. Once he realized he was staring a bit too longingly at your lips, he scoffed and let your chin go, now running his fingers along the handprint swollen into your cheek. “Such a good girl. You always listen so well. I’ll make sure her actions do not go unpunished as your reward.” Your eyes widened slightly at his praise and promise. Your lips parted only to have his finger press lightly against your lips. “Keep those pretty lips shut and listen.” You remained quiet, the heat of your cheeks only increasing due to the closeness of his touch. He retracted his hand and sighed out in frustration. “That wretch needs to go back to her own kingdom and stop interfering in my personal affairs so much. It’s damn annoying that I can’t get a moment to breath without her head weaseling its way so far up my ass I can’t even shit her out if I tried.” 

A small giggle left your mouth, humored by his foul language and use of words. He paused to listen to your laughter, his face lighting up in surprise and bewilderment at such a sound. You lowered your head quickly muttering an apology. This only amused him more. “Hah! Am I truly that scary or are you this weak?” With a slightly flustered expression, you bit your lip and looked up to him again, shaking your head in response. The look that graced his dark lavender eyes told you that he wanted you to speak. He needed to hear it. “I…I’m not scared of you, Prince Scaramouche. You’ve always… been kind to me, even at our meetings in the library to discuss books. You’ve never shown true malice towards me. I only worry of disappointing you, Prince.” 

It was evident from the look on his face that he was greatly pleased by your answer. “Hmm. A fine answer. That deserves a little reward don’t you think?” A sly smile spread across his lips, his teeth peaking from the plushness of his pale pink lips. Your face began to flush pink again, watching helplessly as his face leaned closer to yours. “How about a kiss? I think that sounds like a lovely reward.” Your heart hammered harder against your chest; your eyes wide as the prince tilted his head towards your lips. Nothing could stop him from doing as he pleased with you. You closed your eyes tightly, waiting for the impact of his lips against yours. A low chuckle came beside your ear, making you flinch. “Haha, you should see the look in your face. Did you actually think I was going to kiss you?” 

“A-Ah?! W-Wait no… I-I’m so sorr—Mmph!” A hungry pressure was applied onto your lips, silencing your pitiful apology to the powerful prince. His tongue forced your lips apart, sliding over your teeth and gums with a predatory dominance. Your hands gripped the frilled fabric of your servant’s dress, eyes screwed tightly shut as you shook in his forceful lip-lock. Your mouth weakly fell apart for him, letting his tongue invade your mouth to claim you as his own. His gloved hand slid through your hair, lightly tugging your head back to push his tongue deeper. Your body was beginning to get hot, a soft sigh of embarrassed pleasure leaving your mouth into his. His lips curled against yours, letting you feel the way his expression morphed. He pulled away from you, his tongue slowly leaving yours to let your eyes see the thick string of saliva that connected your tongues. With a flick of his tongue the string snapped, his perverted tongue gliding over his upper lip. “You taste intoxicating. You sure you’re not trying to poison me or something?” 

You couldn’t speak. Any words that tried to escape your lips couldn’t from the sheer shock of everything that was happening. All you could do was gaze up at him in awe. A slight sneer rose to his expression before he turned away with a dismissive pat and ruffle of your hair. “Your initial purpose for being here is no longer important. That’ll be all. You’re dismissed.” You blinked and swallowed thickly, shakily standing and bowing to him. Your face was purely red, utterly embarrassed and flustered by the events that transpired. The intensity of his gaze weighing in on the back of your head was truly terrifying. It felt as if he was sizing you up, studying your body and your physique to find your weak spot so that he can effectively pounce and devour you. 

He was hunting you. 

It wouldn’t be long before he would strike again. 

Mindless chatter drummed against your ears as you quietly sat in the dining hall eating your dinner. Other servants surrounded you, eating their fills of the cooks’ tireless efforts. The prince and the princess had finally set a date for their wedding, which would also be the prince's coronation. You could tell by the way he carried himself lately that he was far from being please about this. The princess couldn’t have been more ecstatic. Her eyes sparkled roaming the halls of the palace, trying to make sense of all the turns and paths to get to where she needed to go the most. The servants attempted to avoid the princess due to her ludicrous and outright psychotic requests —mostly having to deal with Prince Scaramouche. Her goals were truly sinful, and the request of you and some other female servants was all the proof of that. 

She wanted to be intimate with the prince. 

Your mind drifted back to the day he kissed you. After Prince Scaramouche had sealed his lips on yours in a heated kiss, you tried to avoid him as much as you could, but he always found a way to get you. He always threw sly and underhanded comments about you trying to avoid him or being too flustered to face him. His mouth never quit running. His fingers began to linger more on your hands when you handed him a book, his eyes following your lips and letting them lower shamelessly to stare at your chest. His scent clogged your nose, his aura dazed your mind, and his voice was like constant music to your ears, hypnotizing you to think of him and him only. It was as if he had been with you all day and all night. Even when he isn’t around it always felt like his presence was somewhere close by. 

It was obvious. 

You were starting to fall in love with him. 

A loud bang interrupted you from your thoughts. The door to the dining hall burst open, involuntarily welcoming the prince to the servants only area of freedom from work. His eyes connected with yours immediately, heated, and intense eyes glaring coldly at you. “Come to my chambers. Now!” His voice was booming and full of distaste, it was a contrast to what he had been showing you the past few weeks. The seductive and flirtatious tone he used with you was gone in this moment. Nothing but pure rage and detest radiating from his rather short frame. You rose slowly, the eyes of all the other servants following you as you walked towards him. Low murmurs were exchanged, making your expression sour which the prince took notice of quickly. “Silence! You dare to speak so casually and rudely in my presence? I should have all your heads!”

The room fell eerily silent, the only thing being heard was your quiet footsteps towards the prince. His eyes trained on you, lips forming a straight line as he had to compose himself before he started dragging you away by force. Once you were in front of the prince he turned swiftly and walked out with haste, expecting you to follow closely. You matched his stride, following behind not making a peep since it was crystal clear that the prince was in a terrible mood. The familiar narrows and curves of the hallway alerted you to where he was leading you. The intimidating thumps of his boots sounded like the raging thunder that rocked the land and haunted the dreams of children. It felt as if you were caught in the middle of a terrible storm that showed no mercy with merciless winds and crackling thunder. 

The prince swung the door open, grabbing your wrist and pulling you in with a harsh tug. A surprised gasp flew from your lips, not expecting the sudden impact when your back hit the dark wood of his door. The lock slid into place with a click as the prince’s gloved hands twisted the lock. He was quick in his movements, lips locking with yours in a passionate kiss. The leather of his gloves slid along your wrists, slowly pushing your hands up above your head until he held them there with one hand, trailing the other back down your arm to your face. A soft sigh left your mouth, your body instantly becoming weak at the prince’s dominant touch. He pulled away slowly, dark lavender eyes gazing into yours intently while his thumb grazed your cheek softly. 

“You belong to me now. I’m tired of all this bullshit. I’m no longer going to abide by their rules. Submit to me.” He muttered against your lips, his eyes staring into yours intently. Both of your hands were held by your wrists in one of his strong slender hands. A confused look spread over your face, lightly panting against his lips as he continued to press his body against yours. “W-Wait Prince Scaramouche… M-May I speak?” The prince froze hearing your hesitance to his actions. The dejected look crossing his eyes made you shiver since he was beginning to become upset. He slowly let go of your wrists, stepping away from you with a bit of reluctance. You made a shy step forward, clearing your throat and adjusting your clothes. The prince clearly didn’t like this. “P-Prince Scaramouche… may I ask what happened to have you advancing on me all of a sudden? We… we kissed before once but… y-you’re a Royal, and you’re engaged to the princess, your wedding is-“ 

“I don’t give two shits about status or that wretch.” His words were cold and harsh, practically spitting them out at you as if they were poison on his tongue. The fury in his eyes was evident, annoyance raising to his lips in a bitter sneer. “I am only with her due to my mother forcing a marriage to me. I would rather have you, than her. Haha! You’re the only one who isn’t so scared of me that you’ll actually have a normal conversation with me. Does your small brain not comprehend how lonely I must be? How your less annoying presence satiates this emptiness in my chest? How your kind words melt my heart? How you treat me like a human being?” A sorrowful frown curved onto his lips, his eyes softening in the slightest when he made another step towards you. The dazzling shines of his medals in the dim lighting reminded you again of who exactly was in front of you, admitting he wanted to be with you instead of the beautiful princess. “B-But-“ 

“Hah, enough with the back talk. I’ve already admitted that I wish to have you regardless of the situation. It’s a matter of accepting or rejecting me. What is it you want, (Y/N)? If you aren’t a coward against royalty… then accept me. I can see it in your eyes you wish to have me too.” There was no denying that yes, you did want Prince Scaramouche. He held such power, respect, and most of all, he held a soft tenderness to you. The way his expression softens and relaxes when you’re in the library with him, asking childish and innocent questions he wishes to know. Those who get close to know the prince and genuinely care will know that of his caring and curious nature. None had ever gotten to experience this. You were the first one to ever want to know the prince, and here he was, rewarding you for your kindness, your patience, and your bravery for standing in the face of a furious thunderstorm, appreciating its cool rapid winds and loud thunder. Through masked words of rudeness to shield his soul, his actions revealed what lies in his heart. “Spit it out already, I’m losing patience.”

You didn’t respond verbally to him, you only gazed at him with the gentle tenderness that lovers would exchange. Your bare hands rose slowly, letting your fingertips slide over his unblemished pale features. His skin was cool to the touch yet soft as if it had never been touched or seen by that of battle or labor. The long lashes surrounding his dark lavender eyes fluttered under your gentleness, his gloved hands coming to rest against the back of one of your own hands. Your lips grew closer to his, brushing them softly against one another before you sealed your answer with a loving kiss. The prince moved his hands along your arm, slowly coming down to settle against your waist, pulling you closer towards him in attempt to practically become one with you. His touch was desperate, hungry, and oh so feverishly nervous. Truly sinful for someone of his status. 

“Fuck…” A faint curse came from his soft pale pink lips, the color of his cheeks rising to a gorgeous rosy red. His hands came down your slowly, inching his way closer and closer to your bottom. Anxious pants left your lungs as you waited for him to firmly grab you and continue. His strong hands gripped against the plushness of your ass, groping, and kneading the curvy flesh. A low groan erupted from his chest, bringing his hand down to pull your leg up against his hip. “You’re so beautiful…” The prince’s generous praise serenaded your body to croon into him, your mind turning to mush at the simple melody of his affections. Sparks of dark lavender glimmered within his eyes; the darkness of his pupils blown out in pure desire. His sinful tongue slipped past the guard of his thin lips to slide along your neck slowly before his teeth met your skin in a mix of passion and lust. “P-Prince-“ 

“Call my name.” His lips vibrated against your flesh, his hot breath fanning against your skin threatening to leave passionate burns of his affections. A pathetic whimper sounded from your throat, your tongue testing the waters of how well his name rolled off. “S-Scaramouche…” A heated sigh leaves the royal’s lips, his body moving forward to hold you against the wall. His teeth grazed your neck hungrily, his tongue marked you possessive, and his lips caressed your heart to encourage you to yearn for him more. “Such a good girl. Always so good to me.” Both of his hands slapped against your butt and pulled you up to hold your legs around his waist, carrying you back to his bedroom. The harsh kick of his boots made the door swing open, in an instant your back was against the bed with the prince on you in mere seconds. “Tell me what you want. Tell your Prince what to do to your lewd body.” 

“S-Scaramouche… I…” The words caught in your throat as you tried to think of a way to voice your desires to the Prince of Inzauma. Your flustered appearance only spurred the prince to touch you further. His slender fingers, still encased by the smoothness of his ebony gloves, glided up the skirt of your servant’s attire. The tenderness of his touch against your thighs turned desperate quick when he started to ascend higher, getting dangerously close to your shamefully wet cunt. “Use your words, darling.” The sweetness in his tone as he cooed that sensational nickname to you was enough to let your mind finally accept what was going to happen. You looked up to him, newfound confidence, and desire in your eyes. Of course, he noticed immediately with a satisfied smile, his tongue coming to lick his lips seductively. “Please, Scaramouche… touch me more.” 

“Hah, fuck…!” His lips crashed down on yours again, his hands making quick work go grab your thighs and part them, placing himself between them. The heat of his body scorched yours, a light sweat coating your forehead as his touches got all the more sinful. His tongue flicked and swirled against your own before he grabbed your jaw and pulled away from your lips, forcing you to keep your mouth open. Without so much as a breath, he spat in your mouth, sending a shiver down your spine as his spit mushed around on your tongue. “Swallow it.” His tone was no longer sweet and loving, it was demanding, lustful, seductive, and oh so lewd. You did as he instructed, swallowing his spit with a flustered squirm. The gorgeous shimmer of his canines came to your hazy view, his teeth snatching the leather on the tip of his finger and pulling his glove off with his teeth. God his hands were just absolutely gorgeous. “Good girl. You still want more, right?” 

You nod anxiously. A dark chuckle rumbled his chest, his gloves discarded to now feverishly unbutton the front of your shirt. “Good answer. Now sit back… and let your divine Prince take care of you.” His fingers brushed over your skin when he pushed your shirt open, dark lavender irises landing on the raggedy white bra you wore. While he was enjoying the delicious view, his lips turned downwards into scowl at the condition of your undergarment. “Tsk, we’ll have to change this if you are to become my woman. I’ll make sure you’re dressed in the most exquisite lingerie mora can buy.” A soft moan echoed into his ears once his hands made contact with your breasts, smooth hands kneading your tender mounds. The pads of his fingers teased your flesh, lightly dipping into the front of your bra and sliding his hand down to pinch your nipple. “Hmm! P-Prince Scaramouche…!” 

The uncomfortable push of your shambled bra from his fingers was nothing compared to the bliss you experienced under his hot touch. “Have you ever been touched like this before?” It was clear from the look in his eyes that he was searching for a particular answer. He begged you to say no, begged that he was the only man that’s ever touched you. It was possessive, jealous, and pitiful the way he gnawed at his lower lip waiting for your answer. “Mmph, no you’re, hah, t-the first Scaramouche.” His irksome scowl twisted into a cocky grin, the heaviness of his eyelids coming down to hold his vision. He was now solely focused on making you feel the best. “Good. Then let my touch be carved into that dumb brain of yours. Moan till your hearts content, darling.” 

His fingers pulled away slowly, his hands coming to push your bra up and over your head instead of unclipping it. This action made you realize that the brave and often times egotistical prince was also inexperienced. You would’ve never guessed due to his personality. Every act he did he did with the utmost confidence as if he’d rehearsed every scenario imaginable. The cloudy gaze he set on your chest was intense, his pupils blown out in pure lustful devotion to your body. Every swell and curve of your breasts had him mesmerized. The cute little erection of your nipples, the darker pigmentation of your areolas, and the slight jiggle they had whenever you shifted about. He quickly found himself becoming obsessed with the sight, imagination running wild with all the lewd things he could do. How would they look covered in his cum? Scratch that, maybe some lovely purple hickeys? Nah, what about some red blotchy bite marks? 

Fuck, he wants it all! 

“S-Scaramouche?” The sound of your flustered voice broke him from the bewitched state he had suffered when looking at your bare chest. A rosy blush spread over your cheeks; hands shaky at your sides wanting to cover yourself from his unwavering gaze. He let out a small, amused chuckle. “What? Can I not admire your body? I am a prince after all… I should be able to admire my things when I please.” His lips descended, landing on your collar bone only to cascade down to give wet kisses along the swells of your chest. His tongue came around your areola, flicking up to nudge your erected nipples. “Hmm!” You flinched upon the sudden action, lips coming up set in a firm line while your eyebrows scrunched in silenced pleasure. He repeated this action, earning another small flinch accompanied by a hushed whimper. “You’re so cute when you try to hide your voice from me. We’ll see how long you can keep that up.”

The prince moved his bare hands along the sides of your waist, catching under your skirt and pulling the frilled fabric down to expose the lace of your panties. The pads of his elegantly slender fingers glided easily over your skin, giving your legs chilly goosebumps at his touch. His index and middle finger slid from your skin to the sensational folds of your clothed cunt, rubbing slowly to ease his way between them. “Heh, look how wet you are… that’s incredibly lewd of you, (Y/N).” The grin on his face widened once he saw your face contort in quivering ecstasy as his fingertips teased at your folds. His middle finger found your puffy clit, rubbing back and forth slowly. Your back arched with a gasp at the sudden action, limbs twitching while your lip found its way between your teeth. “Ah, ah, don’t you dare try to hold back those pretty moans. Let everyone hear you. Let them know how well I pleasure you, princess.” 

The prince relished in the way your body squirmed underneath him. It was always something he unconsciously loved. Dominating others and controlling every aspect over them. Discomfort boiled within the prince’s groin, his cock twitching feeling his fingertips becoming damp with your slick that was overflowing from your lovely cunt. He quickly withdrew one of his hands from your body, hastily unbuckling his pants to relieve the strain against his hard cock. “What do you want, darling? Tell your master what you fucking want!” His fingers encased your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves between his fingertips until your back was arching, head throwing back into the exquisite silk of the prince’s bed. “Scaramouche! P-Please… I-I can’t-! Want-! Ngh… I want more!” A cocky smirk plastered across the thin pale lips of the prince, his fingers now hooking on the side of your panties to pull them aside and slide his fingers up and down your wet folds. “Tsk, Tsk, not good enough. Be more specific.” Heavy lustful breaths poured from your mouth, your throat already dry and your heart beginning to hammer against your chest. “F-Fingers, hah, inside please…” 

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, I’ll indulge you for our first time… don’t expect the same treatment in the future now, darling.” With a sensationally fluid movement, the prince’s fingers embedded themselves into your warm cunt, walls fluttered tight at the sudden intrusion. A flustered and surprised gasp spewed from your lips, thighs shaking slightly at the god-like structure of his fingers. With his other hand, he grabbed your hand and guided it to rest against the tight bulge against his undergarments, his heavy arousal. A relieved sigh escaped from his lungs, groaning deeply at the contact against his cock. “Rub it if you want more. Hurry.” Desperation was laced within his hushed tone, hips bucking lightly into your hand to feel the electrifying friction of your hand on his erection. “C’mon, baby… fucking rub it.”

With a shy blush, you started to move your hand loosely around his cock, earning a low groan at the feathery touch. A satisfied grin spread onto his swollen pale lips feeling your cunt squeeze on his fingers. “What? You like jerking me off, darling? That’s… hah, incredibly lewd of you, fuck.” Scaramouche leaned over you, jaw clenched when your fingers kept loosely brushing over his tip over and over again. His fingers hooked inside of you, thrusting them deep causing your grip to tighten in surprise on his cock. You both moaned in unison, enjoying each other’s sinful touch. The prince bucked his hips into your hand, matching indigo brows furrowing at the lovely warmth around his twitching arousal. “Such a good girl. Always so, hah, obedient for me even like this.” 

“S-Scaramouche... hmm.” His fingers eagerly fucked your dripping cunt with purpose. His eyes were trained on your sinful expressions, fingers spreading to stretch out your walls. The friction of your fingers against his tip caused him to hunch over at a rapid approach to his release. “Stop.” Your hand immediately retracted upon hearing his order, worried you possibly hurt him or did something to cause him pain. Scaramouche pulled his fingers from you, not missing the small whimper that vibrated your throat as emptiness was all you were left with. Seeing such a worried expression, the prince laughed and kissed your forehead before bringing his fingers to his lips. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m just… too eager to have you right now.” A dark look of lust covered his eyes, devilish tongue coming to flick over his fingers and taste your juices. The flustered expression on your face was rewarding. Once his fingers were clean, he shrugged off his clothes, letting your eyes wander around the physique of the prince's slender tone body until your eyes trained on his erection before embarrassingly looking back into his dark lavender eyes. “Heh, think you can handle it?” 

An audible gulp echoed from your throat. 

“Y-Yes…” A small snicker came from the flashy Prince. He guided his hands along your thighs, spreading them wide open to your embarrassment. Scaramouche licked his lips at the view of you beneath him, cheeks faintly pink, drunk off the feeling of lust and your beautiful features. You belonged there. In his arms underneath him, obediently letting him do as he pleased. His one and only princess forever. “Oh? Yeah? Well…” Something wet and firm rubbed over your entrance, making your eyes snap down to identify what it was even though you knew what it was. A grin spread over his face and with one fluid movement, his cock was sheathed snuggly inside your warm and inviting cunt. A low groan ripped from his chest, sighing loudly in relief and pleasure at the blissful feeling. “Let’s see if you can keep up, darling.”

It hurt at first, his cock stretching your walls past their usual limits. Your face scrunched in pain, your lungs clawing for air as the sudden invasion left you breathless and panting. Scaramouche’s hips rutted into yours slow and firm, heavy balls slapping against the plush of your ass while his fingers dug bruises into your waist. “Shh, just… hah, bear with it for a bit.” After a few shallow thrusts, your walls got used to the feeling of being stretch and the pain twisted and melted into sinful pleasure. A soft moan was all Scaramouche needed to know you were feeling good. His hips began to buck harsher into yours. With grit teeth and furrowed brows, he growled out lowly. “You’re so fucking tight. Hah, shit.”

“Hmm, Scaramouche, hah, it’s so… deep, hngh!” Your head threw back into the expensive sheets of the prince’s bed. Your hands darted up to his toned shoulders, clutching onto him for dear life as his cock drilled deeper. The mushy head of his erection kissed against your cervix, making stars appear in your vision. Nothing had ever felt this good before, it was addicting, like a drug that once you start you could never stop. Scaramouche was too good. “Shit, shit… Agh…!” Strands of soft indigo rested against your sweaty forehead, warm breath fanning repeatedly over your face as the prince got closer to your face panting. Your lashes fluttered, black overtaking your vision as you solely focused on the pace of his hips and the swollen plush of his lips against yours. His pace became harsher and quicker, forcing loud and unabashed moans to flow into his mouth to swallow for him and him only. “You feeling good, darling? Hah, tell me how fucking good it feels, ngh.”

“It feels so -hah!- so good Scaramouche! So good! T-Too… much, ahh!” An unfamiliar feeling began to build in your abdomen, it was tight and hot. Your fingers dug into the unmarked flesh of his shoulders, embarrassed eyes slowly opening to look up at the prince. His eyes connected with yours instantly, a storm of indigo and deep lavender swirled within his irises, threatening to destroy your whole being with his overwhelming lust and affection. It was such a turn on to make eye contact with him while he was massaging your velvety insides with his thick cock. He leaned down and sealed your lips with his own once more, his pace faltering and a groan reverberating onto your lips as his orgasm grew closer and closer. “Shit, I’m gonna cum… Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming! Gah, damnit!”

“Scaramouche wait-! Ahh! Wait, wait- Mmm!!” Your toes curled and your back arched off the bed, a cry of your new lover’s name leaving your swollen abused lips. A creamy ring surrounded his cock, your juices making lewd squelching noises as his cock slid in and out of you so nicely. With an increasingly sloppy pace, the prince stilled on top of you, his body trembling slightly before letting out a flurry of pleasured curses. A warm gush flooded your insides, and you could feel the tip of his cock twitching wildly as his cum sputtered into your core. A shiver ran down your spine feeling so full inside, all of it was just so… blissful and overwhelming. You both sat there trying to catch your breath until Scaramouche's voice cut through the air. “(Y/N).” His voice was low and heaving as he called out to you. Your eyes could barely stay open anymore with how tired your love making had been. “Yes, Prin- Scaramouche…?”

“…You’ll be my Queen, won’t you?” With a loving smile, you leaned up gently and kiss his warm cheek. “Of course, without a doubt.” The prince snorted and flicked your forehead. “Good. Not as if I would let you say no to begin with.” 

The prince was a cruel and selfish man, but he was also kind.

"Time for me to go out and find the truth. So long, suckers!"

-Scaramouche

🤌

Satoru's Psyche|Surfacing

"Power dynamics, they're fluid."

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Routine patient visit and care performed. Patient is stable, mostly corporative, and only mildly rowdy today. Vitals are clear, appetite is normal, nothing of interest to report other than slightly abnormal behavior resulting in the [REDACTED] incident, pending Nurse deliberation on how to proceed with patient disciplinary action. 📋 Length of Session (w.c): 5.2k out of "we will cross that bridge when we get to it 🤠" 💊Intake Chart (tags): this is a full-blown AU with a slowww build-up, yandere-ish behavior, pet names, angst, compulsive flirter Gojo (he literally cannot help it), mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️doctor's angel’s note: there’s something very, very special about how this story was born. extended author’s note at the end of this chapter if you’re curious|kk I'm done talking - enjoy Satoru’s Psyche. 🎼 Waiting room music: Child's Play|SZA

They all worshipped the strongest. 

But no one saw the man; no one noticed the cracks until it was too late.

The first appeared after the Star Plasma Vessel mission—Gojo's near-death experience and first awakening. 

Then, it was his best friend, Suguru Geto. His betrayal, death. Murder. 

The blood on Gojo's hands left such a deep mark.

Devastation. Irreparable damage.

No matter what Gojo did after that, death followed him like a loyal dog. 

And when the final crack happened in the Prison Realm, with no distraction from his own thoughts and burdens and painstakingly harsh reality, Satoru Gojo bent..then snapped.

He can't remember what happened after being unsealed. 

All he knew was the blood that came afterward.

Apparently, he went on a rampage, but in his psyche, it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

And he didn't feel guilt—not in the slightest. 

They must have gotten what they deserved, right? 

The thoughts were deafening.

But Gojo’s natural tendency to play the hero was even louder and got the best of him. The realization of what he’d done was haunting—plaguing and persuading him like a Devil in his ear until he turned himself in to shut the voices the fuck up. 

Once again, good ruled over evil and the world was safe.

In Gojo's own sick and twisted way, he had once more saved the day.

And as a thank you? He's here, in a fucking straitjacket, seals all around to make his cursed energy dormant. At least, that's what those old fools believe…

Gojo can't help but scoff, recalling all their nonsense. 

“You're unstable. The mind needs to be healed.”

Blah fucking blah. What a load of bullshit. 

However, society never took too kindly to a little mass murder, so fine.

Gojo will play nice... for now.

And for the most unexpected reason why.

His grin only deepens, a borderline predatory look as he hears those familiar footsteps. 

Ah...how wonderful.

“There you are.”

The man waits by the door, shoulder framing your entrance and leaning on the wall. Welcoming, warm and expectantly, before the locks can disengage. 

Like many times before, your eyes meet through the window pane. A dull blue under snowy white lashes, heavy and following yours, but barely piercing the plastic—small and artificial—only a thin layer of careful separation, but you both see right through it. Neutrality on your face but wavering sharpness in your eyes. And a glint in his as the familiar buzz! ushers you into his world.

“How’s my favorite nurse?” he asks like a broken record. All casual-like, as if his arms aren’t meticulously tucked into tight restraints that work hard against his muscled frame. “Missed your favorite psychopath?”

He couldn’t sound more arrogant, but still has to smirk watching you brush past him—expecting nothing less—but feels a different air.

There’s a pep in your step, carrying you into the stark white room and making it impossible to miss the subtle sway of your hips and dangling supply bag on your arm. Naturally fluid as if you’re oblivious to its sensual nature.

Gojo rarely saw you wear any emotion on your sleeve, let alone what he thought was hints of joy, but something was slipping through the cracks.  

And what’s that? A slight grin on your face? 

What exactly do we have here?

This attitude is foreign. Better than the blank slate or frequent exhaustion you usually walk in with, but this was a side of you that was unfamiliar. 

What’s got you in such a mood, he wonders? And what else could it be, if not him? 

It’s all because today is an “okay day”. And in places like your ward, “okay” is as good as gold.

Rounds have been fairly simple in the usually chaotic hospital—a small win if you put things in perspective, but it’s enough for you to feel good about it. 

Hell, with the way things usually go around here, it feels like Christmas came early and you got just what you wanted. 

A big, whopping present called “all of your co-workers showing up to work”. The standard for most workplaces but here, such miracles only exist in your daydreams to get through your usually fucked schedule.

But not today. Today, the angels personally visited your ward to carry your burdens and lighten your load. For the first time in months, you didn’t groan the second you saw your patient roster for the day and instead had to do a doubletake because the list was surprisingly short. Only your regulars sat on it and that could only happen if the ward was fully-staffed.

You thought it was a mistake when you checked the schedule this morning, but no, everyone’s name sat prettily on the sign-in sheet at the front desk—a sight you hadn’t seen since orientation and was confirmed with every familiar and slightly foreign face you passed in the halls. 

There were no call-outs, no extra work, and the best part, no unexpected shift changes. 

Overtime would not get its hands on you today and the thought alone made you feel lighter because enough time is spent in these melancholy walls as is. 

With thoughts on the week’s end, you found yourself drifting through the day on autopilot. Wondering if you should make plans—doubtful you’ll see them through—and time seemed to be flying by with your thoughts. Following the rarely-seen routine you know like the back of your hand helped you blaze through the morning and grow closer to sweet rest for your already aching feet. 

Miracles were coming in left and right, proof that today just might be your day. It’s still early, but no one had broken out of their room or flung any property around yet. Guards sit comfy and reclined at their posts, lounging around more than they’re being called, and you haven’t even had to run off to the lockers to change your scrubs that are usually ruined by now. Luck is keeping you high and dry—free from accidents or patient tantrums, both of which are all too common. And always seem to have your name on them.

But the cherry on top, second to none, pièce de résistance.

Is a possibility.

Just the teeniest, tiniest, sliver of a chance…to walk out of these doors early. 

Be still your beating heart.

Early release?? Unheard of. You almost skipped through the halls thinking about it. Dreaming of the reclaimed time—the deliciously healthy heap of rest. 

With no signs of trouble, aside from forcing yourself to chug a wildly unhealthy energy drink to fight off tendrils of sleep, you just may be in the clear.

Things seem steady in the sleepy ward today. So sure, you’re in a relatively good mood. 

But is it good enough to deal with Gojo? 

It puzzles you, how he always knows you’re coming before he sees you. How he sort of announces your presence before you get the chance. Like the honor belongs to him.

The psychopath. 

Your head tilts at the diagnosis, hearing it come from his lips for the first time. Even if unseriously. 

He’s self-aware, at least. Not that the confession makes your visits any easier. 

Over time, after working so closely with a personality like Gojo’s, you’ve learned to take everything he says with a grain of salt. Especially when it comes from such shameless lips.

Answering his question with an eye-roll, you set your supplies down to pull out your clipboard and check his vitals. Something that once upon a time made your palms sweat and throat dry, but never showed on your face. You knew what the role required, what it would need for you to survive—intimidation and cowardice were not a part of it—and eventually, after you banged that into your head enough, even if you had to fake it til you made it, you became used to the routine.

As has Gojo, complying with each step on the checklist like it was second nature. Walking over to his favorite spot to be taken care of, the bed. Lifting his tongue to take his temperature. Offering his arm to check his blood pressure. Noting that his eyes aren’t bad today—not needing to wear his blindfold due to the security system. Doing it all without needing you to say a word. All within his control.

But the one thing he can’t get a grip on is how his heart begins to beat. Every time like clockwork the moment you lay a hand on his back to listen to it. Racing in his chest—thumping through your stethoscope—while he wears the calmest face. 

Curiosity called you after noticing it a few times once you determined it wasn’t a condition. Guaranteed to start up with the gentlest touch that he was surely used to. 

So, what exactly goes on in his mind in these moments? Despite hiding it so well? 

What could possibly be making Tokyo’s most unhinged, mass-murderer, so flustered? 

You never have much time to think about it because it won’t matter in the next few seconds anyway. Sitting still enough to get through vitals was as serious as Gojo gets, making the quickest part of your visits with him the easiest. 

Everything that follows the second you put your kit away is pure…surprise. 

“So…are you gonna undo the straps this time, sweet nurse? My arms are sore.”

He pouts. Sweetly. So devilishly charming. As he did so often with a flash of those cerulean, blue eyes that could make and break hearts.

You sigh. One could almost forget that by society’s standards, he’s a “dangerously unstable individual.” 

Something you’re acutely aware of. And trained for. Which is why you don’t mind the coquettish jabs he throws your way—and why he keeps on throwing them.

You aren’t aware but these hourly visits, along with his agreement to stay put, are the only reasons why he’s still here despite being Satoru fucking Gojo and simply walking out. It’s not like anyone could stop him if they really wanted to, and he knew that. 

Truth is—it pissed Gojo off, being stuck here. Cooperative. It was fucking irritating, to say the least. 

He’d rather be tortured than bored and might’ve second-guessed his decision to surrender if he knew the punishment would be…this. 

But lo and behold, here you are. Relief in the flesh while he bides his time. One that he wasn’t expecting.

“You sure are possessive today.” You hide a smirk, draping the stethoscope around your neck, his heartbeat returning to normal after losing your touch. “Am I really your favorite?” The leather straps hug his pale skin a bit tightly, but his mobility is good enough to ignore his request to loosen them. That would be suicide. 

He tsks, eyes sparkling at your words—a warning glimmer hidden beneath the icy gaze. 

Chilling. But the least bit surprising. 

Gojo and cattiness go together like love and war—and he wears it with his whole chest. 

Even when unprovoked, he’s known for being….testy. Trying his hand again and again until he gets some kind of reaction. Waiting to see what makes someone bite. 

But there was something disingenuous about this petty quirk. The repetition and how it seemed to lack a goal. How he seemed almost…desperate for interaction—attention—any attention.

Eventually, once you sat in his face long enough to learn how to disassociate with a straight face, you figured out that he just loves to hear himself talk. Like that one kid in class who’s always inserted themselves into every conversation and made it about them. 

He rarely gives you a hard time though—less than most of your other patients in fact—and usually sends more kisses than cuts. Occasionally, when you find them…okay, or tolerable enough, you indulge him and this charade between you two—like the high school crush it resembled. Strict. But harmless. 

And you’re only entertaining him now because he’s one of your last patients for the day. A fact not lost on him, but disregarded nonetheless. Even if you were just playing along, he knew there had to be more depth. All the masks in the world couldn’t hide that smile on your face.

His laugh breaks the tension. “I'm a yapper, not a liar...Am I yours?” He raises a brow. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

His low tone carries an unspoken weight. Cryptic. Eerie. Needy. Almost calling you like a possession more frequently than ever.

It isn’t lost on you that his affections have blossomed as you’ve spent more time together. Visits are supposed to be 10, 15 minutes tops—collect vitals, serve meals, give meds, and avoid accidents. But Gojo? He drinks up your time. Going on 30, sometimes 45 minutes of routine maintenance and “extra care”. This wasn’t standard practice, but they didn’t tell you that, among other things when you accepted the position.

Every time you cross Gojo’s threshold, you’re reminded that you’re not actually supposed to be here. You’re just a nurse after all, not a therapist, and lacked the credentials to even begin to handle a patient like Gojo. But in the end, qualifications don’t matter when his staff has a famous history of running away. 

A fate shared by his previous nurse and therapist. Both fell victim to Gojo’s whimsical and relentless personality and suffered a mental breakdown from hell before quitting the ward. Capacity for hospitality completely shot, they nailed the coffin shut by ditching the healthcare industry altogether. 

And that was after only a few hours. 

In the beginning, you had absolutely no faith in yourself. Swore it was a sick joke as you couldn’t begin to fathom why they would even consider you for the job. 

You??

Gojo the Psycho’s nurse? It would’ve been easier to turn in your resignation right then to avoid living in hell.

You wondered how your life would change as you got to know the world’s most hated man. 

How long you would last—if he would let you. 

Anxiety and nausea gnawed at the back of your throat as time grew closer to meeting him. But eventually, after running the scenario in your head a million times over and trying to come up with some sort of plan or plea for your life, the day came, and you stood before the unpredictable man who looked like he saw right through you. 

Just the idea of being in Gojo’s presence is enough to let you know it’ll be unnerving. 

But the moment was…odd. 

Naturally, you wanted rely on book smarts and previous patient experiences to get you through what you knew would be a short and traumatic failed attempt at connection. But then you took a second to really look at Gojo, not study, but a kind of look that catches something…a conflict in his eyes—and instantly knew he was no ordinary patient. 

He was something you’d never met before, and any attempts to use a cookie-cutter facade would quickly be chewed up and spat out. 

So, you went with your gut—hoping to escape with some remnants of your sanity at least. 

Who knew you’d end up surprising not only yourself but also the Director and all the other staff in the ward who watched with held breaths? 

Gojo practically welcomed you with open arms. Flashing his pearly whites and dimples in a closed-eyed smile. You could hear a pin drop.

He didn’t bark, he didn’t bite. Only teased, feeding you sultry words with cunning lips until your face visibly flushed with blush. They didn’t warn you about charm. Debatibly the “worst” part about working with the blue-eyed lady-killer. Or that his devilishly handsome face would make you second-guess his sanity and guilt.

But you knew what this was. Or at least what it wasn’t and quickly put on blinders to every distraction he threw. Holding your breath the whole way through and surprising yourself every time you walked out his room. After your trial period had run for a few days with no mishaps—the opposite, really— you were promoted. And given a big, fat new check (certainly not for collateral). 

You didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or concern.

Congratulations! You were now in charge of Gojo’s physical AND mental health. 

Which meant longer, more thorough visits.

The idea was nerve-racking for weeks, to say the least. And because he has the nerve to be a karate-chopping ‘sorcerer’ or whatever it is that makes the man so dangerous, he needs careful safeguarding. Which means having his very own wing and accommodations in the ward. The only barriers between Gojo and doing whatever the hell he wants is one guard stationed near the entrance and some type of security system they can’t disclose to you. It’s supposed to suppress his abilities or something, you don’t quite understand itself yourself, but most importantly, it keeps him tame.

Still, choosing to grace his space almost daily always feels like tempting a snake. 

But somebody has to do it. 

And in a way, by his own means, offering a satisfied grin and all, Gojo had chosen you. 

Even in the confines of a cell, with seemingly nothing left to live for and no room for emotions, you, this wonder, have managed to catch his eye. In a way that made him want to sink his teeth in and soak up your attention. For reasons you couldn’t be more unsure of. 

“It would break my heart if it weren’t true,” he continues, sitting in the only chair in the room, “You’re my entertainment, you know? My doll to play with.”

You scoff, arms folding. The word doll echos in your ear like a chamber. That was a new one. 

“You sure talk a lot of game for someone in your situation.” 

“I love games.” He leans, eyes drinking in his favorite powdery blue scrubs that hug your frame in an all too professional manner. “Play with me, Nurse.”

Time belonged to Gojo, and he chooses to bide it with a little fun until release—or escape. His ever-changing mind hasn’t decided yet but it was far from a concern. Because the truth of this truce was painfully obvious. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever. And is quick to mention that he’d love to take you with him.

“If you can handle me.” He licks his lip. “Unless I’m too much for you.”

And there it is. That cool smile that sends shivers down spines. Irresistibly stirring your core every time he parts his lips. 

You hated it—no one could deny his charm or his intimidating presence. Even in chains, shackled and restrained, he maintains some kind of control: crumbling walls with his charisma, waving around his amorous, overassertive reputation like a big red flag.

But you’ve already proven to not be like the rest, easily swayed or reduced to puddles. Your wall is firm. Solid. He baits you time and time again—a smile here, a sinful gaze there—only to be met with dismissive yawns. Rousing something inside of him that deemed you a challenge. Something worth exploring. You were…difficult.

You’re the one who laughed this time, shaking your head and tucking a hair behind your ear. He oozes confidence from every fiber of his being—and bores you.

“Are you going to tell me what you’d like to lunch today or just keep bothering me?” 

And goddammit he has the audacity to grin. To tuck his lip under his teeth slow enough to make you catch it. 

Your insolence is adorable, yet maddening; a cocktail he drinks with delight before realizing how much he loves the taste. 

You were becoming really good at it, beating up his ego and turning a blind eye to his silly little flirts, but interest never faded from his gaze no matter how careless you seemed. Or were trying to. 

He tsks. “C’mon, Nurse. If I can’t have fun here, where can I? Besides,” Sunlight streams in from his barred window as if on cue. “You’re the only thing here worth talking about.”

Butterflies? Knots? Maybe both fill your stomach.

Neither can be good for you in a situation like this.

The dreamy words whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and stroke your ego with a delicate thumb. Soft and gentle—and from a shell of a man. 

A good turned evil. 

And you don’t have to look too far to remember how he got here—to remember why the enchanting man before you is dressed in heavy white restraints and public enemy number one. 

Guilt tugs at you for even joking around with him sometimes. You picture his victims. The lives forever changed. And how he didn’t seem sorry for it. 

Besides, even if Gojo wasn’t a basket-case, it’s hard to look past how childish he is anyway—something you heard has always been a part of him. Something you couldn’t imagine dealing with for too long, even casually. It certainly wasn’t your taste, and under different circumstances, you’d no sooner fall for him outside of these walls than you would now.

But above all of the boundaries, restrictions, and pep-talks you give yourself, is the simple fact that you aren’t the day-one nurse he once knew. Now, you have a backbone and don’t hesitate to remind him.

“You’re such a flirt, Patient Gojo.” You make sure to catch his eye when you say it, “But compliments only get you so far.”

Patient. 

It hangs in the air. Brisk and stale. A bit sour on the tip of your tongue. And acid in his ears.

With that, Gojo sits back, resting his cheek on a propped-up arm, gaze long and longing. Breathing slow as he thinks and nerves buzz between you two. Then his request comes, simple and direct.

“How about sushi? Raw and fresh.” And a psych ward delicacy.

He’s the only patient in the entire facility with such privilege—envy-worthy and used to his heart’s content. With full-scale unlimited access to all the gourmet treats and fine dining he could ever want, his meals are often better than the ones you bring to work. Gojo is above common hospital dishes, of course, and his indulgent appetite would accept nothing less. 

But it wasn’t just about the food, no, negotiating that was too easy and barely worth mentioning.

This is a conveniently constant reminder that he is still capable of influencing things and making decisions with ease, from those he’s allowed to have access to him, down to his choice of meal.

It intrigues you. How he subdues himself to the masses but finds meaning in smaller wins. What he finds significant.

But none of that mattered right now, you’d finally been given an order and another win, even if it felt like pulling teeth. For now, it’s time to feed him and let him believe whatever he wants.

You pick up his tray from this morning, scanning the room to make sure no cutlery or dishes are missing. “Sushi it is,” you wink and call to be let out.

None of his staff are allowed the room key as a preventative measure to keep his chances of escaping to a minimum. As if a door would stop him but a key does exist and you’ve only seen it on the day the Director introduced you two, and it looked nothing like the keys used for other rooms. 

When you come back with lunch, Gojo grows curious. Noticing how your body has relaxed over time, getting used to his presence every time you come in. Little nuisances like how you breathe a little easier in his space and sometimes smile with your eyes when he tells a stupid joke. The air is…changing. He wonders just how comfortable have you gotten?

“Finally back? I started to miss you.” It’s light but he can’t possibly resist testing the waters. “Would you like to eat with me, pet?” And it takes everything in you to suppress a visceral reaction.

He’s on a roll with the names today and you wonder what his affections might have been like in his life before. Sure, he’s a talker and a flirt, that much is obvious, but you wonder what his actual love was like? How did he show it if he ever got to? And if so, if he ever left anybody behind?

“You know the procedure, Gojo.” You wait with the tray in hand, brushing the thoughts away. Though the temptation savor what you knew would be premium cuisine begs you to do it, you know better than to start breaking boundaries now.

He deflates, brows furrowing. “Is it…really so necessary?” He knows the answer, of course.

You gesture for him to turn around but he holds your gaze, having a little stare down like he enjoys the silent confrontation. You raise an annoyed brow. “The food’s getting cold,” and tap the tray.

“It’s sushi.”

 You huff.

He smirks before finally facing the wall, stilling his body in the tight jacket. When you’re sure he won't move, you set his food to the side and slowly approach to attach him to the latch on the wall. 

Skilled fingers reach across his waist and you have to crouch a little to glide the heavy chain towards the loop at his hip. His skin flushes at your warmth, your proximity, as he can’t help but enjoy the intimacy of the routine power shift. Even if it was a sham, it was still one he reluctantly agreed to. To play nice. To be weak. 

But this exchange, giving himself over to your authority, was oddly invigorating—like placing himself in his victim’s shoes to get a minuscule taste of his own medicine.

“Well, don’t look so happy about it,” he chuckles. Relief finds your face as you gently tug on the chain to make sure it’s secure, amusing the man towering over you.

The thoroughness is cute, all a part of a job well done and strict boundaries that drive a heavy wedge between you two. But it doesn’t bother Gojo. Because he’s certain, he knows, that your guarded walls will crumble sooner than later. All it takes is patience.

“Remember, Nurse,” he doesn’t turn around, “Power dynamics….they’re fluid.” 

And you can almost hear the wink—the implied warning living on his slick tongue that pokes and prods with every interaction and sends heat to your rosy cheeks. 

“You have a way with words, Gojo.” Again your eyes roll as you reach for the key to his restraints. The shackles fall to the ground, shrilling in the mostly empty room to allow him to feed himself.

A mix of groans and relief escapes his lips as he relishes the freedom from the stiff leather. He sighs, “Thank you, Nurse.” and rubs his tender wrists before abruptly filling your space. Nearly knocking you off your feet, but stopping just shy of your face. The monstrous chains strain against the wall, playing tug of war with the beast of a man and the florescent lights cast a spotlight on the sudden distance between you two. 

You had never been this close. 

“But don’t forget, I can turn these roles around. Anytime.”

Twinkles play in his eyes, dazzling you with a shine so bright you can see your reflection. But you also see the unhinged nature behind them just as easily as he sees the quiver of your lip feeling his breath graze the curve of your neck and raise goosebumps on your skin.

This isn’t just idle banter. It’s a stark reminder of Gojo’s capabilities that you had grown comfortable enough to forget. That you thought maybe you had become the exception to. 

As he steps back and leans against the wall he could’ve torn down, there’s an unmistakable silence filling with tension. Hot and sharp like pins and needles. But instead of pushing you to run for the hills, to quit while you’re ahead and savor what’s left of the life you know, for once, your unrelenting mind dares to wonder where this twisted ballet will go.  

It kills you to admit that their is something interesting about cat-and-mouse game he thinks you’re playing. Just as his affections have grown, your thoughts push you to imagine what could happen if you were actually…caught..

It’s idiotic, you know. You don’t need a sign telling you not to play with your life.

This is Satoru fucking Gojo, for Godsake. The murderer. The villain. A literal stain on the face of humanity. 

Forget about what he may have been before. You never saw that Gojo, and he’ll never be seen again. 

Your motto has always been that everyone is redeemable—but these types, Gojo’s type, are so beyond saving that it feels more like babysitting than redeeming a mentally unstable murderous toddler who could destroy a city in seconds.

Even for a man who speaks so carelessly, but teases a sugary-sweet tongue, it’s easy to see how and why he ended up here. Life had made him an example.

Proving that too much of a good thing will always spoil.

And as you watch him turn a wink and begin to casually snack on his meal, completely unconcerned with you or your reaction or response, it’s plain to see that his “affections” spare no one. Not even you. 

You clear your throat and steady a breath. With the lightest voice you can muster, you remind him, “Empty threats are the best you can do, patient.” And turn to leave.

“I’ll be back later for your bath. Or maybe send someone else. Since you’re so excitable today.”  

He pauses. “Oh?”

Is that a challenge?

His laugh echoes around the room like something out of a cartoon, fading away just as quickly as it came. He leans back, hair blending into the wall as he licks bits of rice off his thumbs—gaze sharp despite the jest. 

Because the stakes are clear and you’re both aware. 

But in case you don’t know the consequences he asks, “Do I seem threatened to you?” 

You shift your weight. If Gojo is anything, he’s always playful. The man does not have a serious bone in his body, which makes him damn near intolerable sometimes, but it’s something you’re used to it. But not this tone. This tone has rocks in it, hard and heavy as he calls your bluff. 

“Because my threats—,” he continues eating, “—are never empty.” He pops the last roll into his mouth. “You sure you wanna do this?” 

There’s no denying the chill running up your spine at those words—playing out like casual banter over lunch instead of the battle royale it was.

As if the question were rhetorical, he adds, “Okay but like,” and coughs up another laugh, as if finding the entire idea ridiculous. “Who’d be dumb enough to replace you?”

To feed or not to feed? Now was a chance to bail out.

“Don’t worry about that.” And you don’t as you call to the guard, hoping to catch your break on time. “Just behave yourself.” Gojo would keep you here playing 20 questions all day if he could.    

A bemused smile settles on his face and he shakes his head at your antics. 

You were becoming increasingly enjoyable to interact with. And steadily digging yourself into a hole. You’ve been sitting front-row to the darkness within him enough times to be sure it is, in fact, very real, but still it’s impossible to ignore that there’s something driving you to pick up the shovel. 

It isn’t just his pretty face and boyish charm. No.

It’s like he wants to get under your skin. In the best way.

Yeahhhh, this death wish is turning you every way but loose.

It’s silly, so stupid to even think about. Giving Gojo a smidge of an inch just because you feel there may be something more. Like there’s depth to his pretty words and clashing ways. Who's to say any of it is “real” anyway? He is insane after all. 

Your mind and the door shut behind you, and you turn to peer at him through the small window. A mischievous yet bored look rests on his face. 

You think you actually will send someone else. Just to show him what happens when he crosses the line. To reinforce business and boundaries. 

You could also use a break yourself—Gojo is starting to feel… claustrophobic these days and if you aren’t careful who knows what could happen. 

“Choose wisely,” came his voice from within the room,. “Every move you make counts. And cheating has consequences.” Footsteps approach the door. “You may think tagging out is all it takes to avoid our game, but let me tell you something…” He stops. “...you underestimate how quickly I can escape confinement before I’m noticed.”

And suddenly, this isn’t just a game anymore. And Gojo isn’t just some harmless tease.

Your throat is too tight to swallow and you fidget with your lanyard as if responding to his words. 

Of course, he’s capable of breaking free. That’s not what’s worrying. But if it was because of you poking the bear, you trying to get on even ground with him and have the upper hand, would you be responsible if he did?

“No matter where they send you or who they send instead—” And Gojo’s comment makes it crystal clear. 

“—I promise you, you’ll end up right back here.”

extended angel's note: first and foremost, just to give credit where credit is due, this is a chatbot i turned into a short story🧍🏾‍♀️. it was actually my first time dicking around with janitor a.i. back in like...april? and i came across this gojo bot with a suuuuper interesting prompt. [all of the prompt idea and calibration credit goes to the original creator.] i didn’t decide to actually get serious and start creating a story until around the end of part 2 - i realized i was having too much fun and was in too deep 🙇🏾‍♀️. SO after my decision to indulge madness, i didn't want to run up 10000 messages on janitor a.i. and decided to create the rest of the story on my own from there.  everything after the prompt are my own words and i've had to weave every last bit of part 1 and 2 into a coherent story but everything afterwards is all me.

you can find the chatbot and play around with it yourself here but i strongly recomment doing so after finishing this short - think of it as a choose your own adventure afterwards in case you want my head on a stick after the ending 🤠.

tags list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @blkkizzat @kiwismoother @rune1920 @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @startatdawn @heijihatsutori

@inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk @rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping

@sims-4lifers @bratidol @hyunsuks-beanie @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111

@supsiii @natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko

@strawberrymilkshakes-posts @nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow

baby, baby - ft. kinich

synopsis - mornings with ur boyfriend and his annoying lizard

includes - 0.4k wc, short and sweet, gross disgusting fluff, sfw

a/n - first fic, I really really hate this, no one talk to me I'm going to hide in a hole gulp

the natlan sun creeps through the curtains of you and your boyfriend's small, shared cottage, causing your eyes to slowly flutter open. your mouth feels dry as you wipe the dried drool on the corner of your lip, grumbling as you roll over, reaching for your boyfriend. yet, you only feel the slightly wrinkled silk of your sheets.

suddenly the bed feels colder at the loss of whatever contact you had fallen asleep with. kinich's your shirt draped over your body paired with sweatpants does nothing to quell the shiver on your skin. sure, you were used to kinich waking up first, but archons, did you hate it.

you sigh, sitting up before standing, your legs feeling like jello as you wobble to the living space. you enter to the sight of kinich wearing your pink "kiss the cook" apron, the one in which mualani got you as a gag gift for your birthday.

he swats ajaw away from the knob of the stove, the latter trying to turn it just to burn the pancakes kinich was working oh so hard to prepare for you before you woke up. but alas, it was futile.

you were awake.

and you were giggling.

his eyes widen as he turns his head back, just to see the smile that he loves so much. the one that constantly reminds him just how much he cares about you unlike any other.

"kinichhh!" you coo, rushing up to him and pulling his cheek. "you look so adorable!" you smile, showering his left cheek with as many kisses as possible.

he huffs, "it was supposed to be a surprise," kinich sighs as he glares at ajaw. ajaw simply shimmies away before disappearing, the effect of a few tiny pixels springing out from his departure. kinich sighs, seeing your stupid lovesick grin before moving the pancakes to a plate.

he spreads butter, syrup, and your preferred fruit onto the pancake, putting two small dollops of whipped cream on it soon after before using his fork to feed you a bite.

archons, the flavors just melt on your tongue. he's always been a great cook, but the way he cooks pancakes.. making the middle light and fluffy with a light crisp on the edge before perfectly topping it with precision, care, and love..

"yummy.." you sing, your arms wrapping around his neck. the morning ends with you two sat at the dining table, sharing a breakfast as you discuss your plans for the day with each other.

──── 8 times in the morning.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. forest sex. that's it.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich x gn!afab!reader,!!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. he would, idk i just get the vibes, oh and i wrote dialogue this time :)

kinich who's such a meanie, merely observing you, a lustful smirk on his face as you rode him. watching each time how you plop down onto his base, the way your wanton moans mixed with the moist, & musky environment you've both set yourselves to.

kinich who leans against the branches, as your chest leans onto his, repeatedly bouncing. hearing the way you could only whimper out small mewls of his name, seeing how prettily your tummy bulged with his length inside of you, he could watch you for days.

kinich who holds you down by your hips, slamming you against his base when you start to get tired, barely carrying yourself off the branch below you. grunting at the sound of your wails of pleasure. or the way you screamed his name when you squirted on his cock for what seems like the umpteenth time already!!

"ah— shit.. have you ever thought how pretty you look like this?" he huffed out as he held you down to his base. you couldn't make out a reply, simply inhaling and exhaling, in the process of catching your breath. "s' pretty.. i'm gonna miss the way you whine my name.. gonna miss these hips on this cock."

he sounded so condescending. mere pants coming out your mouth, busy trying to formulate a sentence in a way to retaliate against him. but before you can speak a single word—

"mhm? sorry, what was that, pretty?" mock visible in the tone of his voice, kinich had no mercy for you, at least for now. grinding against your g-spot. "a-ahh fffuck.. kin—" you felt like you were about to cum again, deep crescent marks indented to your plush thighs. "mmf.. kin— i-i'm g'na.." "what? cumming again?" he only rubbed against harder, reaching a hand out to touch the precious little bump he made in your stomach.

the dominance of tree covers the whole of the land, yet here you were, instead of hunting for the price of a million mora, you'd get the dopamine of getting it at least. kinich who only let out a scoff, watching your eyebrows knit in pleasure, watching how your thighs simply quivered from it, you were getting close.

kinich who was obsessed watching your expression spoil into a hot mess on his dick. feeling your pussy clench on him so good, he couldn't resist a groan. the moon marks into your hips only worsening, whining for him to just finish you off already—

"c'mon.. say please. please ruin my pussy, kinich. beg for me, tell me how much you've earned this last drop of my cum inside you." such a meanie kinich is! he wanted you to beg him so sweetly, even when you can barely remember your own name. even when you can only see stars from cumming so much. after a few attempts, he lets out a low rasp, giving it to you anyway.

kinich who pistons your hips onto his cock one more time, a lot rougher than the ones he did with you earlier. hitting your womb so good you scream a little louder than earlier, startling a few animals nearby (LOL.)

kinich who arrives back to their commissioners, the ones who originally gave him the mission, saying they forfeit the job.

"hey— kid you can't just leave now! you already—" a bag of the ores they searched for landed onto the table. deciding not to accept payment for this mission this time, making you cream on his cock 8 times in a row was priceless.

this was supposed to be in my kinktober thing but i guess i need to post

Can you write kinich x reader smut

──── i w'na ride?!

𝜗𝜚 synopsis. whatever position he wants >_o

𝜗𝜚 pairings. kinich x gn!afab!reader(?) see this however u want cuz in som of the bullets i use boobs or discreetly mention chests (kinich is also a lowk perv)

𝜗𝜚 director's notice. i'll explain why he'd like this trust me, !!nsfw content ahead!!

inspired by the moments where he kept hitting the pose where his hands behind his head plus the one scene where he sat in a tree with his hands behind his back (or maybe i'm imagining things.)

kinich who reluctantly visits the beach(es) plus hot springs in the toyac springs region because mualani says you both need it, seeing as how much you both work beside each other, you'll definitely need a nice bath! especially the rumors of the heated conditions the springs seem to excrete.

kinich who no matter how long you and him have met each other, he'll never get used to seeing you in a bathing suit. even when you both were still kids fooling around on the beach with mualani. the atmosphere back then has almost never changed, walking along the sandy coast, feeling each little particle fall over your toes, the sun roughly about to set, the scenery was a sight to behold!

now that you both were older.. he would be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to you, your way of fighting, your appearance, how well you compliment him, it was almost like a corrupt addiction. even ajaw mentions how cheesy it is each time he sees kinich looking at you, whether it be lust or love in his green eyes.

mualani was overjoyed to hear that you've never gone out to swim, especially in the temperature she's usually in. kinich decides to tag along, totally not because he definitely wouldn't mind seeing you in different swimsuits/trunks.

kinich who you didn't mind letting him stay outside the changing room while you put on different suits while mualani actually help you choose (unlike someone who just kept ogling his eyes at you)

mualani who chose something that revealed more than appropriate portion of your skin (which was a lot, and imagine this similar to the one lumine wore!!), kinich who couldn't stop eyeing you up and down, ajaw teasing with digital sunglasses over his face; "y'know sunglasses help cover up what you're tryna look at!"

cue kinich smacking bro away again :pray:

you only got more attractive in his eyes. watching how you walk up to him, holding out a bottle of sunscreen to him, asking if he'd put some on your back before you'd go surfing on mualani's shark.

kinich didn't wanna admit but he was a little more than just turned on while spreading the lotion over your shoulders and back down to your back, his calloused hands feeling you up and down..

kinich who felt a little guilty but couldn't help but always slowly let his view dip down to your ass. shit he could already imagine what it'd look like without that last piece of clothing. too bad he can't rip it off you right here and now.

kinich who ran his hands around your chest, your sides, every curve that you wouldn't suspect him from.. he could already feel the tent in his pants rise.

kinich who couldn't resist looking at your pretty body through the blurriness of the water, almost forgetting to swim back up from being a little more than distracted. only coming back up after mualani mentions he's the winner of holding their breath underwater challenge.

a sigh of relief.. or maybe pleasure rather remembering yesterday on how close he got to be to you, palming his erection with hurriedness, thinking of how soft you felt under his fingers, only a thin layer of sunscreen that wouldn't make it weird between you both, kinich catches himself moan your name quietly in the changing room before he goes back out to you and mualani for day two of your summer break of 5 days in total.

sitting under the comfortable shade of an umbrella he brought, putting sunglasses on to rest for a bit before going in the water, or at least that is what it looks like. in all real reality, he was taking sneaky glances at you from less than appropriate angles, he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

kinich could barely hold himself back for the next 2 days, wherein you all toured around mualani's hometown (for the sixtieth time, but then again it never gets old seeing a different culture every now and then!)

on the last day of your adventures with mualani, she offers for you both to finally bask in the warmth of the hot springs! the natural wonder of her home! kinich was reluctant at first, but agreed seeing how you were just oh-so happy to oblige.

this time, mualani got you a different swimsuit, one muuuuuchhh more revealing this time. it's clear now that she knows kinich's little crush on you, and now she knew that you liked him back.

mualani who coincidentally forgot the milk, and silly snacks she baked earlier that morning, oh would you look at the time! i guess she has to go get them... kinich who lowkey panicks, he already is a little flustered from your new look (but manages to quickly cool himself down)

kinich who is gentle while letting you slowly dip your feet into the water, this wasn't his first time here but he knew it was yours, stepping into the water first while holding your palms softly.

you two finally both sit in the springs comfortably, right in front of him, talking about whatever you and mualani did while he sunbathed (under an umbrella). building sandcastles and such.

"ahhh... kinichhhh! you should've been there. i would've wanted you there at least, dunno about mualani-" it felt like almost immediately his trunks tightened.. maybe he got the wrong size?

oh but the sound of you verbally saying you needed him definitely is a huge turn on. well you didn't necessarily say 'need' but you definitely wanted him there, good enough.

kinich who already has you straddled on top of him, directly on his boner, fuck he could feel it already. his hands are already on your hips letting you grind over his erection, this felt better than he could've ever fantasized of!

kinich who lets you ride him, the water you both were already surrounded only made it sound all the more dirtier. it didn't help that the sly little smile on your face, all he could do was bury his face into an arm of his own, looking away from you.

kinich whose hands were in his hair, intertwining with every little strand, the flush on his face only worsened each time you bounced on it, he could barely make eye contact with you, not because he didn't want you.. ohh it was because he thinks if he did he'd come immediately!!

kinich who holds you close as his climax comes closer as well, holding you tight in his embrace, he could feel your warmth, your skin, your everything, all he could was quickly drift his calloused palms back down to your hips, making sure no drop of cum was waaaasssttteeedddd

you could see how good you made him feel, even with just a sneaky, yet lustful glance, yet plop plop plop is all you can hear echoing throughout the cave, your hands propped up on the wall as kinich pushed against your back, his grunts only getting louder, eager to please you. seeing how your eyebrows knotted

kinich who felt intoxicated as hell in your scent, almost breathless as his head fits into the empty slot right beside your collar, fire pooled down inside your abdomen as you slowly reached your peak, watching how beautifully your eyes rolled back, feeling warm semen shoot up in your stomach. holy shit were you a beauty to see.

the musky scent of sweat mixed with the warm water below you both, kinich could still feel you clench harshly on his cock, even after release, fixed & still processing what you both had just done.

kinich who brings you out the bath, wrapped in a towel, bridal style and all, before mualani can come back with the milk and snacks- "hey what is that white stuff mixed in the water- what did you two do?!"

kinich who holds your hand while you both stroll throughout the shops opened up at nighttime, the constellations in the sky connected like it was used to it, the fresh scent of grilled fish was clear in the air's aroma, filling everyone's noses, mualani couldn't just give all this fish just to you two anyway!

kinich who fully confessed his feelings to you, no sex no lust, just him wanting you to sense how much he's been longing for you, in hopes you'd reciprocate it. in which you did with open arms!

m: "aha! i knew it! you both finally told each other you like each other didn't you!!", k: "no need to shout.", y/n: "i suppose!"

mualani will stop teasing for now, and let you two be, just with each other as the stars reflect off the light you've shone into his life.

kinda cringe might delete :100:

⟳ 26. INTOXICATED

You and Kaz arrive at the bar a little late, but just in time for the first few waves of shots being passed around. The place hums with energy, with dim lights, heavy bass, unfamiliar bodies pulsing near the DJ booth.

Ven spots you both from the second-floor lounge near the stairs, presumably the couch space he claimed for all of you.

“Over here!” he bellows, trying to cut through the music with bleary eyes. You spot your friends laughing at his theatrics, already nestled into the couch.

You snort. The night’s barely begun and he’s already half gone.

You scan the crowd between you and the stairs. Someone bumps into you in the chaos, jolting you off-balance. You instinctively reach for the nearest thing—

Kaz.

He feels your light tug and immediately turns to steady you, murmuring a quiet, ‘Careful,’ as he catches your arm.

He holds out his hand. “Don’t let go, okay?”

You smile and slip your fingers into his.

You weave through the crowd, hands clasped tightly so you don’t lose each other in the press of bodies.

“[Name]! Kaz! You guys made it!” Ven slurs, stumbling forward to greet you with a hug that lingers a bit too long.

“God, you already reek, and it’s not even ten p.m.,” you groan, hugging him back anyway.

He giggles. “That’s the thing! It is almost ten, and I’m not blacked out yet!”

You roll your eyes but smile. “Happy birthday, you menace.”

“Thank you!” he sings.

“Happy birthday, Ven,” Kaz says with a soft smile. Ven slings an arm around his shoulder.

“Take care of [Name] tonight, yeah?” Ven adds, waggling his eyebrows.

Kaz chuckles and gently removes Ven’s arm, patting his back. “I’ll look out for her.”

“Boo! No fun!” Ven laughs, tottering back to his seat.

You greet your friends, let Lumi pull you into a selfie, and down your first shot without even asking what it is.

Then another.

You slow down after a few more, pleasantly buzzed but still steady. Some of your friends head down to dance, pulled by partners or strangers into the tide of music. You and Kaz linger, watching from above.

“They’re so loud,” you say, amused as you hear their shouting voices above the music.

Kaz chuckles beside you, pouring himself a drink. “I’m surprised you’re not down there with them.”

Sighing, you take the same bottle and pour it into your own glass. “Normally, I would. But… I’m just not feeling it tonight. Not here.”

“The place?”

You simply hum in response, taking a sip of your drink.

“Soda? Really?” you say as you feel the liquid fizzing in your mouth.

“Someone’s gotta stay somewhat sober,” Kaz laughs as he proceeds to take another sip of his drink. “I already took my one shot of vodka and I already feel dizzy. I told you I don’t take alcohol well.”

You down the soda in your glass and fill it up again with the same drink.

“You do know Ven was just joking when he tweeted that,” you say with a breathy chuckle.

“Even so, I need to honor the celebrant’s wish,” he replies with a proud smile.

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink, not replying.

“Do you drink often?” he asks.

“Not recently, no,” you answer.

“Seriously? Even after the whole break-up?”

“Not a break-up,” you mutter, shooting him a look. He smiles amusedly in response. “And no. I didn’t drink then because I firmly believe alcohol doesn’t help with pain.”

And mostly because you didn’t want to end up doing something stupid while drunk.

“So you drinking now means… what? Progress?”

“Maybe?” You shrug. “I don’t know.”

But deep down, you know that’s not entirely true.

You’d be lying if you said you don’t feel anything for him anymore.

You just forced yourself to stop thinking.

No reminiscing, no late-night peeks at his profile, no checking what his ex posted.

You locked him away in your mind and told yourself not to look back.

That one day, time would dull it all.

His face. His voice. His touch.

Your feelings.

And honestly? Kaz helped with that. Willingly.

He knew all of this and was happy to help distract you and guide you through your emotions.

“You’ll get there eventually,” he says.

At one point you started to think the ‘therapist’ joke was becoming real.

You could feel him glance at you longer than usual, and you notice the warmth in his gaze.

And for a second, it feels like something you could want, something you could drown yourself in.

If only you were ready. But you’re still scared.

Maybe in the future.

“Yeah. I will,” you affirm to yourself.

But of course, just when you think the universe might give you peace,

out of nowhere—

Your eyes land on a familiar figure walking through the crowd at the entrance.

You squint to double check that it’s not just the alcohol in your system playing with your mind.

Your stomach drops.

Of course.

Just when you were talking about it.

And at such a vulnerable state, too.

You grip the edge of the couch instinctively, the cold of your glass grounding you.

Kaz sees your shoulder tense. He looks at you, wordlessly asking if you’re okay.

You turn to him. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

His worry slowly dissipates, and nods in understanding.

You make your way downstairs and to the dance floor.

Then you’re spinning around, moving too fast, eyes scanning the crowd until they land on Ven, drunk laughing with your friends, tipping back another shot like it’s juice.

You beeline to him.

“Ven.” You grab his arm and drag him out away from the group and near the bathrooms.

“Wah–? What’s wronggg?” he garbles.

“Why the hell is he here?”

Ven blinks at you, bleary-eyed. “Who?”

“Kuni.”

“Ohhhh,” he drawls, grin crooked. “Ajax asked to invite him. I said yes.”

“You what?” you hiss, louder than intended. “Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Thought it’d be fun.”

You stare at him in disbelief and betrayal. “Even her?”

Ven immediately sobers up. Not in expression, but in tone. “Hell no. I’d never let her near my party.”

“But he can?”

Ven just laughs—shrill, high, unbothered—and walks away with a stupid, ‘Good luck!’

You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or go home.

Or strangle an intoxicated friend.

He’s lucky it’s his birthday.

So instead, you go to the open bar and order a whole bottle, bringing it with you.

You step upstairs and make your way toward the couch area, the bass from downstairs still thumping faintly beneath your shoes.

And there he is.

Sitting with Ajax and Kaz, a glass already in hand. Ajax is next to him, mid-speech, but freezes the moment he sees you, nearly choking on his drink. Kaz is settled across the couch, comfortably distant from them, staring at Kuni as if also not expecting him to be here.

You don’t hesitate. You walk straight to them and slide on the couch beside Kaz. Closer than earlier.

You pour yourself a drink, adding ice from the bucket.

No one says anything.

Not yet.

One shot.

Ajax tries, “[Name], he’s—“

The shot glass clinks on the table as you pour more.

Two shots.

Kaz gives you a subtle glance, like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t.

The tension is thick.

You lean back on the couch, letting your head rest for a moment. You don’t notice Kaz’s arm stretched behind you, resting casually on the top of the couch until you’re already half-leaning into it.

Not touching, but almost.

You don’t mean to look, but you feel it.

The weight of someone’s eyes on you.

He’s staring.

He hasn’t said a word. Just stares intensely at the both of you from across the couch like he’s trying to piece you back together in his head.

It’s like he’s waiting for you to break.

And it infuriates you.

You keep your face blank, but your thoughts spiral.

Why is he even here? Why did he accept Ajax’s invite knowing you’d be here.

Was it to mock you? To check up on you? To make sure you can’t move on properly from him?

You pour another drink, but hesitate this time. Your grip tightens. Your breathing hitches.

“You alright?” you hear Kaz whisper softly in your ear that sends shivers down your spine.

You nod. Barely.

Your surroundings begin to spin and blur. The crowd’s chatter and the music’s blaring beat fade into a distant, drowned-out hum.

You try to concentrate, not giving in to the alcohol. Your head tips against Kaz’s shoulder, resting. He doesn’t move.

You glance up, and sure enough, Kuni is still staring.

Still drinking you in like he has a right to.

But this time, he’s downing a bottle as he keeps his gaze fixated on the two of you.

Memories flood back.

The times when you kept saying to yourself that it’s the last time. That you’d end things with him.

And then Kuni shows up, like he always does, to remind you what you’re trying to leave behind.

You glare at him once. Hard. Daring him to look away.

He doesn’t.

If his expression earlier was somewhat readable, this time it’s impossible to comprehend.

Does he regret it? Or is he just proud of himself?

This pisses you off.

You want a reaction out of him.

He doesn’t just get to let you go and be happy. He can’t just be unaffected by all of this.

You want to show him what he took for granted.

There must be something.

And in a sudden burst of defiance, you grab the half-empty bottle on the table and down most of it.

The liquor burns, but it’s a distraction.

A blur.

Exactly what you need.

You stand up, wobbling as the rush hits your head.

Giggling, you turn to Kaz and grab his hand. “Let’s dance,” you say, voice slurred, eyes glinting with something between chaos and pain.

Kaz looks at you with a pointed expression, reluctant, but eventually follows.

From the couch, Ajax watches with wide eyes. “Hey, man…” he starts, already on alert.

Kuni’s still frozen, but only for a second. He finishes what’s left of his bottle and sets it down with a heavy thud and stands up.

“Don’t,” Ajax says under his breath, placing a hand on Kuni’s chest. “Don’t follow them. You’re drunk.”

Kuni doesn’t answer.

You and Kaz reach the dance floor. Amidst the bass pulsing and the people packed around you, in your mind, you have one clear drunk goal.

You start jumping to the beat, loose and unfiltered, dragging Kaz with you. You spin around and tug him closer, too close.

Arms on his shoulders, hips swaying near his. Kaz, ever steady, moves with you but still keeps a proper distance.

“Why are you doing this?” he mutters lowly, trying to catch your gaze.

You just laugh.

Loud. Drunken. Detached.

You don’t answer.

Kaz sighs. “Come on, let’s go bac–“

He’s about to let go and bring you back upstairs until he glances to the side.

Kuni.

Standing stiff at the edge of the dance floor, watching. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on the space between you and Kaz, like he’s trying to will it away.

Ajax is behind him, trying to pull him back again.

Ah.

Realization hits him.

Kaz sees it now.

He sighs once more.

He knows this isn’t really about him, but he does it anyway.

He lets his hand rest on your waist, pulling your bodies closer. Your arms loop around his neck without thought. Despite being out of it, you can feel the tension between the two of you spike in the air.

Kaz takes it up a notch by slowly inching his face down to yours. You let him.

He doesn’t rush. Instead, he draws it out, lowering his face inch by inch, just enough for your breath to catch. His lips hover dangerously close, not touching, just waiting.

Daring.

And that’s when Kuni shifts.

A flicker of movement.

A reaction.

Ajax tries to hold him back, voice lost in the loud crowd. But Kuni pushes forward.

And before you can process it, a hand wraps around your arm, tugging you firmly, pulling you out of Kaz’s hold.

Your head spins. The crowd blurs. Your heartbeat spikes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kuni confronts.

Kaz harshly shook off Kuni’s grip on you but kept his tone calm. “Maybe don’t grab her like that.”

“Maybe back the fuck off,” Kuni snaps.

“Oh, now you’re acting like this?” Kaz holds his stern gaze, challenging the other.

A few nearby partygoers paused mid-dance, turning their heads toward the commotion, eyes flicking between the raised voices and the tension unfolding. Some backing up to not get involved. Some were too drunk to care.

Ajax stepped between them, hands up. “Okay, cool it. Not the time–”

“Shut up.” Kuni brushes off Ajax and moves to grab your arm again.

You tug your arm back, voice slurred. “Stop it.”

You look at Kuni, eyes glassy. “You don’t… youu don’t have the right to act like this. You have Mona.” You point at his chest weakly, trying to push him away with your finger.

Fuck. The alcohol is really getting to you.

Kuni’s breath caught.

“You don’t understand,” Kuni speaks lowly.

You wobble a little as you take a step towards him, trying to straighten yourself. But the sheer audacity of what he just said sobers your mind up a bit.

“What?” you ask, still inebriated, but angry.

Don’t understand what?

That he can pull you in just to let go the second it gets real? Acting like he cares, only to vanish when it matters? That he can get back with his past while you mourn your one-sided relationship?

You’ve been trying to get well without him—trying to breathe, move on, forget—but he somehow finds a way to remind you of what once was.

So what exactly are you not getting?

“Why are you eve—”

You barely get the words out before everything crashes down at once.

And then,

You feel a pair of lips on yours.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE i’m posting this without proper proofreading lol i’m scared once i finish this smau and go back to read it, i’ll regret writing it sm. anw so let’s just pretend that mc can hold her liqour so well <3 also happy one month advanced birthday venti!

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie @vi0let-writes @tomsishere @franaby @scaraenthusiast1 @iloveescara @usagiarchive @ilovecats-26 @quiechee @snetr @axquella @tatsuomii @lalalaloveallmydays @liyahbug @feiherp @jinjjjia @automaticpatroltragedy @mysterypotatoink @zuhahearts @adres-tia @ssetsuka @strwbrrybbpop @sesamemin @blvdmrcnry @aspinny @jiminscarmex @sammybeefangirls @lxkeeeeee @yu-yumii @linasxoxo @quiet-place-for-thoughts @randomhumans-blog @aaudreys @lesbi-snail @jayzioxx @meowpmzai @s-f-rants @cosmic-rainestorm @honey-and-sweetdreams @vincelikestomince @mono-dontidae @simeonmybabygirlicious @gugumioooo [50/50]

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

Yandere Seven Deadly Sins

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, gangbang, harsh language, sexual exploitation, bondage, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Pride is an artist, and you, poor dear, are lucky enough to be his muse.

You’d caught his eye one day simply by coincidence while working your part-time job as a barista.

And though it had been a rather unorthodox request—between balancing school and work and constantly finding yourself both strapped for cash and strapped for time—you’d decided to quit and take him up on his offer—as what he was offering was about twice what you could make at the cafe anyway.

He’s not that much older than you, but he’s old money. And while you're stuck in community college, he goes to an elite art school—which he doesn’t even show up to, 'cause why would he? They can't afford to kick him out anyway, given his father’s donations make up half of their yearly budget.

And so he's free to self-study as much as he wants.

Yeah... he’s a little too used to getting what he wants—exactly how he wants it—without delay. So when you struggle to come to your sessions on time due to having to take the bus to the other side of town, he decides to solve it by buying you a car. And when he doesn’t feel like that’s sufficient enough, he buys you an apartment right above his own studio. And when you try to reject, he only has three concise words for you.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The way he says it leaves very little up for debate. In fact, it leaves you mute each and every time. 

It was nice in the beginning—you didn’t protest to anything other than his overpriced gifts. You were flattered and blushy and giddy and more than happy to sit pretty for him for hours at a time while he sketched and sculpted and painted and whatnot. It was essentially nothing in comparison to the luxuries he gave you in return.

But you think, at some point along the way, he must have forgotten that he only owns the artworks he makes of you—not you yourself.

“N-naked?” you stutter, looking at him wide-eyed where he stands in his usual apron—flecked with the proof of your countless sessions. Honestly, it was getting to be a little strange posing for him in a room stuffed with a myriad of sketches, paintings, and statues of yourself. Hadn’t he had enough?

“I can’t capture you correctly when you wear all these rags,” he says—clinically, though with a pinch of impatience just shy of vexation—eyeing you from head to toe, almost with a look of disgust while beholding your clothes, despite being the one who’d bought them. “They obscure everything. So take them off.”

You knew he’d probably had about a hundred models undress for him, and stand here—old, young, men, women—you knew it probably didn’t mean much to him. He probably regarded it the same way he does everything—without even batting an eye. However…

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do that…” You fiddle with your fingers, standing there, still dressed despite him standing ready at his easel, foot-tapping while waiting for you, already with a stick of charcoal between his fingers. 

“Why are you making a fuss? You think I haven’t seen a naked body before?” he jokes, but without humor—no, rather strictness as if you’re wasting very precious time. “This is standard practice—don’t make it anything than what it is.”

There he goes again with those very final words that make you feel all in all kind of silly.

You bite your lip and mull it over before ever-so-begrudgingly uttering a weak little, “Okay…”

You suppose he was right. This is a job, and it’s just nudity—just another shape in the eyes of an artist—it doesn’t mean anything—is what you tell yourself while you undress. Still, you can’t help but feel flush—heart pounding in your chest as you fold your clothes all neatly for some other nervous reason. 

“Resume the pose,” he says—almost like a drill sergeant. And you jump into place, timidly rushing over to the chaise where you lie down like before.

This does feel like it would be a better painting, you admit. More reminiscent of Renaissance art and such. Not that you know much about it, but thinking back to field trips through the museum, you seem to remember having seen plenty of portraits of naked ladies lying on pretty but uncomfortable sofas just like this.

He seems very invested, at least. A deep furl between his brows, nearly scowling at you while he works—though you’ve come to learn that it’s just his concentration face.

After a while, he sets his charcoal down and wipes his blackened hands on his apron.

You sit up, asking, “Are you done?” All but ready to leap from your seat to your clothes and finally cover yourself again.

“No, keep still,” he all but reprimands—voice intense as he stalks across the floor over to you with determination written plainly across his face.

You draw back in place as he rests his knee on the chaise and leans forward. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come and correct your pose, but you couldn’t help but flinch this time around, feeling just a bit too exposed.

His hands are warm and overworked, both dry and a bit clammy all at the same time. You didn’t mind much when you wore clothes, but it felt a bit too intimate now as he touched your bare skin. But you bear with it despite that.

Eyes closed, you repeat that same line from before—it doesn’t mean anything, this is standard practice, it doesn’t mean anything.

It works in calming your breath for a moment, but then he grabs your tit.

You gasp, jolting back while stuttering, “Wha–what are you doing?”

And yet, he keeps his steal gaze just as fixed and unfazed as before, sighing at you as if you were overreacting, before stating rather simply, “Getting a better understanding of your body.” He then reaches toward you again, showing no concern for how you shrink away. “It’s easier to replicate when I know it by hand.”

Again, you let his voice silence you, and again, you closed your eyes and let his hands wander—around your chest, up your neck, down your belly, and then—

“Wait! That can’t be necessary—” you blurt out, this time with your arms and hands shooting forth to distance him.

“Oh, trust me—it is.” Again, he pays you no mind, simply bearing over you with his entitled hands roaming whatever place he so wishes and chooses. Only clicking his tongue at you when you squirm, “Don’t fuss.”

You don’t exactly push him away, though you don’t exactly make his pursuit easier for him—lying there beneath his touches, wiggling and whimpering, though not really protesting either as he feels your slit.

Your fingers curl into his arms, gripping his messy shirt streaked with paint and coal—as his fingers run through your lips, teasing your entrance and your clit. He twists his hand around and presses his thumb down on the pearl after it perks for attention, then enters you with his pointer finger—drawing out wetness before promptly feeding you another.

You bite your lip as they curl and spread within you, testing you out while rubbing firm circles into your clit.

Gingerly, your hips return it, starting to move in tune with his ministrations. Thighs trembling, keeping your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you start to pant—small moans leaving your lips with every breath, feeling it build within you—a small flame at first, nursed until it fills and all but fights for room within you before finally bursting.

“That’s it—that’s the expression,” he purrs—voice much softer than usual—cupping your face with his other hand, holding you steady while taking in those dopey eyes sparkling with pleasure and those parted lips that never dare speak up—eyeing you like he's the proud owner of a prized possession. “Perfect.”

He hums, sounding pleased, then gets off you shortly after, sauntering back to his easel.

“You can get dressed now. I got what I needed,” he states, picking the stick of charcoal up again, ripping the last sketch off for a fresh sheet before starting anew as if nothing had happened.

And you, still lying there, are left just as mute as usual.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Touya, Hawks, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Baro ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi

Wrath is your ex-boyfriend who refuses to get it through his thick skull that the two of you are over.

Any time you talk to another guy, he beats him up—to a fucking pulp, no less. 

He’s always been that way, and still, it wasn’t always like this…

You started dating each other when you were young. He was rough around the edges, and you liked that about him—tattoos from his neck down to his ankles—the type your parents would have a heart attack if you ever brought home.

He was going to be a professional fighter, he’d say—mixed martial arts. He had all the rage and zero technique, but still, he’d land some of the best on their ass all through pure strength of will alone. 

He was near impossible to train, though—always too wired to be able to take any pointers. And that’s why he needed you. You were his reliever. He’d fuck you like it was his last day on earth, and suddenly he’d be able to do anything. Like an enhancement drug, everything would start moving in slow motion, and he could somehow see all the moves of his opponent before they ever made them.

You admit you liked hearing him preach about it. It made you feel important—made you feel as if half the win, or at least some of it, was yours. And when he started raking in the dough as the champion, winning multiple titles across several tournaments, you were more than happy to be his lucky charm and cheer him on from the sidelines.

But then, you had this awful and sudden feeling of being just that—a tool for his success and nothing else. Sure, he’d give you presents—pretty things he thought suited you well—but you hadn’t gone on a date since his career started, nor had you had a proper sit-down dinner together either. He’d stick to his diet regime, be out training at the gym all day, and you’d be home, going about your own business.

And while you were doing that, you’d think—about the nature of your relationship. And what you found is that all it really entails in the end is him demanding a fuck whenever he needed it—before a tournament, before training, before an interview. And then, after coming to that glum conclusion, you can’t help but feel like nothing more than another one of those items he keeps loose in his gym bag.

And those thoughts only got validated when you tried denying him sex for the first time…

You were just curious, really—curious to see what he’d do. If he’d beg, if he’d plead, if he’d say boo, don’t be that way while down on his hands and knees for you.

But of course... he can’t get anything else but angry.

“If you’re not gonna give me the one thing you're useful for, then what the fuck do I keep you around for?” is what he’d said—no, barked. “You think you’re special? If you’re not gonna put out, I might as well go out and find me someone who will.”

He’d fucked off to some other room with a huff and left you standing there. 

And you don’t know, amidst the shell shock and the ache of your heart coming undone... suddenly, you had no idea why you were there or with him or what you were supposed to do—and when you found no answer to any of those questions, it made no sense for you to stay. And so you went to your shared bedroom—or his bedroom, as a matter of fact, which you’d stayed in for the last months—quickly grabbed your things—your things specifically, and not all the other stuff he’d thrown at you—and stuffed it all haphazardly in your bag, then gone out to the entryway to put your shoes on.

That’s when he’d reared his head again with the gall of asking, “Where the fuck are you going?” 

He hadn’t had that same raised tone as before. No, this time it was lowered—frayed—with a touch of urgency and unease as if balancing on the edge of a knife—as if he knew he'd done something wrong and was reaping the consequences and yet still hadn't the balls to simply apologize and correct it.

And so, you hadn’t answered him.

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” he’d stated then, coming closer, ready to grab your arm with that hint of alarm in his voice increased. “Hey, I asked you fucking a question—”

That’s when you’d twisted around and slapped him. You’d put all your might into it as well, though you doubt it compared to much of what he’d felt in the ring. 

And still, he’d looked at you as if he’d just lost all his titles. 

He hadn’t said anything else after that—just stood there with his mouth agape as you opened the door and slammed it shut behind you. In fact, you don't think he even dared do so much as take a breath.

You’d gone and crashed at a friend's and rethought your life. There was no way you could ever go back, after all—not after what he’d said. Treating you like a stay-at-home whore. Who the fuck does he think he is?

What an asshole—you'd tried convincing yourself as you cried yourself to sleep…

The days and weeks after were nothing if not fucked up and toxic, to say the least. You’d go out to have a fun time and try to forget about him, but he’d always show up out of the blue to ruin everything—being his usual douche self. 

Though… you can’t exactly claim to be any better than him—not after finding yourself in bed with his number-one up-and-coming rival.

Of course, it ends up all over the news—big headlines plastered on every gossip platform pushing your private affairs for all to see—a real media circus if there ever was one.

You end up back in his apartment. To talk, he’d said—a pretense you had a hard time believing in. He’s never been one to talk much. Honestly, you don’t know why you even bothered coming over when he asked. There might even be a chance he’ll kill you. This is how most homicides start, after all.

The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes. You look off to the side, waiting for him to speak because fuck knows you have nothing to say. 

Meanwhile, he just stares at you—his big, hulking body leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands braided before his face. It’s the type of posture he’ll have when sitting in the corner of the ring—he’s got that same look in his eyes, too, deadset on you.

It makes you a little nervous, actually—maybe he really does plan on killing you.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks suddenly.

You almost scoff—almost roll your eyes, but you end up simply returning his dead glare. “Is that really what you asked me here for?”

He doesn’t answer that question. He just keeps staring at you.

You huff out a sigh, “I don’t know, maybe I just wondered what it would be like to be fucked like a woman for once and not someone’s toy.” 

You don’t know why you decided to take it there when you both know why you’d done it. What other fucking reason would there be other than to get back at him? It’s a stupid question to begin with, and so you give it a stupid answer in return. And you won’t deny it feels fucking good—seeing him like this. Five o’clock shadow, eyebags, and uncut, disheveled hair. 

He looks like a wreck, and rightfully so. Fuck knows what a mess you’d been before you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed. Funny what the single simple thought of revenge can do for someone so lost.

He scrapes his thumb down his jawline, over his stubble—a deep sigh running through him as he leans back on the couch. Offering no other reaction as he says, “I can sit here and act threatened, but you and I both know he was shit compared to me.”

He throws his arms up against the headrest, chin tipped up. Thinking he can hide it, thinking you can’t see right through him—to how hard he’s fighting to upkeep the poker face. 

He’s forgetting who his opponent is.

“I know you, babe—I know your body. And there's no fucking way some shitstain you just met–”

“His dick was bigger,” you interrupt—face blank because two can play that silly game, and you do it better.

He’s shut up for a moment—you can see a vein pulse, but it’s quickly stifled, and he smirks instead, snickering despite his grit teeth, “Sorry, that must'a hurt given how much you cry with me.”

This time, you don’t refrain from scoffing and rolling your eyes, “That's all you have to say? Thought you were a fighter.”

“You want me to get jealous? Is that it?” he accuses then, starting to crack, throwing your scoff back at you, “Tch—should've fucked somebody important then.”

This time, you skip the eye-roll and flat-out laugh instead, “I'll keep that in mind. Next time, I'll call up your dad-”

That did it—got him out of his seat and everything. “Shut your mouth.” Standing big and hunched, all muscles and fury.

And you react in kind. Glad that you’re finally getting somewhere. “Make me.”

"You're fucking–" He clenched his fist in the air, scrunching his face in frustration, withholding a growl before releasing a heavy sigh instead.

Dropping his arms, shoulders slumping—hanging his head the same way whilst mumbling under his breath, “Fuck this… fuck this entire thing.” 

And just as quickly as he’d sprung to his feet, he flopped down on the couch again. 

“I don't wanna play games…” He looks up at you—now with the look of a starved and beaten dog. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

He reaches out slowly—big hands cradling your thighs, pulling you towards him gently, and you let him—put off by that strange new look in his eyes.

“You can fuck half the world, and I'd still only want you.”

It’s an odd confession. Unexpected coming from him. You’d anticipated more of a fight, not whatever this is. Looking at you with glossy eyes on the verge of tears. Suddenly, you feel kind of mean, struck with this sense of guilt for having reduced him to such a state.

“Don't take the high road. It doesn't suit you,” you declare, though without much bite.

And he just sighs, “Fuck that, we’re even now.” Pulling you even closer still—into his lap—he makes you straddle him. Forehead to forehead without kissing you yet. “So, are you gonna let me fuck you, or are you really gonna make me beg?”

And though you would kind of like to see what he’d look like on his knees, the sight of him like this was good enough proof that he’d learned his lesson despite it not being an apology.

Besides, he'd been all too right when he’d said the other guy couldn’t fuck you like him.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Shido ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Uvogin

Sloth is a street urchin.

You volunteer at the homeless shelter and can’t help but feel extra sorry for him. He’s only around your age—so young yet with no future to speak of.

This winter, given it’s going to be an especially harsh one, all volunteers have been asked if they have any spare room they can be so kind as to give to those less fortunate. And though you’re not that well off yourself, you still have an extra room you’ve only been using as storage.

So, unable to look the other way, you decide to clean it out, get a bed, and host him.

You took precautions first, naturally—just to be safe. But, from what you could tell, he’s neither a drug addict nor has any criminal record to speak of. No, he’s just another abandoned kid who'd society had failed.

This is the least you can do to correct its wrongs.

And, of course, he falls in love with you for it. Not only do you give him a place of rest—but you make him warm food, give him fresh clothes, do his laundry, draw his bath, watch movies with him every night, and always ask him if he has everything he needs. You even cut his long, shaggy hair for him and give him luxuries such as face-lotion. 

You’re a saint, too good for a filthy sinner like him, but he’ll never let you know that... No, your pity feels too nice—taking such good care of him—he’s going to leach off of you and your honeycomb heart for the rest of his life if he can help it.

He doesn't look too bad after he cleans up, and after a few more weeks of eating well and getting enough rest—he stops lurching and starts standing up straight, looking lanky and lean with muscle—at which point you can’t deny he’s even a little hot. You know… in that scrappy sort of way.

You feel weird about it, of course—guilty even. He’s a homeless guy you’re housing—you’d be nothing if not downright evil if you took advantage of him. But after a few weeks of settling in, he starts feeling like more of a normal roommate and not a stranger. And with that familiarity, you both lose the distance and become more lax and loose around each other—wearing less, talking casually, not afraid to brush up against each other, and before you even know it, you find yourself folded in half beneath him on the living room couch.

You don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into—but his cock’s so big he’s pounding the sense right out of you with every thrust.

He’s not even going fast. No, rather slow, actually—taking his time as if savoring it. But that doesn't take away from the pleasure bubbling up inside of you where his strokes hit so heavy, resting deep within, so fulfilling that it all but replaces your better judgment with the sole need to squeeze him with all you've got.

“Mh, you’re pussy’s so nice and warm—I could stay inside you forever.”

You’re so wet it’s ridiculous—like never before—like you’re the one who’s been starved and neglected and not the other way around. Getting your breath all but knocked out of you, getting fucked so utterly full, he’s making you kick your feet and curl your toes in the air, bucking your hips back into him like you’re desperately begging for more.

He’s got your knees hooked over his arms, keeping you neatly pressed under him. “You’re so good to me—so, so sweet, you must be the sweetest girl in the whole entire world. My guardian angel.” 

All you’re able to do is babble and moan in return—misty- and cross-eyed with your dewy face cradled in his hands. 

You just hold onto his wrists while he speaks fondly against your lips, “You saved me when no one else even bothered looking. Let me return the favor—give this pretty pussy all the thanks it deserves.”

When he re-angles and hits you in a different spot, the switch in your lower belly is immediate—making your whole body seize up and shiver, breath shuddering in your throat, followed swiftly by a pulse migrating from your core all throughout your body, tasting oversweet on your tongue enough to make you drool. 

He locks lips with yours, slurping your spit up sloppily and keeping himself fully sleaved as you peak—feeling your wet, gummy walls tighten and flutter, rippling along his length like a rush of kisses. 

Then, right before it fully dies down, he picks up the pace again and rekindles it—because fuck knows he’s well-rested and over-due and the farthest thing from done with you just yet.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Suna, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Togame

Gluttony is a five-star chef. 

You start off as a waitress at his restaurant. And yet, he’s the one who developed an appetite—for you and your pleasing smile and that busy-bee swing you have in your hip as you hop around from table to table. 

He licks his lips at the sight of you more than he does the food he makes. He even had the uniforms altered in your image—made the skirts shorter and shirts tighter.

He's utterly shameless, but who can blame him? You’re such a little bite-sized treat—he just has to taste you.

And taste you, he most certainly does. 

For breakfast and for brunch and lunch and dinner and supper, as well as a midnight snack.

“Your pussy juice is my favorite,” he groans from between your legs.

Fat-muscled chef’s arms, tattooed with all types of silly patches, curled tightly around your thighs, keeping you close despite those times you try and push away when it gets to be a little too much—because fuck knows he doesn’t have the same reservations. Nose and tongue and chin deep in your slit, slurping you down while filling you up with his words, “I want to flavor every meal I make with you.”

You keep a hand over your face, kissing your knuckles, sometimes with a bite—whimpering pitifully, “Gross…”

Of course, you can’t help but cringe when he says things like that. He’s your boss, after all, not a porn actor. Still, you don’t say it with much conviction. It’s just that you get so embarrassed you don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles, still with his face buried. “Don’t be childish.” Words muffled as he doubles down on his efforts of sucking on your clit like a piece of candy.

“I’m not,” you whine. “You're just weird.”

He smacks off of you at that, a refreshing sigh leaving him rugged and raspy, a devilish look in his eyes as if he’s about to eat you for real. “I’m a world-renowned chef—are you implying I don’t know my flavors?”

Everything in your gut coils with anticipation, nearly rumbling with need, while he pulls your lower half up and even closer—face glossy with the way he’d gorged himself already—licking his teeth now as he refocuses on your clit alone.

Flattening his tongue on it while he speaks, sounding like some type of beast, “I’ve tasted everything the world has to offer. And I'm telling you, this pretty little thing between your legs is the best there is.”

You can’t stand looking up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you hide your face with both hands. Mumbling out a weak, “Pervert...”

Again, he snickers, shaking his head as if he’s ripping into flesh when he’s really just got his tongue out—straight motorboating your poor pussy.

When done, he drops you onto the bed again, grinning while replying to your insult, “Can’t argue with that,” before promptly kissing and licking up your belly—with fingers replacing his tongue, pumping you on his knuckles, getting you ready. 

He groans when his mouth reaches your chest, lips wrapped around a nipple, “If only these titties had milk. I could feast on you from every position.”

You don’t know if you should giggle or grumble—he’s such a baby—and a spoiled one at that. But really, his fingering is making it difficult to do anything but stammer and try and keep it together, “We talked about this—I’m not taking hormones just to breastfeed you, you weirdo.”

He whines then, “Please—it’s my only wish in the entire world—I need it.”

You struggle to argue, feeling like you’re under siege—an onslaught set out to make you breathless. “Well—” you pant, gritting your teeth and bearing it. “We can’t always get what we want.”

“Oh, I’ll see about that.” He takes it as a challenge, this time really locking his lips around your nipple and suckling—releasing just briefly to say, “I bet if I suck on these babies enough, they’ll give me what I want.”

He keeps his fingers working diligently while at it—used to multitasking—curling and spreading them out within you, pumping you so fast, you barely have the time to beg him to “Stop that—” before you’re already shaking and cumming for what must be the seventh time already.

He laughs breathily, kissing your teat goodbye as he lifts himself up again. Pulling his fingers out of you, he brings them to his lips and blithely sucks them off. 

“You know I can’t stop, dear. I’m so hungry—I’m ravenous.”

You watch him from over the tips of your fingers. So hot and mortified you think you’re soon to pass out. Breathing heavily behind your hands, muttering, “You’re a glutton—that’s what you are.”

Again, he just cheerfully snickers, bowing down to your halfway-hidden face with a smile. “I hardly see how it’s my fault I can’t get enough of you.” 

He spreads your legs again and finds his place between them.

“You’re the one who got me hooked—so you better take responsibility for it.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Todo ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Ukai ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ HxH – Uvogin ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Lust is your boss. He's the owner of the strip club where you work, your pimp when money’s tight, as well as the porndirector of all your lovely little films.

Yeah, you might as well have a tramp stamp of his name on your ass, the way he practically owns you…

He's around ten years older and has basically taught you all about sex from when you were only a fledgling in the industry. You live at his studio above the club since he keeps all your money in a bank account under his name, calling you his little sugarbaby and telling you you’ll get an allowance and that you can get more if and when you ask him nicely and tell him what it’s for. 

“Don’t be a brat, baby. You know how I hate it when you're a bad girl,” he says when you raise the topic of moving out, treating it as if you’re a child threatening to run away from home.

“I don’t belong to you. Give me what you owe me.”

Honestly, you have no idea where you got the courage. 

But is it courage? Or is it just plain stupidity? Because, though you’re increasingly more terrified as you quickly watch him lose his temper, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. And so, if you knew this is what was going to happen—why the fuck would you put yourself through it?

Must be madness.

“I give you everything, don't I? Food, clothes, a home,” he chastises, bearing over you while you’re down on scuffed knees, holding your wrist in a bruising grip and your face just as fiercely—nearly tearing the skin off your cheeks with the bite of his nails.

“And still, you have the fucking nerve to act like a goddamn bitch.”

You hiccup on sobs, spluttering out a desperate “Please—I’m sorry–”

"You and your entire slut body belong to me, you understand that?"

"Yes-yes—please—I'm sorry! You're right! I belong to you! I'm sorry!"

That seems to calm him just a bit—at least enough to take the bite away from his voice, now cooing at you in an ugly mocking attempt at sweetness, “Yeah, you do every single little thing I ask. ‘Cause if you’re not gonna behave like a good girl, I have no other choice but to treat you like a bad one.”

He lets your audience be rowdier than usual that night, allowing them to slap and grab, then forces you to have an extra rough shoot afterward—with tighter bondage, more toys, bigger guys making use of you like a piece of meat, smacking and choking you as they find out how many cocks your holes can fit, every last one finishing on your face.

Then, when you’re all done and all used up for the day, he brings you upstairs—home, sweet home—where he treats you to some much-unwanted after-care...

You shiver and shake despite the hot water. Sitting in the bathtub, laying back with your spine against his chest, feeling thin like a sheet of paper, all crumbled up and torn—sniffling and sniveling as the after-shock of the day still ricochets through you like wind through a hollow husk.

“The shoot today was rough, huh?” he drawls, washing you with his own hands. Stroking your poor sore cunt despite how it makes you whimper. “Yeah... was it a little too rough for you, hm?” 

You don’t do anything in return—but your body language says enough on its own, and he allows it to be your answer.

Sighing heavily, he wraps you up with both arms and squeezes you tighter, chin resting atop your head.

“You know… if you’d just be my good girl, I’d give you a good girl to-do list. Let you stay here all day, do some house chores while I’m gone, make love when I get home, hm? Doesn’t that sound better?”

He traces a welted bruise on the inside of your thigh, one you got from the shoot—roughly the shape of a hand, and a dozen more others layered on top of it. It makes you suck in a hiss.

“But if you’re gonna be a bad girl, then this is what you get.” 

He settles into the grove of your neck, purring against your ear. “Are you gonna be my good girl from now on? Hm?”

You bite your lip, breath shuddering while nodding pitifully.

And still, he insists, “Say it so I can hear it.”

The water’s gone cold around you—just like everything else, as you say, “I’ll be a good girl.”

He seems pleased, at least. Nuzzling against your cheek with chin stubble and a smirk, asking, “Yeah? Whose?”

Your voice is small and pathetic, nearly a wince, “Yours.”

He groans then, “That’s right. My good girl.” Lifting his hand from the water, he takes hold of your chin, fingers pressing into those designated sore spots as he angles your face toward him and gives you a heartless kiss before growling against your lips, “And don’t you ever fucking dare forget it again.”

After he’s finished washing you up, he carries you out to bed. It's one you fear much more than the one down in the studio.

Because in this bed, just like every night in this hellhole… he starts teaching every last one of your holes who they belong to.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Reo, Shido, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

Envy is your enemy. 

Or, well, no, he’s not your enemy, but you’re most certainly his enemy. 

You’re just not aware of it because of what a ditzy and clueless airhead you are. 

But fuck, he can’t stand you—you and your fake personality, acting all bubbly and sweet, cheering him on, always telling him to do his best—condescending little bitch acting like everyone’s friend—like he doesn’t see through you right to your rotten core. You don’t fool him—he knows you’re as bad as the rest of them, so just quit pretending like you’re better or something.

You’re under the false impression that the two of you are friends. You just think he has a strange sense of humor, but you laugh politely even when you don’t always get the joke.

Well, maybe it’s not so much politeness, but the fact that you have a big fat hopeless crush on him.

It infuriates him. He throws your niceties back in your face as insults, and you just laugh. How low do you think of him? Honestly? How tall is that high horse of yours that you have your head constantly in the clouds?

Poor you… you just think he’s so cool—always saying what he feels like, not a lame people-pleasing goodie-two-shoes such as yourself. You can’t help but follow him around like a lost puppy all day long. You’re always making sure you sit next to him during lectures—heart almost beating out of your chest, holding back from squealing when your prayers are answered, and the two of you are finally paired for a project together. 

It really feels like the universe is on your side, and so you just can’t stop yourself from going the full mile—making chocolates and preparing him a hand-written love letter. You know he’ll think you’re a little silly, that he’ll make fun of you for it—but you can’t expect to get anywhere without putting your heart on the line, can you? For a chance at love, the risk must be worth it!

Yeah, you’re such a hopeless romantic—you feel it as he punches his fist through your ribs when he rips out your poor heart and stomps all over it. 

“I fucking get it already! You’re little miss pretty and popular. Would you quit rubbing it in my face, or do I really have to spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Fucking. Like. You,” he seethes through grit teeth. “Go pick another one of the hundreds dying to be your partner and leave me the fuck alone!”

You shrink where you stand, shocked doe-eyes rapidly welling up like a flood, lips wobbling as you choke on your words, “Oh… okay… I’m sorry… I just… I–”

“You-you-you what?” he barks at your stuttering. “Spit it out already! What the fuck do you want?”

“I just-I-I just always thought you were amazing. So…”

His face contorts, scrunches up in a grimace different from anger, though not without it, as he spits out, “What the fuck are you on about now?”

But his voice is a little diminished now, with confusion usurping the place of his hate, suddenly feeling a little out of sorts because… what did you actually just say?

“I just, I really like you–” you repeat, hanging your head, only barely able to mumble through the tears blocking your throat. “But I guess I’ve just annoyed you all this time—I’m sorry...” 

Only now does he notice you’re trying to hand him something—a flat little box with a pink note attached. 

“This is for you, but I understand if you don’t want it.” Unable to look up, you just stretch your arms out until it gently bumps into him. 

Baffled, he accepts without thinking.

“I’m sorry—I’ll leave you alone from now on.” And then you run off, disappearing with a sob that all but shoots him through the chest.

And slowly bleeding out, he remains standing there, eyes glued to where you'd left—mouthing the word what…

What did you just say? 

Like? Him?

Did he mishear you, or did you just confess? 

No way—that can’t be it, right? 

But what the fuck is this heart-shaped letter, then?

"What the fuck did I just do?"

You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out all night the next day—your usual bubbly personality reduced to a ghost in a shell, walking the hallways like a zombie, slowly and without purpose, eyes on the ground—letting everyone bump into you.

You don't even so much as bat an eye when someone runs straight over you, fully knocking all your books and folders onto the floor. 

You just get on your knees and start recollecting them.

A newfound hate flares up within him at the sight. “Hey, you!" He stomps over. "Watch where the fuck you’re going next time, dipshit.” 

You look up at the sound of his voice—flinching before you notice it’s not directed at you.

No, rather, he’s got a boy up against the lockers, lifted by his collar onto the tip of his toes. Face only a few inches from his, glaring at him harsher than he’d glared at you yesterday.

“Now apologize to the girl before I punch your ugly face in.”

You stare at the altercation with large eyes, only able to blink as the boy who’d bumped into you starts spluttering on the verge of tears, “I–I’m sorry–I didn’t see you! Sorry!”

You don’t answer. Shocked and speechless, you remain on the floor in confusion, asking yourself why’s he doing this? Didn’t he cuss you out yesterday, or was it all a bad dream like you'd hoped?

He throws the boy on his way, then gets on his knees down alongside you—proceeding to help you gather your things.

You only watch on in wordless bewilderment until he starts muttering something under his breath.

“I’m sorry I made you cry yesterday.” He stacks all your things in a neat pile next to you while continuing his apology. “And for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

He keeps his eyes fixed to the floor where his hands busily roam around until there was nothing more to retrieve.

He then hesitantly looks up at you—eyes flittering—a little too ashamed to hold your gaze as he says, “Your chocolates were really good.”

That’s when your heart starts fluttering again—as if new life was just breathed in and revived it.

He can see it as well—how you light up like a rekindled candle.

“They were?” you gush, shuffling closer on your knees all excitedly—face brighter than the sun on cloudfree summer day.

It blinds him—nearly stunts him, only able to utter a meager, almost shy, “Yeah.”

He then slings his bag in front of him and pulls something out.

A lunchbox. 

“I made you these..." he swallows thickly. "As an apology…”

He’s utterly red—from the tips of his ears to his neck and entire face, even his hands.

“For me?”

“Yeah..." He reaches it over stiffly. “They’re not as good as yours, though...”

You eagerly accept despite his nervousness, popping the lid off where the two of you sit—right there in the middle of the hallway floor, with other students walking around you like water passing two rocks in a stream.

His blush grows ever more intense as you pick one of his crudely made chocolates up, not even examining it before throwing one into your mouth.

It was his first time making anything that required a recipe. And they most certainly did not come out well, but he figured the embarrassment was part of his atonement.

He didn’t actually expect you to try them.

But there you are—lying through your teeth, saying, “I think they’re great!”

He can only scoff out a soft laugh. “Of course you would.” 

Turns out, you really are just a nice person after all. You don’t have the heart to be mean at all, do you? Yeah, you don’t even have it in you to feel any of the ugly things he keeps inside. In fact, he bets you don’t even have the means of knowing such ugly things exist.

That must be what he’s envied about you all this time…

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Shinso ♡ JJK – virgin Sukuna, Megumi ♡ HQ – Tsukishima ♡ BLLK – Rin, Sae ♡ DS – Genya

Greed is your clingy childhood friend. 

He doesn’t want to share you with anyone and gets viscerally jealous each time you hang out with others. It’s as if he feels boils rising beneath his skin, simmering with a violent need to kill anyone and everyone you ever come into contact with—even if it’s just a passerby who accidentally brushes against you.

He can’t stand other people—how they think they can just come along and be your friend when he’s been your friend since you both were in diapers. What? Do they really expect him to share you with them? Just like that? No way. You’re his best friend. They should all go find themselves their own.

Actually, the term best friend doesn’t even really cut it… It’s a little too childish. You’ve both grown out of it. And besides, it never really fully encompassed what the two of you actually are to each other. You’re so much more than just friends, after all. Yeah, what you really are is soulmates. Yeah, that sounds more right. Soulmates.

And the bond between soulmates is like the bond between an addict and their favorite drug. You wouldn’t ask an addict to share his favorite drug, now would you? No. Not unless you’re prepared to either kill or be killed.

But he can’t say he blames them for wanting you, either. Of course, they’d want you—anyone would.

He pities them, actually. And you make it no better for the poor suckers, stringing them all along—acting as if there’s enough of you to go around. Well, there just isn’t. And even if there was, he shouldn't have to share you with anyone.

Yeah, the problem here is you. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand that you’re his. 

Well… seems like he’ll just have to teach you once and for all, now, doesn’t it?

“What’s… this?” you mumble groggily once you wake, sluggishly tugging your bound wrists—not yet aware of what they are. Your eyes blow wide once you do—voice turning sharply frantic, “What’s happening?”

“We’re having a play date like we used to.” He comes into view just as the panic sets in—and though his face has all the familiarity to be a sign of comfort, his words evoke no such feeling within you.

“Remember? How we used to play house?" he says. "Granted, we're a little older now… so I thought I’d change it up a bit.”

He stands before the bed you’re currently lying tied down on. But he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s something very wrong about all of him. Seeming way too at ease for the situation.

“Instead of making mud pies…” he continues. “I'm gonna fuck you and give you a creampie.”

Your heart lurches up into your throat at his words, and you choke. Your clothes from the day have been removed, leaving you naked. You spot them lying on the floor in a heap while you spastically look around for clues as to “What the fuck’s going on? This isn’t funny–”

“Shut up,” he says—his demeanor still as nonchalant as he climbs on top of you and pushes something past your lips, nudging it deep down in your throat.

Feeling it as it scrapes your tongue, you can tell it’s your lace panties, and you gag—shaking your head, trying to dislodge both it and his fingers, but he holds you steady.

“I have things to say. So, be a good friend and listen.”

You start crying then—brows cinched as you look up at him in terror, full-tremoring now while struggling under his weight and the all-too-intimate way he starts touching you.

“I'm glad you’re still a virgin…” he suddenly says, running his hands down your breasts, catching your nipples between his fingers.

You twist in disgust, halfway convinced you’re having some godawful fucked up dream—that this just can’t be happening—but somehow, at the same time, something deep in your gut that’s been lying there for a while ignored by your kind heart doesn't find it completely without warning, having felt how strange he'd been acting as of late—always looking at you a certain way and saying certain concerning things—certain concerning things he’s saying right now, “I’d kill all those little toy friends of yours if you were ever so stupid to let them have it.”

He glares at you—looking every bit angry, and yet you can’t describe it exactly. Something about that look in his eyes makes him seem like a complete stranger to you. Then he cracks a smile, and it makes it all the worse. Bowing down until his forehead presses clean against yours, noses rubbing against each other.

“But I think you knew. Didn’t you? Knew how it wouldn’t be right. Knew it was mine to take.”

He shuffles backward until he’s separating your thighs instead of straddling your waist. And you croak with an especially full-chested sob as his touches travel further down along with him—with savage goosebumps running rampant across your body once he rubs his thumb crassly over your slit.

“You see?” his breath shudders in his throat—thick with something mortifying that’s bound to ruin you forever. “It’s so happy to see me.”

You whine and scramble, trying to force your thighs shut—but he has the upper hand—keeping you spread with his body while two of his fingers slip through your lips and bully themselves inside.

He pumps them in and out with zero regard to how you recoil—only sneering at the way you worm in disgust, “At least your pussy understands where its loyalties lie.”

It’s not long before his ministrations draw wetness, and he pulls them out—inspecting them in the dim light he’s left on. Rubbing the digits together before putting them in his mouth.

You close your eyes with a whimper while listening to the sickening sounds of him sucking them clean.

He puts both hands around your neck next. He doesn't squeeze hard, but your breath stops nonetheless. Eyes stinging with both spent and still-welling tears.

“I’m upset with you,” he states, brushing his lips over your parted ones, still stuffed and silenced with your own underwear. “But I’ll forgive you if you apologize and swear to me that you meant it when you said we’d be friends forever.”

That look in his eyes—you still can’t explain it. Desperate, desolate, deranged, and enraged—something downright sick.

“But since you can’t talk right now, you’ll have to prove it some other way...”

One of the hands disappears, and you hear the following sounds of a zipper being undone, then the rustling of his pants being shoved down.

“Cum on my cock, and I’ll know.”

The room tastes of blood and something rotten as he frees his cock and graces your clit.

“Actions speak louder than words anyway, after all, don’t they? So cum on my cock, and I’ll cum in your pussy, so we can seal our friendship again—just like the time we married each other on the playground.” 

He enters you, and you think you might just die in the mix of horror and grief.

And yet you remain perfectly alive—even as he rips through you and splits both you and your heart apart.

“You can think of this as the honeymoon,” he whispers. “Always and forever, happily ever after, never apart.”

♡ BNHA – Deku ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Tendou ♡ BLLK – Bachira ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist