S.O.S | Gojo Satoru

Spades

Dabi x reader Part Two of Russian Roulette 6.6k words Noncon, Stalking, Kidnapping, praise kink, fear kink, possessive Dabi

Dabi can't seem to forget about you, and he doesn't understand why. The very thought of you angers and confuses him, though soon his irritation with you morphs into something more dangerous. You have no idea how much further your life is about to become entangled with his own.

Dabi doesn’t know why he comes back after the last time, or why he continues to watch you. In his mind, he already got what he wanted. Your fear, your submission, was laid out so deliciously in front of him for the taking. 

He should have felt satisfied. He did at first, he supposes. And yet, he finds himself coming back, continuing to watch you. The thoughts of you still dominate his thoughts, consuming him, and distracting him from his goals. 

Soon enough he climbs in through your window yet again, while you're at work. You didn’t go to the police or the heroes after he broke in last time, probably out of fear he muses, but you were at least smart enough to place new locks throughout the place. That of course didn’t work, the lock on the window melting easily under the heat of Dabi’s hand. Whether or not you notice this, he doesn’t care. What would you even do to stop him?

He snoops around through your home as much as he pleases, again not caring in the slightest if you notice anything out of place. He’s curious as to what he can find out about you, though to what end he doesn’t quite understand. 

Eventually, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, the wooden frame creaking under him, the only sound resonating in the room. He looks around at the four walls of your bedroom, taking mental notes of your decorating choices, and your sparse furniture.

He still doesn’t know what to make of you, to his growing frustration.

Leaning back against the soft covers and pillows, he sighs, almost agitatedly. He brings a hand up to the pillow near his head, thumbing the soft, silky flange edge of it. Bringing the pillow to his face, he inhales deeply, taking in your scent. The smell brings back the memory of how soft your skin felt against his, the delightful and fearful noises you made underneath him. His cock twitches in his pants at the mental image, getting hard as he reminisces.  

He debates doing something about the growing tightness in his pants before simply saying, ”Fuck it.” As he deftly undoes his pants and palms his erection. The thought of how you would react to him touching himself in your bed, to the depravity of the act he’s committing while you’re not home, is what really gets him going. 

The thought of you possibly walking in, seeing the villain in your room, and the fear that would be in your eyes, has him groaning as a thick bead of precum runs down the head of his cock. He thumbs the bead, running his hand over the slit as he hisses in pleasure, his mind racing. 

He continues to thrust up into his hand fervently at the thought of you, how warm you felt around him, how addicting your fear and submission were. He thinks about taking you again, what he’d do next time. The ideas run through his head as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

Dabi thinks of your soft body and your pupils blown wide with a mix of fear and pleasure, as he closes his eyes and pretends it's you he’s thrusting up into right now, imagining how you would clench around his cock. The sounds of your moans replay over and over in his mind. He imagines you begging for him, begging for him to fuck you, for him to not fuck you. 

Within minutes, he’s spilling all over his hand as he reaches his climax. 

He tucks himself messily back inside his pants, still not feeling satisfied. If anything, he’s feeling even more frustrated, even more angry. He can’t afford to have distractions like this, and he doesn’t like having some insignificant person consume his mind like this. He’s already gotten what he wanted from you, so why is he here? 

Shigaraki and the rest of the League have started to take notice of the fact that his mind has been elsewhere as of late, and they’ve noticed his increasing absences as well, though they couldn’t have any ideas as to why. If only they knew.

He realizes he’s still gripping your pillow with one hand as he grits his teeth in frustration. He heats his hand, scorching and burning the fabric edge of the pillow, the smell of burnt cotton wafting through the air. Let you see this, see the evidence of his presence in your home. He hopes you notice, hoping it ignites more fear in you. It’s what you deserve for the increasingly suffocating hold you have over his mind.

Standing up lazily, he redoes his belt. He should be getting back soon, additionally, you’ll be home soon. As much as he would love to take his frustrations out on you right now, he needs to come up with some sort of plan. Something to quell his burning thoughts. Ideas swim around in his head as thinks of what to do next. 

Someone has been in your home. You know Dabi has been watching you still, and the melted lock and scorched pillow make it apparent that he’s been inside as well. Your stomach turns and you shudder as you examine the burnt fabric. He was on your bed if the ruffled and messy duvet cover was any indication. 

Fear rolls over you, making your vision blur and your body tremble as you stand there at the edge of your bed, holding the pillow. You don’t know why you didn’t go to the authorities after he broke in that first time, maybe from fear of retribution or maybe a naively placed hope he would leave you be. You now realize that optimism was false, as your breathing starts to quicken. 

You don’t understand what he wants with you, why does he continue to haunt every corner of your life? He’s in every shadow caught out of the corner of your eye, in every slightly out-of-place object around your home, every unknown number that calls. All innocuous things before, now fill you with anxiety and doubt. 

What does he plan to do to you, it’s obvious he hasn’t forgotten about you, nor is he seemingly keen on leaving you alone. 

You don’t think he’s going to kill you, considering how he didn’t when he had the chance. But then again, maybe he’s toying with you, drawing out as much fear as he can before finishing you off. You don’t know what to expect and it makes your head spin. 

Supposing you can’t do anything to stop him, you drop the pillow back to the bed, sighing tiredly. You could go to the police, you think to yourself. Maybe that’s what you should do, what any sane person would do in this situation. Maybe the heroes could help. You stop that train of thought quickly though, no he would know if you did something like that, and it would surely only serve to further piss him off.

You have no other option than to continue living your life as if you don’t have a villain shadowing your every move. It's a terrifying and oppressive weight on your shoulders. 

Still, yet, you can’t help how your pulse quickens and your thighs press together when you remember that night he woke you. The memory of how he fucked you well and good into your sofa can’t seem to leave your mind. On more than one occasion since then, you’ve found yourself waking up in a sweat, wetness forming between your legs from the dreams replaying the event. When you wake like this you can’t help but wonder if he’s watching you at that moment, if he’s somewhere in your home. You’re often tempted to reach down between your legs and relieve the tension but the idea of his piercing eyes on you stops you from doing so.

It frustrates you to no end, how he invades your mind, his ominous presence constantly weighing on you, even when he couldn’t possibly be watching you. 

In the weeks following, you’ve done your own research into Dabi, reading every news article and watching every news story about the infamous villain. You know he’s possibly tied to a string of murders throughout the area, crime scenes reduced to ash, bodies so badly burnt that dental records are needed to identify the victims. You find yourself reduced to nausea at these stories. 

Your own immunity to fire doesn’t give you any feelings of ease or safety, if anything it makes you feel as if you have a prominent target on your back now. After all, that’s why he first sought you out right? Because you didn’t burn to death when you first encountered him. You shudder remembering the fury he showed as his face twisted into a snarl at that moment when he couldn’t reduce you to cinders like he so obviously wanted to. His anger felt all-consuming, you’ve never seen anything like it before then. You don’t think simply standing up to him at that moment was the crux of his anger, no, while it did certainly anger him, he was pissed because of your quirk. Your very existence was an act of defiance to him. At least that was your latest hypothesis for why he continues to stalk you. 

You don’t even bother to change the smelted lock on the window, if he wants in he’ll just break it again, and then you’ll have evidence of another intrusion, and you don’t think your psyche can handle it. 

Instead, you continue to go about your life as if you’re ignorant to his presence. You keep your head low and act as if nothing is wrong, not doing anything to draw more attention to yourself, and hopefully, nothing to worsen the situation. You continue to catch small signs of his presence, you know he hasn’t left you alone or forgotten about you. 

He hasn’t gone out of his way to approach you again, though, and after a few weeks, you start to wonder if you’re being paranoid. Maybe he has finally left you alone and everything that you think is evidence of his presence is your own fear and anxiety messing with your head. 

No, you remind yourself, he was definitely in your home, that melted lock and burnt pillow were more than enough evidence of that. 

You find yourself going back and forth on this, whether or not he’s really still watching you or whether you're going crazy. Part of you hopes it’s just your anxiety and fear, but another part of you doesn’t like the idea of all this just being in your head. Until one day, you have the undeniable proof he’s still present. 

You’re at work when he makes contact again. You work at some small grocery store in a less favorable part of town. The story is small and kind of shabby, and the produce is overpriced for how subpar quality it is. Not to mention, you think you’ve seen mice in the back before, not that the manager seems to care. You don’t particularly like this job but it pays the bills at the very least.

A new order comes in that day, and you soon find yourself behind the store, hauling crates from the truck with one of the few other employees scheduled that day. He’s a new hire, only having started here a few weeks ago. He’s been nice enough, if not...too nice at times. His overt friendly attitude has veered toward flirtatiousness recently, and you don’t know how to feel about it. Maybe if you didn’t have so much on your mind as of late, you would enjoy the positive attention. 

He’s hardworking at least, and he doesn’t cross the line into making you feel uncomfortable. You do think that regardless, he’d make a good friend. 

You attempt to pick up a particularly heavy crate of produce, straining to lift it. 

“Hey, lemme get that, I got it.” Your coworker says, taking the load from you. His hands linger on yours as he grabs it. “Don’t strain yourself.” He says with a wink.

You can’t help but huff a laugh as you thank him. He carries the crate into the back portion of the store, leaving you alone in the alleyway. You go to grab the next box that needs to be taken inside, hoping this one will be easier to carry. Before you can though, your phone vibrates in your pocket. 

Pulling it out to see what it is, your face pales and you almost drop your phone entirely when you see the message across your screen.

[Unknown number]

I don’t like the way he looks at you. Don’t let him touch you again.

There’s no doubt in your mind at all who this is from. Is he watching you right now? Your eyes dart around the area looking for any heavily scarred arsonists who could be looking at you. These alleys seem empty, with not a soul in sight. He must be watching you though, what else could he be referring to? Your heart thumps in your chest so hard you can feel it in your ears. 

Before you can spiral into a panic, your coworker comes back out, ready to grab some more loads. He seems to notice your frightened expression soon enough. 

“Hey is everything alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.” His eyes seemed filled with genuine concern.

You stammer, looking for the right words, you know you can't explain your situation, so instead you’ll have to come up with some excuse. He places a firm hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture, as he asks again if you’re okay.

Aware of the fact that Dabi must be watching right now, his message still replaying in your mind, you remove his hand with your own and attempt to play it off. 

“Oh yeah I’m fine, a rat ran out over my feet as I lifted a box, gave me a real scare.” You say with a humorless chuckle. You don’t know how convincing it may seem but it's all you can come up with right now. 

Luckily, he seems to buy it. “Oh ew, yeah they seem to be frequent flyers whenever we get new orders, huh? The owner doesn’t care about the quality of the places he’s ordering from.” 

He picks up the box in front of you and speaks again, “I can get these last few boxes if you wanna go inside, it’s a slow day and you could use the break.” 

Still shaken up, you agree. As you head inside, your phone buzzes yet again. You check it again with a trembling hand, already knowing who it probably is. 

[Unknown number]

I’ll kill him if he puts his hand on you like that again. I don’t share what’s mine, doll.

If there was any doubt before as to who was texting you, it’s gone now. This is Dabi, without question. The idea that he knows where you work, that he somehow got your number, makes you shiver in fear. He really hadn’t left you alone at all. Your breath quickens as it feels like you can’t get enough oxygen, your throat constricting. 

Your heart beats heavily in your chest, what does he want with you? It was bad enough before, but now he seems to have some notion that he has a claim on you. That no one else could touch you, or make a move on you. This instills both a sense of fear and anger in you. 

In a sudden moment of audacious boldness, you pull up the keyboard on your phone and type back a short message. 

I’m not yours. You don’t own me.

You immediately regret it the moment after you hit ‘send’. You can’t take it back now, and you might only piss him off with your words. You shouldn’t even be engaging with him, he’s one of the most wanted terrorists in Japan, for god's sake. 

Within seconds, your phone vibrates again as he responds to you.

Oh really? We’ll see about that

Dread twists in your gut and your hairs stand on end as you read his reply. What does he mean by that? What is he planning? He’s obviously going to do something if his text is any indication. You regret replying to him at all, you fear you’ve only made things worse by doing so. If there’s one thing you’ve realized about Dabi, it’s that he doesn’t like resistance or anything challenging him.

You choose not to reply again, instead putting away your phone, and distracting your racing mind with work. You feel helpless to do anything to change your current predicament, all you can do is try not to focus on it, otherwise, you might start panicking. You silently pray that everything will turn out okay.

Dabi has been watching you still yet, even at times watching you at work when he could. His obsessive thoughts about you haven’t gone anywhere, you still consume his mind entirely. He doesn’t know why and he doesn’t quite know what he wants to do with you yet. You still frustrate him ceaselessly. He started to think maybe he hated you, for how you’re ever present in his thoughts, but then he saw how your irritating coworker looked at you, how he seemed to take every opportunity he could to touch you. He felt an entirely new form of anger rising in him. 

Whether he continues to toy with you, whether he fucks you again, or whether he decides to kill you, you're his and his alone. He doesn’t know when he started to mentally think of you as ‘his’ but he has and he’ll be damned if someone else will touch what’s rightfully his. The urge to kill the coworker is overwhelmingly strong at the present moment. 

He takes out his current burner phone and sends you a cryptic message as he watches you from the shadows of the twisting alleyways. You’ll probably be wondering how he got your number, once you realize who sent the message. It was all too easy to sneak go through your phone while you slept just a few feet away, as he committed all your most personal information to memory. Your peacefully sleeping face looked so cute and innocent to his presence. 

Judging by the spooked look on your face, you immediately know it was him who sent the text. You look around the alley, searching for any sign of your stalker. You won’t spot him of course, Dabi has had years to learn how to blend into the shadows, the hidden nooks and crannies of winding alleys and dilapidated buildings. 

That annoying pest of a man comes out again, even puts his hand on your shoulder, and Dabi sees red. It takes everything in him to not burn him alive right then. He knows that he needs to act patiently. It won’t do him well to rush things, and he thinks killing someone in front of you might give you the final push to run straight to the authorities, and that would only complicate things further with you. He can kill that annoying man later he supposes. 

He is pleased with how quickly you remove his hand from your shoulder, though. Good, he likes when you do what you’re told. You’re a lot more endearing when you listen without contesting him. 

He sends you another text after he sees you walking inside, wishing he could watch your face as you read it. He still finds your fear absolutely delightful. He’s spent many nights at this point rutting into his hand as he closes his eyes and imagines your frightful expressions. He’s surprised though when his phone chimes as you reply to him, not expecting you to reply at all. 

I’m not yours. You don’t own me.

A scowl forms on his face as a displeased expression forms. He furrows his eyebrows as he considers your words. Of course you’re his, even if you don’t want to be. You were his from the moment you failed to die by his quirk, even if he didn’t think of you as his at the time. Your text irritates him yet again, you have the nerve to preoccupy his thoughts constantly and then to try and deny him. Oh no, that simply won’t do. He’ll show you who you belong to, and he’ll make it really clear so there won’t be any more mistakes or misunderstandings about the matter.  

His hands shake in aggravation as he sends you another response, before pocketing his phone. He lits a cigarette as he walks away, hoping to calm his irate mood. Plans are already starting to come together in his head. 

The rest of your day passes in a haze, as you try to distract yourself from the overwhelming anxiety and fear that’s plaguing your mind. Work is monotonous enough to serve to keep your thoughts preoccupied. You don’t want to focus on any of the things going on in your life right now. You feel as if you’ll break down if you let your fear take hold at this moment.

After work, once you get home, you find something to do around the house, completing every and any chore you can think of, anything to keep you busy. This keeps you distracted well into the evening. 

 Sleep overcomes you easily that night, you’re exhausted and desperate to turn your brain off. 

Your sleep is dreamless and uneventful until you slowly start to come to the sensation of something hot and wet moving between your legs. Consciousness comes to you slowly as you lift your heavy eyelids, and you start to realize you’re not dreaming as you feel hair brushing up against your inner thighs. Your blurry eyes try to focus in the darkened room as you make out the figure in front of you. The first thing you see is a head full of soft black hair as you feel another long wet drag against your cunt. 

You let out a sharp gasp as your hips jolt. Strong hands go to grip you, holding you in place, as Dabi lifts his head to meet your gaze, his eyes piercing straight through you from where he sits between your legs. 

“So you’re awake now? Took you long enough, baby.” He speaks in that same rough voice you remember and he then flattens his tongue against you, taking another long, firm drag. You bite back a noise as you begin to squirm. His hands grip you tighter, keeping you firmly on his face. You can see now that he took your shorts off while you slept, your underwear hooked around one ankle now. He appears to have also taken his own jacket off. 

“W-why?” You’re not sure what question you’re even asking, but in your still hazy state, it's all you seem to be able to manage. 

He lifts his head again, his eyes filled with lust at the moment, and something devious as well. 

“You said weren’t mine, that you don’t belong to me. I’m here to prove you wrong.” He nips at the delicate skin of your inner thigh as he speaks, pulling another noise past your lips. You try to push away from him, but he quickly pins your hips down as he gives you a dangerous look. 

“I won’t hesitate to chain you to this bed if you don’t behave. Do you want that?” He asks darkly, and you fervently shake your head. “Good, I thought so.” 

He moves his mouth back down, working his tongue over your clit as you slowly lose your mind. You can’t help the noises you make as your legs start to tremble in his grasp. He seems to know exactly how to move his tongue against you, the wet squelching of his mouth against you as he eats you out, and your quiet moans are the only noises in the room. 

The pleasure starts to grow, and as you feel the heat building up in your gut, you can’t but grind your hips against him. Your fingers twitch as you look for something to grasp onto and you can’t seem to stop yourself before gripping his hair. Luckily he doesn’t seem to mind, groaning low against your clit as you pull on his hair. His dark hair is surprisingly soft in your hands and every time you yank it, he lets out another low noise. 

Sparks of white start to flash behind your eyelids, as you near your climax. You’re fully grinding against him now, riding his face in earnest as your noises become more desperate. You’re so close and he seems to know it. 

He continues his ministrations for a moment longer, bringing you to the very edge, but before you can come, he pulls away abruptly. 

You feel as if you could cry, your frustrations are obvious, and your cunt aches from the sudden lack of attention. 

“Please, please, I was so close!” You find yourself begging despite your own sense of pride. Your voice is shaky as you whine. You don’t want this, not really, but his mouth felt so good against you. You feel conflicted and torn.

Dabi presses his lips to your inner leg again. “Mhm, as much as I love the sound of you begging like that, I don’t think I’m gonna let you come yet.” He pulls back, smirking at how your lip trembles and the desperation in your eyes.

“That was just to warm you up some, I want you to do something for me first, baby.” 

You look up at him apprehensively as you sniffle. ”...What?” You’re nervous as to what he wants or what he plans to do. If he simply wanted to fuck you, he would. After the thing with the gun last time, you can only imagine what else he would do. 

He grips your waist, pulling you up into a sitting position wordlessly as he sits back on his haunches. Even sitting up, you still have to look up to meet his eyes, his presence still intimidating and frightening as ever. He seems to have a constant dark aura about him.

He looks at you for a moment, leaning back more as he speaks.

“Take off my belt.” It’s a simple yet commanding sentence, his voice husky and low, his tone very obviously leaving no room for debate. It’s not a request, it’s an order.

Not wanting to see what he’ll do if you refuse, you reach for his belt with shaking hands, undoing it quickly as he watches you from above with that intense gaze of his. 

Soon enough, you’re sliding the belt off of him, letting it drop to the bed. Before you can look to him to see what wants you to do now, he speaks.

“Undo my pants next.” You meet his eyes, which are now heavily lidded with desire. You think you know where this is going if your intuition is correct. As you unbutton his pants and pull the zipper down, you can see that he’s straining against his boxers, a spot already forming from precum. 

One of his strong hands goes to grip your hair, as the other reaches to pull his cock free. He’s large and girthy, and the same piercings you remember from last time gleam in the low lighting. 

He pulls you down close to his crotch, forcing you to arch your back for him. A thumb comes to pull at your bottom lip, going to swipe across the tip of your tongue. 

"You ready to open that pretty mouth for me, baby?" He speaks in a low almost murmur as he hooks a finger in your mouth. “I said before that you were a natural cockwhore, I wanna test that out now.” 

His hand pulls you closer to him, the hand on your jaw letting go to hold his cock, the hand in your hair staying firmly put. He brings the tip of it up to your lips. You want to refuse on principle but he’s obviously not going to take no for an answer. He smears precum across your lips, before firmly tapping your cheek.

 “And don’t even think about biting, I’ll snap your pretty little neck so fast.” He looks at you with an intensity that has your breath nearly catching in your throat, and his eyes bore down into yours. You frown slightly, you weren’t that stupid to piss off the murderer situated above you. 

“I wasn’t going to,” You speak in a quiet but firm voice, your own boldness surprising you as you continue, “I was actually thinking what kind of freak gets his dick pierced.” 

Dabi barks out a sudden and rough laugh at your words. “Yeah I’m a sick freak, but you already knew that about me, doll.” The hand in your hair tightens considerably as he presses the head of his cock to your lips again, his voice dropping into something dangerous. “Now suck.” 

You decide against making any other smart remarks, instead opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out experimentally, giving the tip a small lick. 

“Just like that, baby.” He says in a throaty voice as he pushes the head of his cock past your lips, forcing you to open wider. His precum is salty on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him tight. Your hands go to the tops of his thighs to steady yourself, as you take another inch of his length into your mouth. Both his hands tangle into your hair as he uses his hold on you to thrust into you slowly, letting you get accustomed to his size. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good.” He groans above you, and his praise has your stomach fluttering. You start to work your tongue on the underside of his shaft, the metal piercings giving it such an unusual feeling, and you begin to suck in earnest as he throws his head back. “Oh, you’re so fucking good, so good for me.” 

He starts to thrust into your mouth more roughly, the tip of his cock poking the back of your throat as you try not to gag. 

“Shhh, shhh, just breath, relax your throat.” One of his hands goes to massage the side of your jaw as he coaxes you into taking more, forcing his full length down your throat. You can’t breathe, but before you can truly panic he pulls back momentarily, giving you a second to inhale through your nose.

Then, he thrusts back in pulling your face flush with his groin, your nose burying in his curly pubes, which you now notice are white, unlike the dark hair on his head. He holds you there for a few moments before the lack of oxygen starts to make your vision blur. 

He continues to fuck your throat like this, forcing you to relax and take it as he moans lowly. You can tell he’s starting to get close as he picks up the pace, fucking your face faster and letting out a litany of swears jumbled with more praise. 

The hands on your face start to heat up against your skin and you can see as small sparks of blue flames start to dance up his wrists, the smell of smoke increasing. The small flames start to encompass your head as he holds you tightly, but they do nothing but roll across your skin harmlessly. 

You hollow your cheeks as best you can, swallowing around his cock as he exclaims, “Fuck, fuck I’m coming!” As he pushes his cock into your throat as far as it’ll go, forcing you to swallow every bit. He holds you in place for several moments as you take every salty pump, as your eyes start to water. 

After he’s spent, he pulls out with a pop, drool is now running down your chin, your throat sore and battered. 

He tilts your chin up, meeting your tear-filled eyes. His expression is still filled with desire, his eyes looking hazy from his orgasm. “Oh, you did so good baby, look at you, swallowed every single drop.” His thumb runs across your bottom lip and you see his cock twitch in interest again. Of course he wouldn’t be done with you yet. 

Dabi pulls you up from where had you bent down, pulling you closer to him. You begin to struggle against him yet again, and he’s quick to pull your hair, hard. 

“I told ya I would chain you to this bed if you didn’t behave, do I need to pull out the cuffs?” You’re not surprised he brought handcuffs, not in the least bit, but you don’t want him using them on you, so you quickly quit struggling at the threat. 

Dabi would like very much actually to use the cuffs, but he likes when you’re being obedient for him. He’ll have plenty of time to use them later anyways. Just the mental image of you tied up under him is enough to start getting him hard again. 

“Let's take this shirt off, baby.” He says in that gravelly voice as he pulls the fabric up over your head, leaving you exposed. Your hands immediately go to cover your chest but he quickly grips your wrists, using his hold on you to press you down into the mattress. He leans into your prone body, his teeth nipping at the skin right below your ear. 

“Besides, you didn’t get to come earlier, it’s your turn now.” One of his hands goes to grip your hips, the other going to his cock as he presses it against your clit, rubbing it up and down your slick folds, the metallic piercings along the shaft rubbing against you pleasurably. 

He continues this motion until you start letting out small moans, even as you try to hide your noises. After a minute of this, he guides the engorged head of his cock to your hole, nearly pressing in. He lavishes your neck with bites, sucking bruises into the skin, as he slowly presses forward into you. You clench around him and he groans.

“Relax, baby, relax. ‘S not gonna hurt, I’ll make you feel good.” He thrusts forward another inch, and as he slowly begins to fuck the small passage your body has granted him, you whimper out. 

He slowly begins to fuck you open, with each forward movement of his hips he pushes in another inch, until he has almost his entire cock moving in and out at a languid pace. Already having come earlier, he seems content to take his time with you, humping into you lazily. He keeps his body pressed close to yours and the hand that isn’t gripping your hip comes to wrap around your head, keeping you tightly pressed to him. 

You let out gasping moans as those piercings rub against your innermost wall. “Dabi..”

“Fuck, keep saying my name just like that.” His cock thumps against your womb now as he moves his hips more deeply. “You’re mine, doll, you’re all mine. You belong to me.” He says it like a chant, a prayer. Words continue to fall from his lips like flames as he grinds his hips into you.

“N-no, no.” You don’t like this claim of ownership over you, you don’t want him to see you as someone to possess, but you struggle to get the words out between your breathless moans and whimpers. He chuckles quietly at your protests, as he presses his mouth to your jawline, panting into your ear as he speaks again.

“No? You really don’t understand, huh?” His hips are slapping against yours now, the bed creaking under you two with every movement. You’re pressed chest to chest as he looks into your eyes, his gaze filled with something terrifying and wild. Whatever obsession he had with initially, it’s warped into something dangerous. “You were made to be mine, feel how perfectly my cock fits inside you?” He punctuations his sentence with a rough thrust, causing you to let out a high-pitched keening noise. “Even your quirk is another sign you were made for me. You belong to me.” 

The strong arms around you heat up as he fucks you into the mattress, the headboard knocking against the wall. He pushes in closer to you, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. His teeth clank against yours and he bites your lips, nearly hard enough to draw blood. It’s a rough and possessive kiss, and he doesn’t let up until your head starts to spin, seeming to want to steal the very air from your lungs. He’ll take everything you have and more, because he truly believes you made give him everything, even your own self.

 He makes a circular motion with his hips, the tip of his cock rolling over your cervix. “Only I can fuck you like this, only I can make you feel this good. You know you like this.” 

A particular thrust has you crying out as you shake under him, and he makes it his mission to hit that exact same spot with every movement. “You feel so good when you clench on my cock like that. Fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.” 

Electricity races up your spine with every roll of his hips, and you can’t help but cling to him. He reaches down between the two of you and begins to rub at the spot that’ll push you over the edge. “Come on my cock, baby, come for me.” He all but growls in your ear. Within moments you found yourself orgasming hard, as he continues to fuck you through it. He curses as you clench around him and with several battering thrusts, he pushes in as deep as he can, pumping you full of his cum. “Fucking take it, take my cum. That’s it, baby.” His cock twitches inside you as he releases, collapsing on top of you. 

He continues to lie on top of you for a few moments, his arms holding you tight as his softening cock slips out. After a minute he pulls himself up, looking down at your sweaty and exhausted body, your tired expression. “Wait here.” He says simply, getting up and redoing his pants. He exits your bedroom, feet padding on down the hall as he disappears. 

He returns a few minutes later, with a warm rag, and a glass of water. He cleans you up wordlessly before making you sit up despite how sore your body is, and hands you the glass, along with some pills.

You eye the capsules suspiciously, as you turn to him and frown. “What’s this?”  

He rolls his eyes at your apprehensiveness. ”It’s not poison, it’s so ya don’t get pregnant. I’ve snooped enough to know you’re not on any birth control.” 

Still frowning, you hesitate. He didn’t seem to care last time whether or not he got you knocked up. He seems to sense your wariness and grows impatient. 

 “Just take the damn pills already, if I wanted to kill you I could do a lot better than some fake medicine.” You suppose that’s true. Not wanting to anger him, you swallow the pills, downing the water afterward. He watches you closely as you do so, making sure you actually swallow them. 

“Good, now get some rest.” You feel yourself getting a lot sleepier than you initially felt, your eyes growing heavy. Within minutes you’re out. 

Dabi redresses you nimbly, making sure you’re truly knocked out before lifting you up into his arms. What a sweet thing, you were still so naive and trusting. He starts to carry you towards the door. You were his and you weren’t ever getting away from him. 

A/N: Sooo part three mayhaps? Thanks for reading!

Family Man Part 2

Yandere!Gojo Satoru x reader

Part One

Word Count: 8.9k

thx to a very lovely commissioner!!!

Synopsis : Two months after Satoshi’s death, you and your daughter struggle to move on. You’re so lucky that Gojo is there to pick up the pieces.

(Yandere, smut, oral sex both m/f receiving, lactation kink, implied depression, masochistic gojo, ooc gojo, never rlly fixed that, reader has dark skin, xenophobia(NOT by gojo))

Sometimes, you're in bed, and feel like he's right beside you. 

For a moment, the last two months disappear. You feel whole again. Sometimes, it’s enough to make you turn around, words on your tongue, already ready to smile and greet him with a kiss. 

He isn't there. Nothing's behind you. 

And you feel empty all over again. 

It's better somedays. The emptiness. It's like a looming visage of gloom. Farther away one day, in your bed the next. Lately, it's growing bigger and bigger. A dark cloud on your shoulder, resting heavier and heavier on your back. 

Grief. Mourning. Loss. 

When you open the door, the mailman smiles cheerily at you. 

"Morning!" He chirps. "Lovely weather we're having today."

You nod, silent as he begins to dig through his bag. He's younger than you, you note. By a decade, at the very least. Barely in his twenties. When you were his age, you were still back home, in the village. When you were his age, Japan was just a faraway country, hardly worth your notice. 

He hands you your dues. You take them with a respectful thank you. And then you wait for the inevitable. 

On cue, his smile fades. Something pitying fills his gaze. You force yourself to stare right back at him. Insecurity bites at you, and you know he's staring at your dull face. The circles underneath your eyes. 

In the background, Reina babbles. He's forced to take his eyes off of you momentarily. 

"I heard about your husband." He starts, still staring inside your home. Your hands tighten into fists. "I'm sorry for your loss." 

He bows. So do you. 

"Thank you." You tell him, rehearsed, just like you practiced millions and millions of times. "I...appreciate it." 

He smiles, as if he think he did something, made your life a little easier. You let him bathe in his graciousness, before you shut the door. Away from the sunlight, away from fabricated sympathies. You finally feel like you can breathe again. 

It's been like this ever since Satoshi died. 

Car wreck. Some drunk had driven too close to the curb. Satoshi had been walking home. He'd missed the bus, he does that often. It's a usual quirk of his, you'd often found it adorably clumsy. Being late was harmless. He wasn't supposed to die for it. It'd been an instant kill, for the both of them. No other witnesses. The scene was cleaned up by the time you got there. The officers kept you in dread for four hours. In that time, you could almost convince yourself that it wasn't him. The reason why he wasn't answering your calls was because his phone had died. He was lost on the other side of town. He was anywhere else, doing anything else. 

You were brought to identify the body. Your eyes couldn’t deny what you saw.

You think a part of yourself died with your husband, too. You drift through life like a ghost. Mindless, numb. Colors have all bled into grayish blues. You don’t really feel much of anything anymore.

Reina squeals. You blink back to reality.

She’d dropped her toy. You pick it up. It was a purple stuffed rabbit. Satoshi had gotten it for her the day she was born. She doesn’t even sleep without it.

These days, Reina is the only thing that makes you get up in the morning, even when you don’t want to. She’s the only thing you push yourself for.

You don’t know where you’d be without her.

She’s giggles when you hand it back. She doesn’t even know. How can you even begin to tell your infant that her father is no longer coming home? Someone so new at life should not experience death this soon. It’s a sin. Someone has cursed her. It’s the only explanation you could give.

You kiss her on the top of her head. Her baby hairs are still growing. They resemble yours. Every part of her was you. When you look at her, you don’t see Satoshi.

You used to tease him about it; now, you wish there was just a tiny bit of him on her face.

Or maybe it was a good thing? Did you even want to see the man you loved, mourned for, and hated to think about in your daughter’s eyes? Would it break you even further?

You don’t have to think about questions like those. You have more important things to worry about. When you rifle through the mail, your heart sinks.

Warnings, bills, everything that Satoshi used to handle. Even when your world stopped, the rest of the planet didn’t: ever turning, ever malevolent.

You place the bills down. Reina babbles something.

You bend down to pick her up, she screams in delight when you place her on your lap, peppering her face with kisses.

And maybe your world hadn’t stopped, not just yet.

“There are stains on your blouse.”

You glance down before shrugging.

“Reina dropped her food.” You shrug. “I didn’t have time to clean it up.”

Kiyo doesn’t look very happy about your excuse. She doesn’t say anything about it, preferring to glare at you in silent disapproval as she always does. Usually, you’d have Satoshi acting as a barrier between you and your mother-in-law. For obvious reasons, that wasn’t feasible at the moment.

Reina was being entertained by your father-in-law. Satoshi had inherited Isamu’s bald spot as well as his gentleness. Reina kicked her feet as Isamu muttered soft words, as though they were communicating, even though Reina hadn’t even said her first words yet.

Another milestone Satoshi would miss.

“We made adjustments to the will,” Kiyo announces. “Everything will be passed onto Reina when she comes of age.”

You nod, not very interested in politics and lands. Satoshi came from a traditional family. Japanese nobility, though he wasn’t fond of talking about his background. You were always fine with it. You never married him for the money, despite what your mother-in-law thinks.

On cue, Kiyo snaps her fingers. You blink in her direction.

She frowns, but you’ve never seen her smile in your presence.

“I would appreciate if you could pay attention when discussing my grandchild’s future.” She more or less hisses.

“I am,” you give. “Trust me, no one else is more invested in my daughter’s future than me.”

It makes her even more mad, but you’re too drained to play ‘submissive daughter-in-law’ with her. From the moment Satoshi introduced you as his fiance’, Kiyo had hated you. Nothing you did could make her like you. Not even when you learned the language perfectly, immersed yourself in Japanese culture.

She never said it out loud, but you knew what she thought of you. She wanted someone different for her son: someone with pale skin, straight hair, and Japanese heritage.

You wonder if she blames you for his death.

“You haven't gone to visit him,” She says, after she breaks her death stare, “you should.”

A part of you wants to say no, but you’re in her home, and you know she doesn’t take it lightly when guests (not family, you were not family) reject her. So you do as she suggested. You rise, glancing at Reina before ultimately stepping out of Satoshi’s childhood home.

He was just as you had left him. His gravestone stood tall and proud. Even next to all the other graves, his was the tallest. It must be Kiyo’s doing. No matter the gripes she had about you, her child would always reach for the skies.

His incense had to be switched. You did so, throwing out the burnt sticks and replacing them with new ones. You watched the smoke flicker away from his altar. A lone picture of him, a shy smile. It was from back when he was younger. His hair was still there. An office job hadn’t dulled his eyes.

You wanted to keep the ashes. Just a tiny piece of him, tucked by your own altar you had. Kiyo had refused, wanting the entire body to be cremated and kept in one piece. Too broken, you hadn’t pushed. Now, all you were left with his clothes and the fading scent on the pillows. You regret not fighting more that day.

You don’t cry. Not today. A part of you is proud. It feels like it’s much too early to feel so numb to this grave. It’s too early for this to feel normal.

You touch the cold stone. It’s smooth underneath your fingertips.

Your in-laws are right inside the house. You still feel lonely.

“You shouldn’t have left.” You told the tomb. “You shouldn’t have abandoned me like this.”

When you curse Satoshi’s grave, you could have sworn you felt a tiny tingle by your neck.

On Thursdays, you take Reina shopping.

She’s a hit with the local farmers market. The shopkeepers coo at her giggles and beautiful eyes as you haggle prices for vegetables and grains. It’s nice to get back on routine. Even with everything going on.

The bills were still on the counter when you left. More and more were coming in. You feel like you were being buried alive.

Reina kicks her feet. When you look at her, her chubby cheeks are stretched in the wide smile. You smile back, and then you pepper her face with kisses. These days, you’ve opted out of the bus, trying to save some money. It’ll just be until you find a job. Then, you can take as many Air-conditioned rides as you want.

There’s a honk. You ignore it. A car rolls to a stop beside the sidewalk. You take a peek, and then you stop and stare.

“Mr. Gojo?” You ask.

“Hey! Long time!” The man waves cheerily.

You give a timid smile, waving. Reina, your polar opposite, screams in delight. She frantically leans out of your arms as though she could get to Gojo by sheer will. You quickly rearrange your hands to balance her.

“What’re you doing out there?” He frowns. “Especially in this heat?”

“Ah.” Subconsciously, you wipe the sweat off your neck. “We were heading home from the market.”

He brightens. “Wanna hop in? It’s way too hot to walk that far.”

You smile, about to politely decline but then you remember infants shouldn’t be in this weather for too long.

Gojo’s car is luxurious, but the biggest relief is the cool air blowing over your heated skin. Reina is ecstatic to be next to Gojo. She babbles something, reaching out her tiny arms. Gojo takes her immediately.

“And how’s the prettiest girl in the world doing, today?” He grins, lifting her above his head. She coos.

You’re not really sure how Gojo walked into your life. You met him once before. That day when Satoshi had a mental breakdown and practically ran away from home. Gojo was so ansty back then, and it made sense why he and your husband got along so well.

He was the one who brought home Satoshi’s essentials from work—his computer, his notes—and then he started delivering Satoshi’s work mail. Then, sometimes, he’d stop by for lunch. And then he started bringing toys for Reina. Two months passed, and you know him now.

Not well. But you know Gojo enough to slip into the passenger seat, watching how he handles Reina.

“Okay, Car ride!” He tells her. She claps her hands as he gently hands her back to you.

“Thank you again, Mr. Gojo.” You tell him. “Really, this means a lot.”

He waves you off, starting the car. “Don’t worry about it, Seriously. Got nothin’ better to do anyway. Also, I told you already, call me Satoru.”

You smile, shifting away. You don’t know why Gojo is insistent on helping a widow. He was the friend of your late husband (though, strangely, Satoshi never spoke of the man before or after the quick introductions). Maybe it’s guilt. But unlike the rest of the people who knew, Gojo never once looked at you like that as though you were in pieces in front of him. It was nice, finally having someone like that. Someone who doesn’t see you as the widow of a dead man.

He was a nice young man. You shouldn’t be so quick to assume everyone has an underlying motive.

Maybe some people were just as they are. Nice.

“Grocery shopping?” He mentions to your bag. It creases under your grip.

You nod. “Dinner. You’re welcome to join, but I’m not making anything special.”

“I’d never pass up a meal from you, ma’am,” Gojo says, happily.

You like to keep to yourself, but he was driving you home. It was the least you could do to pay back his hospitality, as well as the other things he had done for you. Honestly, your bucket for Gojo’s hospitality wasn't yet empty.

When the car rolls to a stop, Gojo hops out, opening the door before you can touch it. You thank him, Reina huddled safely in your arms and fast asleep. Gojo grins, not before grabbing your groceries and leading the way.

Your house is sparser than it had been just months ago. Less decoration. Less silly memoirs. No pictures. You dumped them all, stored them in a tiny box before locking them all in the attic. You couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away.

Gojo waltzes into your home like he owns it. You don’t mind. He’s young, still in his twenties, at his prime. These days, you can feel things start to break down within you. Your shoulder hurts when you sleep on it the wrong way. You have to be more careful about picking up things from off the ground. You can’t tell whether this has to do with the remnants of pregnancy or your age, but you’re envious of Gojo’s youthful strength either way.

He places the bags on the counter. By then, Reina’s awake. She blearily blinks at you. You were hoping she’d stay asleep for a little while longer.

“I can watch her!” Gojo pipes up, extending his hands. Reina’s overjoyed to be handed over. It’s nice to have your hands full with something else other than baby

You listen to them giggle while you get started on dinner. It’s your usual dance. Potatoes. The sounds of boiling water. You want to make something simple, but Gojo is here, and you don’t want to disappoint your guest. By the time you’re back out, it’s nearly an hour, and the food has yet to be served.

They don’t seem to mind. Gojo had taken Reina onto the floor. You don’t complain. It’s where she usually played anyway. He was driving one of her wooden cars on the carpet, running it across the floor, as Reina clapped to her heart’s content. You could only watch, heart strangely numb.

He’s good with her.

Like Satoshi was.

You clear your throat. Gojo looks up.

“Food’s ready.” You tell him with a stiff smile. “Why don’t you wash up? I’ll take care of her.”

“Be good, okay?” He pats Reina’s head before standing up. You take her into your arms.

She’s tired from playing. Reina settles in the crib rather nicely. It’s relieving. When she’s asleep, you can’t bring yourself to leave. You watch her. Her chest rises and falls. She snores. It’s the most adoring noise you’ve ever heard.

When you head back to the kitchen, Gojo’s already back. He grins, clearly eager.

“You cooked a lot.” He comments when you two finally settle down. “Not that I’m complaining!”

“I hope it’s to your liking,” you say as always.

And it is. Gojo never hides from giving his compliments. He’s so genuine and sincere, and it makes you a bit bashful.

“Mrs. Sawai, this stuff right here is sometimes the highlight of my day,” he says. You shake your head.

“It’s true! You have talent. You should open up a restaurant or something! Wait no, don’t do that...you’d be booked for years, and I’ll never eat your cooking again.” That makes you laugh. He seems pleased for some reason.

“Thank you,” you say, “I appreciate that.”

“How was your week? Your students?” You prod.

“Good. They’re all good!” He chirps back. “I was out of town for the week, so returning to my precious students was the best.” He sighs. “Sometimes, I wish I could just pack them all in my suitcase and take ‘em with me. They’re the cutest things.”

He said he taught at a religious school, which you found strange because Gojo didn’t really strike you as religious. Nevertheless, he seemed very passionate about teaching. It was rather endearing.

Did Satoshi ever have that kind of passion for his job?

“Reina reminds me of them. The youth.” Gojo adds. “Endless potential. The kids are all like...seeds, right? They just need the proper care to bloom.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at things,” you say.

When dinner’s over, you gather the utensils and bowls. Gojo offers to help, but you don't bite, insisting that he rests. It gives you time to decompress. As much as you like Gojo, he’s a bit severe. You can’t be around him for too long, he’s too bright. His companionship is much like a furnace. Warm, but too much, and you burn.

When you return, you expect him to put his shoes back on, waiting by the door.

Instead, Gojo is perched on the counter—his hands card through your mail.

You stare. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised at being caught. He doesn’t startle; he barely spares you a glance, perusing over your bills like they were his. You know you should say something. Anger. It should bubble up instead of the shame. You open your mouth—

“How much?” He suddenly asks.

You fumble. “What?”

He waves the envelopes. “How much is it?”

You say nothing. He shrugs, as if that’s an answer itself.

Gojo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a checkbook. You move when he plucks a stray pen from the counter.

“What are you doing?” You ask, incredibly lost.

“I’m not real good with money.” He sheepishly admits before tearing off the slip and handing it to you. “But this should be enough, right?”

You stare at the amount. You’ve never held this much money before.

“I can’t accept this.” You instantly say. Instinct.

You go to hand this back. He puts a hand on his chin.

“Tell you what.” He tells you. “If I gotta take this back, I’m just gonna head to the bank, cash it in myself, and throw all the money into the river.” He grins at your horrified expression. “And it’ll all be in Yuan, so even if someone fishes it out, no one’s gonna be able to use it. One way or another, that money’s getting outta’ my bank.”

His voice softens, akin to butter. It melts into your ears.

“This isn’t out of obligation or anything. I’m giving this to you because I want to help my friend. That’s it.”

Gojo has never looked at you in pity, not like the others. He’s always looked at you like...well, you could never understand his expression. You stare at him. His sunglasses have tilted over, showcasing those gorgeous blue eyes.

Why? Why are you doing this? You want to ask him. It’s killing you inside. Is it pity for the wife of a dead friend? Why was he doing this to you?

You think of Reina. Happy giggling, Reina, with your eyes and your hair.

“It’s not like I don't have any to spare. I’m, like, loaded,” Gojo continues with his usual snark, and you think of the fancy black car parked in front of your tiny house. “And if that isn’t enough for you, just think of it as me paying you back after all those times I’ve eaten your food.”

You lower your gaze when you take the check.

“I’ll pay you back—”

“—I won’t accept it.” He grins, and you have to smile at his tenacity.

“Thank you. No, really.” You keep the check close to your chest. “Thank you, Mr.Gojo.”

He angles his sunglasses down. He looks expectant. Just this once.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

“No problem!” He pops his frames back into place.

You see him off. When he’s behind the wheel, he gives an excited wave. You shyly wave back.

And then you feel a touch right on your back. When you turn, there’s nothing but air.

Sometimes, you dream of home.

Your real home. The village is far, far away from Japan. Where you lived with your parents and siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. On sweltering summer nights, you and the other children would sleep on the terrace underneath the stars. There were dirt paths, and rolling hills but the sky was clear every night.

In the village, tradition was everything. You used to hate it. Every day was the same. An endless cycle. You used to dance back then, your family had pushed you into it. As a child, you thought it was stupid.

Maybe that’s what pulled you towards the city—bustling roads, people everywhere. Your college was a town in and of itself. You met so many new people every day.

Satoshi was one of them.

When you brought them to your family, everyone was in awe. He was a foreigner. He was well-off, too; he came from a traditional Japanese family.

It was your Nani who pulled you aside as your family gushed about him.

“Are you sure about this one?” She had asked.

You nodded. Back then, you were young and in love. He was everything you could have dreamed of. New, exciting.

She doesn’t smile.

“Be careful.”

You remembered her words, even after you ran off with Satoshi to Japan. You remembered her words even after Satoshi assured you he wanted you to stay home and he’d work. You remembered her words when Reina was born. You remembered her words when you and Satoshi’s lives were perfect and happy.

And then you woke up.

Your village was gone. Instead of waking up in a pile of your siblings, you were alone on a giant bed.

It’s dark in your home. Satoshi hated having the lights off.

You looked to the crib. Reina was still asleep. During nights like these, you often bring her to sleep with you. It still isn’t enough, sometimes.

You’re a terrible mother. Why isn’t your own daughter enough for you?

Careful not to wake her, you slip out of bed, walking into the closet. You reach up, feeling your way on one of the shelves.

The photo album is dusty. You cough a bit when you open the book.

There’s you. Younger, stupider, garbed in your traditional dance dress. You always found that outfit so itchy. The photo was taken right after you’d placed first in one of your last competitions. Even in the photo, you had this look of disdain, holding that trophy like it was nothing but a heavy burden.

You still have that trophy a decade later.

You flip another page. Your parents. Your cousins. Your Aunts and Uncles. You stare at the photo of you holding your baby cousin. He was the same age as Reina when that picture was taken. That was ten years ago.

You can’t remember the last time you saw your family. Reina hadn’t met her grandparents, her own cousins. You never got the chance to. Satoshi was always so anxious about leaving Japan.

They’ve seen her, through video calls and photos. But that’s different than touching her, bonding with her.

You stare at the photo of you posing with the rest of your siblings and cousins. Strangely, you feel like you robbed something from Reina.

You miss home.

You cry until the album shuts itself closed, and the sun starts peeking through the windows.

“You good?” Satoru suddenly asks.

You blink, eyelashes fluttering as you stare at him. He’s on the floor again, watching Reina as she clacks a few wooden blocks together. It isn’t quiet. The babbling, too. She’d already knocked over the tower Satoru had built. He didn’t seem too upset by her destruction.

“Oh,” you say, “yes. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

As discretely as you can, you rub at your eyes, hoping that would shoo the dark circles away. It doesn’t help.

“I...just haven’t been sleeping too well these days. That’s all.”

Reina says something, not too happy with the lack of attention. Satoru gives her another block. He’d given her a bunch of toys, this time. You weren’t sure where to even store half of them. If he kept this up, pretty soon Reina’s entire room will be filled with dolls mirrors, and blocks.

“What’s been going on?” He asks.

You’re not sure how to answer that. You aren’t sure what’s been going on yourself. All that you know is that it’s getting worse. You can’t sleep at night, most nights like there’s something pressing you down. Things are going missing. You feel like you’re being watched constantly over and over again.

It only goes away whenever Satoru’s around. Maybe that’s why you’re more tolerant of his space.

“It’s nothing,” you say, “I’ve just misplaced a few things. It’s been aggravating looking for them.”

“Hm.” He cocks his head, you can’t decipher his tone. “Really?”

“I’ll find them eventually.”

He’s silent for a few more moments and then—

“Maybe you’re haunted.”

You laugh. It’s mean and sardonic, but you haven’t laughed in a while, and you hide away when Satoru stares.

“A ghost?” You question. “Those don’t exist.”

In the village, superstition was everywhere. Guess that never changed, no matter what corner of the world you ran to.

“Not a ghost.” He corrects. “Maybe something else.”

You hum, unamused. Satoru turns to Reina with an all-too-wide smile on his face.

“It’ll be right behind you, and you won’t even know it.” He tells her. “Then, it’ll draw closer, and closer, and closer until....it gets ya—”

To further his point, his hands shoot out to lightly jostle her. Reina squeals, absolutely thrilled.

Then, Satoru turns to you.

“Or something like that.”

You aren’t impressed.

“Ghosts aren’t real.” You tell him.

“They certainly aren’t.” He agrees. “But other things are.”

Satoshi acted strangely two days before his death.

He was always anxious, but this was even worse than before. Constantly looking behind him, like they’d be something there. You know he wouldn’t sleep. He’d just lay there, shifting in panic.

You don’t prod until you find him in the bathroom in clear hysterics.

“I messed up,” he mumbles over and over again. “I messed up. I messed up.”

“Satoshi.” You beg, kneeling on the tile next to him. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I messed up.” He tells you again. “I keep messing up.”

And then he sobs. He cries so loudly, you’re worried it might wake up Reina. You hug him. Hold him close to your chest, letting him cry himself out.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you. “I’m sorry. I love you. I love Reina. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You ask.

He looks at you then.

“For cheating.”

You remember every detail. The crinkle in his eyes. The beginning stages of wrinkles in his face. A picture entirely stamped into your memory.

“I forgive you.” You immediately say. “I—I forgive you. We—we can work through this.”

“We can’t.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry. You deserve better. She deserves better, too. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything when you prod. Who, how, when. Your husband cheated on you. You aren’t even allowed to grieve your dying marriage when you have to grieve your dead husband.

You meant what you said. You forgave him. You would have worked through it. Fixed it. Because your marriage with Satoshi was perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect.

It was a perfect marriage when he never stood up for you in front of his mother. It was a perfect marriage when all he did back from work was eat and sleep. It was a perfect marriage when he cheated on you.

Rose-tinted glasses. Maybe your relationship wasn’t the most perfect.

But it was fixable.

Reina’s crying in her crib. The thing on your chest is back.

You fumble through the dark, reaching for her. She’s crying even louder when you pick her up, even when you rock her in your arms.

“Please stop.” You beg. “Please stop crying.”

She doesn’t. The pressure gets bigger.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Satoru’s asking when you’re finished putting away the groceries. He’d offered you a ride again. You wondered when you stopped being surprised at his frequent pop-ins.

“The same as always,” you respond.

You’re not used to the house being so quiet. Reina’s always doing something. For an infant, she’s rather loud.

But she isn’t here today. Kiyo wanted her Grandaughter for the night. You obliged, letting your Mother-in-law whisk Reina away. Was she even your mother-in-law anymore?

“So nothing?” Satoru prods, and you wonder why he’s so persistent on the answer. Maybe he wants to tease you.

The differences between you and him are staggering. He’s young, still in his twenties, he probably still goes out clubbing, drinking, whatever kids his age are into. You are...older, a mom, unsure if the tight skirts you wore 15 years ago would still fit you.

“If you don't got any plans, why don’t you hang out with me tonight?”

You stare at him.

“Don’t gimme that look. You act like I’m gonna rob you.” He complains. “Let yourself loose a bit. What do you even do for fun, these days?”

That stumped you. Apart from lounging around, sulking, job hunting, revolving around Reina, you haven’t done much. When’s the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru?

“There’s a bar that opened up. Not too far from here.” He muses. “Wanna go?”

You hesitate, “I—I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m not good at handling alcohol—”

“Same! Total lightweight.” He gushes. “It’ll still be fun, though! What do you say?”

Why, you want to ask. Why is he so insistent on spending time with you. Asking about you. About Reina. What does he want from your broken family? Your mind can’t piece together the images—connect the dots.

“Okay,” you say instead.

Three hours later, you’re dressed in the most flattering clothing in the back of your closet. Satoru looks pristine as always, and you wonder if there’s ever a chance he could look any less put together. Under the dim lights, he’s almost glowing. You can’t stare at him for too long.

The conversation is light, not too purposeful. You wander from one topic to the next. He talks about his co-workers. His school. You’ve always wondered about this teaching job. He seemed to never want to shut up about his students, but whenever you try to pry about the details, he starts to drift away. The most you’ve gotten from him was rambling about how it was a private religious school before he sprung into something else.

“Did you have any pets?” He asks, “Growing up, I mean.”

You shrug. “There were a lot of stray dogs, in my hometown. We would feed them, but no. No pets.”

“You?” You prod.

He takes a moment, genuinely thinking.

“My family had a dog, not too long after I was born. After that, nothing.” You were surprised, he answered. The alcohol must make his lips a little looser.

“I think having a dog would be nice,” you muse, mostly to yourself, “maybe an older one. Less energy.”

“What pet do you think I should have?” He asks.

You stare at him. He’s grinning.

“A rock,” you respond, and when he laughs, you laugh a bit, too.

“I like it when you smile like that,” he says when his voice recovers. “You get all blushy.”

You frown, discretely checking your face in the glass.

“I don’t blush.” You say. “My skin’s too dark.”

He tips his sunglasses down, staring at you with those pretty blue eyes. You shift away. His gaze doesn’t let you get far.

“Not really,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “It’s subtle, but it’s still there. It’s a nice color.”

He’s teasing you. You know that. Still, you look away. He laughs again. It sounds like twinkling bells.

“How’s everything holdin’ up with the house?” He asks when you’re nursing your 3rd drink. “I know you had a couple of issues earlier.”

You shrug, lips loose, feeling warm. “I don’t think I have to worry about it. Not anymore.”

“Hm? Why’s that?”

“I’m thinking of going back home.”

He stops messing with his drink. You don’t notice, thoughts hazy.

“Back...to your country?” Satoru asks carefully.

You nod absentmindedly. “I only came here because of Satoshi. Now that he’s...I think it’s best for Reina if we go back.”

You want her to live with her maternal culture. You want her to meet your side of the family finally. Maybe, when she’s older, you can put her in your old dance garments. She’ll probably hate it, much like you did. She’ll be good at it, much like you were.

He’s silent, swirling his glass.

“Really?”

“Yes.” You feel defensive, even when you shouldn’t be. His tone was cool. Yours wasn’t. “It—it’s her home. She should see it.”

“Wasn’t she born here?” Satoru questioned. “Wouldn’t Japan be her home, then?”

You deflate.

“You’re right.” You admit. “Japan is her home, but it isn’t mine.”

You miss home. You miss the village. You’d do anything to go back to the good old times. You’d do anything to be away from this pain.

Japan was empty. Your in-laws barely tolerate you. No friends. No job. The only good memories you had were buried in a tomb, and even those rotted away by lies and deceit.

“I think you should stay,” Satoru says, voice soft.

“Why?” You ask. “I have nothing here.”

“You could.”

You look up. In the dim lights of the bar, he’s breathtaking. Everything you weren’t.

And that everything closes the distance between you and him.

It’s soft. Barely a kiss. His lips are soft; you can smell his shampoo. It lasts for a moment before you’re breaking it. You shy away, staring at the floor beneath you. Your shoes. You can hear your heart. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Satoru follows your mouth. This time, it’s bolder. You can feel his warmth, pressed against your frigid soul. He’s melting you down to bone. There’s a hand on your back, keeping you in place. Fireworks spark at the touch.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt someone like this. Not since...

And then you remember who you’re with, what you’re doing. The ring sits heavy on your finger.

You push away. Satoru falters, and you use that opportunity to stumble to your feet.

“I’m sorry,” You say, “I—I’m—”

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing. Instead, you turn and flee out the bar. Into the cold frigid night.

You’re drunk. You can feel it in your fingertips, the way your vision gets the slightest bit dizzy when you move too fast. You cling against a random lightpost, checking your phone.

Your place wasn’t that far away. You could walk, right? But it would be safer to call a cab. Better yet, call Kiyo. Call your neighbor. Call anyone?

Oh, you just remembered that you have no one here.

Satoru finds you when you’re already crying. You can feel him on your shoulder before he even says anything.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for you, “c’mon. Let’s get out of the street—”

“Why?” You whirl onto him, so fast that even he’s surprised. “Why are you doing any of this? Reina, me, why do you care so much?”

You’re still crying, but you can feel your tears slow down the tiniest bit. You weren’t breathing. You don’t think he was either.

Satoru opens his mouth. Closes. Opens again. His smile is gone. You can see the imprint of your lipstick on his perfect pout.

“I love you.”

It feels like he just slapped you. A knife in your belly, tearing you apart. Nausea builds in your throat, threatening to spill all over the road. You can’t look at him anymore, it hurts too much. Betrayal. You’re betraying your husband. Your dead cheater husband. 

“Stop.” You beg him anyway, “Don’t say that. Never say that, I can’t think–”

“—Then don’t think.” He insists, sweet, saturated. “Don’t think about any of this.”

He kisses you again, and your mind blanks. You let him this time, and you feel yourself break over it.

This time, Satoru’s the one who breaks it, resting his forehead on yours. You still must look confused. He laughs adoringly.

“C’mon this can’t be too out of left field, right?” He asked. “I mean, I made it pretty obvious.”

He had. You were too preoccupied in your own misery to notice. Offers to drive you to the grocery store. Volunteering to take care of another man’s baby. Satoru has always been direct.

You avoid his gaze, but there’s no where to go.

“Satoru,” you hesitate. “I—I don’t feel that way.”

“I know.” He concedes, trailing his lips down your cheek. You don’t stop him.

“But you need this.” He kisses your neck. “I know you do. You’re so stressed all the time, hm? You need me. Use me. However, you want to.”

Use him. You’ve always used him. What difference would this make?

You still had a chance to stop this. There were so many reasons to stop. You were a recent widow. A single mother. He was so much younger than you—

You kiss him again to stop thinking.

You don’t know what time you stumble through your door.

Satoru hasn’t stopped touching you in the cab, walking up to your patio. If you were sober, you might have been a bit more hysterical about it, now you just wanted him never to stop.

He’s pushing you against the door, slamming it shut with your body weight. You can barely get the words out past his plush lips.

“Bedroom.” You insist.

He pulls away with a laugh. “’course, Babe.”

You’re not sure how to feel about that petname, but you don’t get a moment to complain. He’s effortlessly picking you up, and you settle on the cool comforters moments later.

Your dress is halfway up your thighs. He spares no time, reaching for the back and finding the zipper. It falls apart in his fingers. He peels the fabric off of you with a delighted sigh.

“Fuck, look at you,” he’s saying to the newly uncovered skin. “so so pretty.”

Not used to the attention, you shy away. He doesn’t let you, taking you by the chin so he can kiss you again.

He’s so different now. You feel like you’re seeing a side of him you aren’t supposed to. Long white lashes, pretty blue eyes that are drenched in want and lust. His breathing was elevated. He was excited.

It scares you.

“I...I haven’t done this in a while.” You admit when you pull back. You give him a glance, before resigning yourself to pull away the rest of the dress and dropping it to the floor. “So...Please be nice?”

You sound like a child, unsure and nervous. You hate that you can’t keep the tremor out of your voice.

“Yes, yes.” He’s nodding, staring at you like a drooling dog. “I’ll be so so nice, baby. The nicest. Just lemme’ touch you. Please, please, pretty please?”

You give a tiny nod, and he’s pouncing on you.

He’s insatiable, you don’t think he’d ever get enough. He’s pawing at your bra before it comes off completely beneath his touch. Your panties are gone too, and then you’re entirely bare beneath him.

He doesn't forget about himself, neither do you. Between his ravenous kisses, you manage to take off his jacket. Satoru helps you with his shirt, pulling it off him, showing his toned abs and pale skin. Not a single mark or blemish. He’s absolute perfection.

He must notice your hesitant fingers at his shoulders because he stops sucking on your neck with a distinct pop, still playing with your tits, leaning over to whisper in your ear.

“Touch me,” he says, “I want you to touch me.”

You feel awkward pulling your fingers down to his chest, his stomach. His skin is soft, warm. Your hands are frigid. He shivers when you graze over his abs. His skin is so pale, almost translucent. If you were to pinch him, bite him, the color would show oh so nicely.

When you pull away, he whines, nearly falling over.

“Don’t fucking tease me like that.” The way he says it is so needy. You laugh, gaining the courage to play with his hair.

He gets the control back eventually, pushing you back down so he can devour you properly.

His face is between your legs before you can comprehend it. He’s spreading you open so he can see your pussy. You’re already creaming for him. Your pussy juice is spread across your lips, making your skin glisten and shine. It’d be embarrassing if he wasn’t worse, drooling like a fucking dog before his mouth meets your cunt in a frenzied kiss.

He gives this high-pitched moan that sends a thrill up your spine the more he makes out with your clit, licking and sucking.

“Oh.” You sink against the pillows. “Satoru—Satoru-!—”

“Fuck yes—” his voice is muffled but he doesn’t stop. “You taste so good, baby. like—like fuckin’ heaven—”

You almost double over when his teeth graze your clit. Your hand reaches out immediately to grab and his hair and pull.

It does nothing. He just whines, and when he digs deeper into your pussy, you realize he likes it when you hurt him.

You pull harder and his finger presses its way into your wet hole and just the right angle to make you see stars.

“Fuck baby, ‘can barely fit my fingers.” It would sound like a complaint if he didn’t sound so far gone already. “How are we gonna fit my cock into this pussy, hm?”

He talks too much. When you shove his face deeper into your folds, it seems to shut him up and he’s back to worshipping your dripping cunt.

He’s too good. It’s all so good. You’re squeezing his head between your thighs, sure you’re suffocating him but he doesn’t seem to care. The noise is downright scandalous but you’re too far gone to give a shit about that.

It felt so good to stop thinking.

“Close.” You gasp when you hit that plateau. “I’m close. I’m—”

“Gonna cum?” he asks from underneath you, and it only seems to spur him on. “Gonna cum for me, pretty girl. Cum baby. Just let go. I gotcha’ just please please please—”

It hits and you arch your back, letting your orgasm rush past your body. It fizzes up your spine, right to your tits before you sag back to Earth. Satoru is more that happy to work you through your high before your thighs fall apart against him and he’s detaching himself from your clit with one last part kiss.

Satoru kisses you, famished. You can barely kiss back, following his lips with your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue. It’s a tangy sweetness, warmed from his spit.

“Was I nice?” Satoru asks.

You nod. He smiles.

He pulls back, sitting on his knees. You watch as he fiddles with his boxers, before pulling out his pulsing cock.

It’s not all that thick, but it’s the length that makes you shift, just the tiniest bit. He’s on the larger end. His cock looks puffy and dripping in a way that almost looks painful. He pumps himself a few times, and then you’re reaching out.

Satoru stops, watching as you rise from your earlier position, hand on his cock. Your hand is so much smaller than his, you can barely wrap your fingers around his base. He shivers at the touch, and by the time you’re fisting his cock he faltars, head falling into the crook of your neck.

“Too much?” You ask when he gasps.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No no. Keep going. Please don’t stop.”

That same whine again. Helpless and needy. When you squeeze him, he jolts.

And then you stop. You’re sure he’s about to complain but then you’re lowering yourself, keeping your eyes on him, and you give his cock a tentative lick.

You hadn’t done this in a while, and you weren’t all that sure if you could swallow all of him, but you try your best. You swirl your tongue around his tip, watching as he twitches. His cock jumps in your mouth and you have to hold his base to keep him still for you. He’s so sensitive. Every touch you give him seems to just make him even needier.

He rocks his cock into your mouth. You let him, watching as he babbles on and on.

“So so fucking good, baby.” He’s moaning, head flung back, like it’d be too much to keep looking at you. “Right—right there. Fuck fuck fuck.”

He cums fast, and it’s sudden. He’s barely holding his breath before he’s shuddering and he’s filling your entire mouth. There’s so much of it, you can’t possibly swallow it all. You mouth off his cock with a pop, pumping him until he starts twitching out of overstimulation.

Satoru is panting, still basking in that afterglow as you kiss him. He doesn’t seem too embarrassed about how quick he lasted. Then again, you don’t think he has the brainpower to feel anything right now other than pure lust. Pussydrunk, your brain gives.

You reach up, wiping away the tears collected in the corner of his eyes. A part of you wants to leave it there. He looks good like this. Pretty as an angel.

And then you look down and you see his cock has not gone down at all.

“Oh,” you murmur, “I see you’re healthy.”

“Mmh,” he says back, not exactly words but you’re not looking for a conversation right now.

Your pussy is throbbing. She wants more attention. You’re settling back into your original position as you watch Satoru rifle through his forgotten pants. He pulls out a familiar wrapper. You have to roll your eyes at his preparedness.

“You’re a bit too ready for this.” You note.

“Can you blame me?” He honestly asks. “I’ve been waiting for this for months.”

The casual admission makes you glance away. He laughs at your sudden shyness and you have to wonder how you didn’t see him before.

“Ready, baby?” He asks. This feels familiar, somehow.

He gives his cock two cursory pumps, and then he’s pushing himself into you.

It’s so much all at once. As wet as you were, his cock bullies his way into you with a fierce stretch. It’s enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut. Grin and bear it.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” He curses. “How the hell did you fit a baby through here?” You can’t bring yourself to respond to his usual snark, so you claw at his back, raking your nails through his skin. He hisses and the pain seems to distract him into temporarily shutting up.

By the time, he sits his dick in your pussy, you’re close to breaking. You were right, he was way too big. Bigger than the one person you’ve always been with, so you’re not sure if you have a good gauge on size. Still, your brain short-circuits, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Mind-numb.

He’s impatient this time, not giving you a chance to adjust before he’s clumsily pulling back out only to ram himself back in. You lurch, grabbing his shoulders to stabilize yourself from his sudden pace.

“Satoru—!” You gasp. “It’s—!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s apologizing, but you’re not quite sure how much he actually means it. “I’ve—I’ve just waited so—ah—long and now you’re here and it’s so—”

If it’s even possible, he gets even faster, pushes his cock even deeper into your battered pussy. The squelching of your hole and his whines into your ear make it so much more erotic than it needs to be. You give into your desire, reaching over to sink your teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. The masochist in him purrs in delight.

You notice it first. That familiar soreness in your tits. When you glance down, your nipple is leaking that familiar milky fluid.

Satoru notices too. He stops, sinking his dick entirely into you. You’ve never felt fuller.

“Oh.” You feel heat creep up your neck. You hadn’t fed Reina today, this was bound to happen. “I—I’m sorry. I—I should’ve—”

You expect him to pull out of you awkwardly. Maybe even be disgusted.

Instead, he groans.

“I’m getting dessert now, too?”

“What?”

As your answer, he leans down and latches onto your tit.

He’s messy, smearing milk all over your skin and the other breast. After a while, he picks up his pace again, resuming his pussyfucking. You’re sure the angle must be painful, him bent over you like this, but he makes no complaint. And you could care less about his discomfort right about now.

He alternates between your breasts like he can’t decide which one tastes better. It shouldn’t feel this good, watching him suckle on your tits but you can feel yourself get even tighter. He can feel it, too.

Satoru’s rambling now. You can barely keep up with his incoherent mess.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re close, arentcha’?” he’s slurring his words, spitting them out one after another. “C’mon baby, you wanna cum? Cum, then? Milk my cock, pretty baby. Just like last time.” You should be paying more attention to his words. You don't.

Everything feels like deja vu. You should be paying attention to your own words too. You don’t.

“Mhn.” You moan. “Close. Sato, I’m close. Real real close—”

Your eyes widen. So does his.

You think you just ruined everything.

And then he starts jackhammering himself into you.

“Say it again.” He demands, driving his cock deep into your cunt.

You shake your head, despite your refusal you can’t help but— “Sato, oh God. Please Sato—Don’t—”

“Again, say it again.” His fingers descend to your clit, messily rubbing tiny circles. “Don’t stop saying my name until you’ve cum.”

You obey. Sato, Sato, Sato, Sa—and then you’re tipping over the edge. He fucks you through it, keeping you on that high until he’s shuddering too.

“Fuck baby, I missed you.” He’s whispering in your ear. “I missed you so much.”

You sigh when he kisses you, still coming down to Earth. The kiss his soft, just filled with want, instead of that carnal desire. He pulls away, and just when you’re debating to let him stay the night, he’s pulling out new rubber.

“Another one?” You ask, the dots not quite connecting yet.

“Oh, c’mon.” He grins down at you. “You didn’t think we’d go for just one round, did ya?”

You’re finally back in his arms.

Satoru dreamed of this day. He’s dreamt of this for months, ever since he had to leave you with that scumbag. Now that you’re sleeping peacefully in his arms again, everything is finally right in his world.

He shifts, wanting to bring you closer to his chest, but he winces. Fuck, you really did a number on him. He didn’t know you were into biting. And he can feel the pleasant sting of your nails on his back. He’d need to be careful with his RCT for a while. He wants these marks to last for as long as possible.

And when they fade, he’s sure he won’t have to convince you too much to make more for him.

“Give...them...back.”

Oh right. He’d almost forgotten about that other tiny problem he had.

He turns to the curse. “So, enjoy the show?”

Satoshi is unrecognizable. Malformed, demented. No more eyes, tall enough to reach the ceiling. To a being like Satoru, he was still nothing.

To a non-shaman and an infant, a grade 2 curse was quite the hassle. No wonder your so exhausted these days. Your husband was cursing you.

“Give them back.” The curse rasps. “Give them both back.”

Satoru’s silent, as if he’s really thinking about it.

“Nah, I’m good.” He grins. “This one’s mine now. And about Reina...what do you think suits me best: Dada or Daddy?”

The curse roars. It’s loud enough to shake the walls. Satoru tsks.

“Careful there. You might wake the missus.” He points out.

“Mine...” Satoshi insists. “They were....mine.”

“Were.” Satoru enunciates. “And now, they’re all mine! Sorry about the change in management. Don’t worry, though. I’ll take great care of both of ‘em.”

Always wanting to have the last word, Satoru reaches over and plucks your wedding ring off your limp finger.

“So, that’s where you got attached.” He muses at the metal. “Can’t believe you’re pathetic enough to curse your own wife. Is this 'cause you're still mad about the execution?" He asks, twirling the ring in his palm. "That happened months ago, man, get over it."

A snap of his fingers. Satoshi is gone. The room gets less stuffier. You relax in your sleep, and Satoru is caressing your arm, still studying the ring. It’s cheap. Plated gold with a less valuable metal as the base.

Pathetic. He tosses it carelessly.

A few months later, Satoru proposes with a proper engagement ring.

You say yes.

WHEN I SEE YOU AGAIN | G. SATORU x READER

You’ve been pretending not to see ghosts your whole life in order to blend in perfectly, but you can’t ignore the cute ghost with a bright smile standing in front of your door.

cw. ghost! gojo. fem! reader. minimal fluff. graphic depictions of murder. angst. hurt no comfort. mentions of grief. mentions of being under the influence (alcohol and drugs.) characters with depression. unedited.

notes. wrote a lil something for gojo since it’s been a while since i wrote any jjk fics and i missed it :( also should i open requests again? i miss writing one shots lol

wc. 7k

You met him on the first night of winter.

Eager to get home after a long and tiring day at work, you blow hot air on your freezing palms to keep them warm before stuffing it deep in your coat pockets. The walk home was less than fifteen minutes, and you’ve always refused to buy a car because you enjoyed the journey and wanted to familiarize yourself more with the city. You previously lived in the outskirts, but after a phone call from the main department telling you you were promoted and had to transfer in the city, you found yourself packing up on the weekend and renting a cheap apartment.

Located in the middle of everything – convenience stores, medical facilities, popular bars, and a quaint looking flower shop with a cute florist – you thought your apartment was perfect. It was a little shabby, you had to admit. The plumbing didn’t work well and electricity got cut off at random times in the night that resulted in a headache because you couldn’t send that damn email, but the landlord offered an extremely cheap rent that you couldn’t refuse. Plus, it was only a few minutes walk from your office and your neighbors were peaceful.

Well, most of them anyway.

Your neighbors consisted of mostly old couples who were so silent and desolate that you often forgot they existed, your eyes widening whenever you saw an unfamiliar old lady walking and asking you how your day was before realizing, Oh, she’s Mrs. Oliver, I completely forgot. Save for the married couple who were always throwing pots and pans at each other because darn Ronald couldn’t put the toilet seat back down, your place was placid. The landlord was ecstatic when you saw her poster and inquired for a unit, muttering something about not getting enough tenants to keep the place going because of ‘a traumatic issue.’

You’d really rather not ask what it was.

Besides, you’ve never been curious enough of what the world has to offer, simply because you see things – or rather fragments of people – that you’d rather not see. Ever since you started seeing ghosts at a young age of four, people avoided you like the plague, calling you a ‘freak’ and whatnot. Your family soon moved away to a much smaller place in the city because they couldn’t handle seeing their child who often talked to ghosts and sat in corners alone while laughing by herself be criticized by others. They didn’t believe you, of course, often calling it a ‘lonely child’s imagination.’ They sent you to multiple therapists who always assured you that they would listen to whatever problems you were having to cause you to be this way.

Unfortunately for them, there wasn’t anything wrong with you. You weren’t lonely at all. You saw a dozen ghosts every day who were always ecstatic at finding out you could see them, and they were more than willing to interact. As a child, you always thought ghosts were more interesting than actual people because they had an unlimited amount of time to converse with you, and they have had so many experiences to share with you. 

When you grew older, however, you started to see yourself in other’s eyes, realization dawning on you that on social norms, you are, indeed, a freak.

Determined to fit in more and also sick of being faced with countless counselors who strongly believed you had a traumatic experience when your whole life has been nothing but bland and plain, you started ignoring them. It wasn’t easy at first, though. These ghosts have always kept you company while everyone gave you the side eye without knowing who you really were, and you admit you felt lonely in the beginning and a little guilty when they were convinced you couldn’t see them anymore.

You participated more in school activities and even joined a photography club in high school (you had to quit a month later because ghosts kept appearing on your photos, and you had to burn them in order not to freak anyone out) and with each baby step you took, you started to fit in more. The proud look your parents had on their faces when you had finally become ‘normal’ and even got an award for being an exemplary student was enough to keep you going on this journey, and you ignored the lonely spirits so hard that you eventually started seeing less and less of them.

Until now.

Standing in front of your door was a young man, his back awkwardly bent and long, beautiful fingers fiddling awkwardly with one another. He stood barefoot yet wore a comfy looking blue university hoodie and grey sweatpants, and his silver hair seemed shiny and healthy enough to  not consider him a homeless man who was lost and simply wandering. Tipping your head to the side, you rack your brain to remember if you had any neighbours like him. 

His head snaps in your direction. 

He is definitely not your neighbour. You would have remembered such a cute looking guy.

He had unnaturally ethereal futures, prominent cheekbones becoming more pronounced when you meet his eyes, and you blink to gain control over your body when you realize you’ve been staring too long than what would be considered acceptable. You don’t even deny you’ve been checking him out, although you do ignore the almost puppy-like way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, causing your heart to jump a little. Just a little. You also liked how his hair complimented perfectly with his pale skin – he seemed like an exact embodiment of winter. 

You walk forward, spinning your keys at the end of your pointer finger. Smiling at him politely, you paused in your tracks. He’d been blocking your door. “Hello, is there something I can help you with?”

No matter how cute he was, you wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose if he was a criminal.

His pretty hands come up to his face to cover his mouth falling open, and you take a step back when he does a little jump and starts laughing. “You can see me?”

“Uhm, yes,” you answer. “You’re blocking my door, so yeah, I can very much see you.”

As if realizing just now he stood in the way of you and your comfortable bed, who was calling out to you by now, he mutters a quick apology under his breath before stepping aside, a goofy grin remaining on his face and his childish behavior makes you scoff in amusement. He was still watching you even after you’ve unlocked your door, and you sigh at him. “Is there any reason you’re still standing outside my apartment, or should I call the police?”

Instead of looking worried like you expected him to, his smile only gets bigger. “Actually, I live here, well… I used to.”

You stare at him blankly with a slack expression on your face, watching as his features turn sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Looking down on his bare feet, you mumble a curse under your breath when you realize he’s hovering. 

“Not again,” you say to yourself before placing a palm against your forehead. It’s been years since you last saw a ghost, why did you have to see them now out of all times? A new branch is opening up and your superiors have given you the project of making sure the launch goes well, and you didn’t really want a ghost bothering you with your biggest task of all time. You worked hard for this promotion, you didn’t want to take one step forward and two steps back. Glaring at the undeniably attractive ghost who still hovered in your doorway, you decided he wasn’t your problem. 

“Well, goodnight.”

You slam the door on him and trudge towards your bedroom, ignoring his “Wait!” as you unwrap the red scarf around your neck and plop on your bed almost lazily, moaning when your stiff muscles finally relax. The bed was so soft and warm because you’d left the heater on accidentally, and you’re about to be sent to dreamland when a voice beside you speaks up.

“You should take off your makeup before going to bed.”

Opening your eyes and coming face-to-face with the ghost who was resting his chin in both of his hands and laying on your bed, you grab a pillow and throw it at him, and he grins when the object goes past him completely. “Get out of my house, stop bothering me!”

“Technically, darling, this is still my house,” he tells you and starts sitting up before crossing his legs. “The unit was still named after me before you came.”

“Then why wasn’t I informed about that?”

“I was murdered here four years ago,” he deadpans, soft voice flitting into a murmur as he plays with his fingers again, refusing to look at you. “That’s why I never left. Judging from what you said earlier, you can see ghosts, and you know exactly why we’re still here.”

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you stumble over your words. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know and–”

“It’s quite alright,” he shrugs. 

Silence soon joins the two of you; the ghost playing with the ends of your blanket with a far-off look in his face while you study his features, and something tugs at your heart. The reason why ghosts remain here instead of passing on like they were supposed to was because it meant someone was still holding on to them and absolutely refused to let go, or if they had unfinished business that needed to be resolved before they could go in peace. You’ve met ghosts like him who were murdered, and all of them remained with a seething rage and insatiable need for revenge, unable to accept that there wasn’t much they could do in their state. 

As for the one sitting in your ghost, a small smile tugs at the end of his pink lips as he takes in your bedroom, amusement dancing in his eyes at the amount of stuffed animals you had and some framed photos of you as a child. 

“You decorate much better than me, and you’re a lot more organized, too. This place was such a mess back when I was still alive.”

There was an unmissable hint of sadness behind his voice, and you can’t help but ask his name. “I’m Satoru,” he grins, “and for the record, I’ve always been here, just floating through time and space, but not the afterworld yet. For some reason, ever since you arrived, I just appeared back where I left off.”

You nod and take in his words, noticing how he clears his throat and sends a sheepish look your way. “If it’s not too much of a bother, can I ask for your help?”

“What is it?”

He stands up and heads toward your desk, although you supposed it was his since the furniture had already been here before you came. You didn’t think too much about it back then and only felt grateful that you had one less piece of furniture to buy, especially since it was empty. Apparently not, because Satoru keeps digging around through your files with his tongue peeking out his lips, and you vaguely recall that ghosts are able to touch things after feeding off of energy from living beings.

Letting out an ‘aha!’ when his hand finally lands on what he’s looking for, he tenderly places a photo on your outstretched palm with a shy smile. Inside the photo was a beautiful man, probably in his mid twenties, his hair up in a messy bun as he grinned at the camera. Beside him, Satoru’s eyes are closed with his head thrown back in laughter, relishing the feeling of that warm sunny day, and you unconsciously frown at it.

“His name’s Suguru,” he began, his eyes turning glossy at the sight of the polaroid. “He was my best friend before I died.”

Pursing your lips and feeling the tension thicken the room, you ask him, “Why are you telling me this?”

“He’s the reason why I can’t go,” he admits, shoulders dropping while his eyes remain trained on her. “He blames himself for everything and refuses to accept that I’m gone, that’s why I’m still here.”

You remain silent and take a deep breath, your head pounding at the situation. It was a beautiful first night of winter, the perfect weather for you to do your work from home while nestling a cup of hot cocoa in your hands, yet it seems your plans changed and you have to help this ghost out. A part of you wants to reach out and embrace him in a hug, but you know you’ll only end up stumbling on your own feet and clearly, Satoru wants to move on to the next chapter of his journey.

“Can you please tell him I’m okay now?”

When he looks at you like that, shoulders hanging low and an almost shy smile decorating his innocent features, it’s hard to say no.

“I will.”

Through the past few weeks since you’ve met Satoru, your life seemed to light up like a Christmas tree without you noticing. He was a funny guy and often pulled pranks on you, like slamming the cabinets open and closed or leaving your window open in the middle of the night, laughing when you shout at him as your teeth chatter and you slam your windows shut. 

“I could have died from the cold, you idiot!”

He keeps laughing as if he didn’t nearly kill you with hypothermia, “Well, if you die, I guess we’ll be together then,” and even has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows. You scowl at him and pull your jacket closer to your body, asking what he wants from you because he never goes this far to demand for your attention unless he wants something from you.

“What do you want this time?”

“I wanted to finish that series we were watching the other day,” he pouts rather childishly, “You always tell me not to watch it without you.”

On a particular weekend where you felt like your brains were about to explode from exhaustion due to your work piling up, you refused to wake up until noon, and you felt thankful Satoru knew how tired you were and let you have your much needed rest. When you woke up, a bowl of cereal was already waiting for you in your kitchen island, meaning the reason you felt tired even after that long slumber was because he fed off your energy to give you food.

Feeling thankful for the simple, sweet action, you munched on it happily. It wasn’t anything special and the corn flakes had gone too crusty for your liking, but Satoru’s happiness at you appreciating what he prepared was worth it. After breakfast, you dumped the bowl into the sink and planned to wash it later, opting to flick through Netflix for a good show. Satoru had excitedly pointed at one title that he said he’s always wanted to watch, and the two of you became hooked on it soon enough. Lunch and dinner were both forgotten as you two sat beside each other, your leg against his. Although you couldn’t exactly feel him, his presence was warm.

You and Satoru had been so immersed in the show and unexpected turn of events that time flew by and it was already half past three. He was the first to notice and he jumped from his seat, his hands waving worriedly in a comical manner. “I’m so sorry I made you skip your meals! Aren’t you hungry, you should have some pizza delivered or something.”

Glancing at the clock, you hummed when you realized it was indeed late. You weren’t feeling hungry since you were mostly abeyant, and nothing was open to deliver food around this time anyway. “It’s okay,” you shrug, “I’m not really hungry, and that show is addicting. Oh, and don’t watch it without me! I know you always go ahead when I’m not home!”

Satoru huffs and plops down next to you dramatically, rolling his eyes and taunting you. “Then don’t go to work, Little Miss Manager.”

You poke your finger with his forehead but it only passes through and he laughs, “I need money to survive, idiot.”

“Whatever,” he dismisses and points to your bedroom. “You’ve still got to edit your final draft, so you have to wake up early. Go to bed, don’t worry about the dish, I’ll handle it.”

“Liar, you’ll only feed from my energy so you can play video games!”

“Hey, you can’t blame me!” He counters back as he proceeds to your sink and pumps out soap to the sponge, “You were the one who bought me that console!”

“Only because you kept whining to me how much you wanted it,” you retorted before yawning, and his eyes softened at the sight of you. He rarely gets to see you dressed so comfortably in a loose shirt, cardigan and pajama pants since you were such a busy woman whose fashion sense monotonously consisted of pearl white button-up blouses and knee-length pencil skirts. Prudish and preppy, he thought, but it suits you just fine.  

“You should sleep now,” he reminds you with a nod of his head back to your bedroom, and you obey, simply because your eyes were sore and tired from binge watching. You’re in the process of cocooning yourself under the covers when he calls out in a sing-song voice, “Thank you for the console, by the way. I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Shut up!” You scream, and his rambunctious laugh was the last thing you heard before your body wholeheartedly welcomed sleep. 

You’ve been thinking about that day ever since, the moment replaying over and over again in your head, successfully distracting you from focusing on your work. Even your co-workers have noticed that you’re lusterlacking lately, but how could you focus on anything else when you had a charming yet lonely ghost who was waiting for you at home?

For days on end, you can only think about the cheerful and carefree sound of his laugh as if he had so much happiness in his lithe body that he couldn’t contain. Your heart always got tugged in its heartstrings whenever you had trouble falling asleep and he sat beside you in your bed, singing you lullabies and caressing your cheek. You started to feel him now – the gush of air in your skin meant he was pressing onto you, and the more you got attached to him, the more you got confused with your feelings.

He never told you how he was murdered and you never asked, figuring it would be too sensitive for him, and your hands balled into fists each time you remembered he was dead. Satoru is such a precious person who only has too much love to give, and it was completely unfair and outrageous that his life was taken away from him in a single flash. You’ve done your research at work, and only a few articles came up regarding his death. The case remains a mystery and still unsolved until it was completely closed due to lack of leads or suspects, but the police force highly suspected someone had broken in and committed homicide without theft, since not a single belonging of him got touched. They concluded that the murderer was drunk and lost, because he was a well-loved person in their campus, and they couldn’t find anyone who could possibly harbor abhorrence for the sweet boy.

But most of all, a part of you wants him to stay. He frequently asks you if you’ve talked to Suguru, and you always denied it, making up an excuse about how he was hard to find because he graduated years ago. ‘He’s hard to find,’ you would tell him one day, and ‘He doesn’t have social media,’ the next. Even though he told you he majored in Forensics, you couldn’t find anyone in the city. 

It’s a half lie. You never found Suguru, because you never looked for him in the first place.

You know it’s selfish of you to be this way, because you know Satoru wants to move on. He doesn’t say anything about it and keeps laughing instead, but sometimes when he thinks you’re too immersed in your work to notice him, you look at him. Being around you only reminds him of what he no longer has, and one look at him has you knowing he was someone who loved life. Satoru loved to travel with his friends, and he still had so many dreams left unfulfilled that made him feel empty yet desperate to be in the afterworld.

However, it is hard for you to let him go. 

No matter how much you try to fit in, deep inside, you know you will always be too different from the rest. You still struggled with socializing and didn’t have a single friend yet a hundred acquaintances, and you never realized how lonely you were until he came. His smile lit up the whole room and his laugh was melodious, and you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who cared so much for you. He liked to play games and pull pranks on you quite often, but underneath all that lies a kind heart.

Satoru knows exactly when his jokes go too far and apologizes right away, promising not to do something to upset you again and always doing something entirely new to cheer you up. On nights where you’re feeling absolutely drained or you carried home your anger at your co-workers, you go to sleep without taking off your makeup. When you wake, there’s used wipes in the bin, the hovering boy in your apartment proud of his work. Sometimes you forget to cover yourself in blankets too, plopping on top of the sheets almost lifelessly. It’s in those times that he shows how much he cares for you, and you soon wake up feeling warm surrounded by heavy blankets and freshly cooked breakfast.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were falling for him. It made interacting with him difficult, because you knew you had to let him go, yet you couldn’t.

He watches you carefully and gauges your reaction, waiting to see if you’ll finish the series with him or not. It’s a Wednesday night, or more accurately an early morning on Thursday and the launch happens in less than a week. Logically, it is much better to go back to sleep and refuse, but he is rocking his weight on his heels back and forth, and you realize perhaps he has been lonely since his death too.

“Fine,” you agree, and now he’s bouncing excitedly next to you on your couch as he keeps pressing buttons in your remote.

“You’re the best, you know that?” 

You only hum in response, and Satoru soon becomes lost in the show. Your eyes aren’t focused on the screen – on him rather. Placed on top of your fist lies your cheek as you study his side profile, trying to memorize the slope of his nose and the snow-white hair that keeps falling onto his eyes that makes him flip it to the side every now and then to watch the show. His right leg keeps bouncing up and down, a habit he had when he was anxiously anticipating something, and then stopping before his left leg went bouncing instead, meaning he didn’t like the situation.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you smile sadly when you realize his favorite character had been betrayed. “Did you see that? That freaking woman, he only loved her and she snitched him out like that?!”

Shrugging one shoulder and feeling your eyes become droopy, you reply, “Well, he’s a grave robber, Satoru, he was only nice to her because he liked her. She had every right to mislead him.”

“I don’t understand, but okay,” he relents and leans back, eyes closing before he intertwines his hands behind his neck and murmurs, “I hated the ending.”

“Not everyone gets happy endings,” you add grimly, watching the muscles underneath his hoodie flex at your comment. The two of you remain silent for a few minutes, and plucking up the courage, you breathe in sharply before slowly lowering yourself until your head is on his shoulder. 

You keep yourself still in order not to fall, and your eyes remain fixated on his hand, silently yearning to be able to touch him. If he was alive, would his skin be as warm as his presence? His hand flexes and trails from his lap until it’s beside yours, and you hear him swallow audibly before locking your fingers with his.

A tear falls down your face. You could feel him. 

Satoru hums a familiar tune, and you chuckle happily when you recognize it’s the song he always sings to you to make you sleep, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles.

His other hand tilts your chin upwards until you’re looking directly at his eyes. You hold in your breath, his lips only a centimeter away from yours. If you lean forward, you could kiss him… but you don’t. 

“Why are you crying?”

Because I don’t want you to go.

“Nothing,” you lie and offer a forced smile which he notices, but doesn’t comment about it. “I just feel happy.”

He nods slowly before leaning forward, and he gets so close that you can faintly see his freckles that dot across his cheeks lovingly, and your eyes flutter shut when his lips press against yours. Satoru sighs as if he’s been waiting too long to do that, and he is pushing against you so softly, so tenderly, that it almost fits the same atmosphere your heart creates. He is soft in everything he does, from his innocent features and smile that puts the stars to shame, to how he holds you and caresses you. His hand trails from your neck to pull you closer, and you moan when his tongue peeks out and playfully coaxes yours out to play. Tears are streaming down your face when you kiss him back slowly, tongues moving in sync as they danced harmoniously instead of battling each other for dominance. Caressing your face that fits perfectly in his hand, he brushes away your tears with the pad of his thumbs. 

A moment passes before you two are breathing heavily with your foreheads pressed against each other, and the silence is broken when he speaks, his voice coming out raspy and out of breath. 

“Suguru… has been struggling long before I died.”

“What?”

“My best friend… he got into a rough patch. Had troubles with his parents, went down the wrong path, and met dangerous people. I’d heard rumors he was going around skipping class and talking to people I’ve never seen before, but I chose to ignore it. Suguru would’ve told me everything once he was ready. And I was stupid, you know? I saw it. I saw how he stopped smiling, how he’d lost weight. How his eyes no longer looked happy,” Satoru’s hands trembled, the blue of his eyes hauntingly dark. “One night, I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. I’ve never heard him that angry, and I got worried. I wanted to stop him from whatever he’ll end up doing so I invited him over but… Next thing I know, he came over here, drunk and high, and stabbed me until I bled to death.”

You gasp and shudder as you imagine the scene, Satoru lying on his bed as he waited anxiously for his friend. You see him smiling at Suguru excitedly because he’d actually come, but fear replaces it when his friend succumbs to the madness. The image of Satoru drowning in his own pool of blood made you clench your jaw.

“There had to be evidence left.”

Satoru smiles sadly as if to tell you it doesn’t bother him anymore, but you can’t shake it off. How can a man be so blinded in his own misery that he could take his own best friend’s life? “He was a forensics major; he knew how to cover up his crime.”

A pregnant pause fills the room as you furrow your brows, the sound of the cold wind tapping against your windows as you rack your head to make a decision. Now that you knew the truth, you had to tell the police about it, but how would they believe you if there was no evidence found? And if the case was cleared, and Suguru had finally moved on, that means...

“You can ask me to stay.”

“What?” You breathe out, looking at his eyes with sadness pooling in them. He’s smiling, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You pull away from him completely until he’s at an arm’s length away. He doesn’t look hurt by your action but he sighs, reaching out for you and pausing with his hand mid-air when you raise a palm to stop him.

He must’ve known you’re in love with him. Just as he also knows that once he leaves, you’ll be hurt, and he doesn’t want you to feel that.

You shake your head and stand up harshly. The tears now uncontrollable as you slam your bedroom door to his face. You’re slightly thankful he doesn’t come after you and leaves you alone instead. You needed time. Time to think, time to put his needs over yours - time to forget him. Rummaging through the documents on your desk, you keep looking for it until the polaroid is clutched between your fingers, and you silently place it in your handbag.

Tomorrow, you would set things straight.

Suguru Geto was a hard man to find. He’d fled from the spotlight as one of the  best students of his university after Satoru Gojo’s death. The image of his best friend, who was always in high spirits and laughed without a care in the world, covered in his own blood was a sight that scarred him for the rest of her life. 

But there was one more person who hadn’t moved on from that night.

Ieri Shoko, the woman who ran first at the hospital when Satoru’s parents were away for a business trip. She didn’t want to believe it at first. Satoru had always seemed so full of life, so in love with what the world had to offer. He’d been so young – it just couldn’t be. They had to be lying, right?

But when she finally saw her friend’s bloodied corpse on that cold hospital bed, she’d fallen apart.

She went to sleep crying to herself every night, regretting and blaming everything on herself. Her instinct told her it was Suguru who had done this to him. She barged into his dorm room, screaming and flailing, punching the taller man and effectively breaking his nose as she dragged him down by the collar. Suguru was already questioned by the police after Satoru’s murder, but his alibi of being in a bar was factual, and they had proven his innocence after checking surveillance cameras. He was only gone for a few minutes before he appeared on the dance floor all over again, and they believed him when he said he only disappeared to go to the restroom.

Presumably to wash the blood off his hands.

Shoko didn’t believe it. “Tell me you didn’t kill him, tell me!”

Suguru growls, frustrated at her for even accusing him of doing such a horrendous thing, and he feigns his innocence as he pries her hands away from his collar. “I didn’t do it, Ieri, I was at a bar!”

“Bullshit!” She screams, slamming a vase onto the floor and dropping down to the floor as sobs wrecked through her body. “I smelled your perfume the moment I walked in. I know it was you…”

His eyes widened, but he remained silent because she had always been smart and too observant for her own good. He shrugs his collar back into place and goes back to his bedroom, but not before darkly muttering, “I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill him…”

Four years later, and you’re sitting in front of Officer Kento, an intimidating man with empty eyes staring at you hardly, his face devoid of any emotion. He’d been the same officer who worked on Satoru’s case before it was closed. “And why should I believe you? Ghosts don’t exist.”

You snap your head up from your lap to him and scowl, “I just want to help you here, Officer.  You need to re-open this case.”

He abruptly stands up and slams his palm harshly against the desk, his eyes filled with rage as he stares down at you. “You don’t think I haven’t tried before?!”

“Well then, try harder!” You fumed, standing up. “If you don’t resolve this case, he’s going to remain here forever, lost and nowhere to go. Do you really want him to suffer even after his death?”

“How am I supposed to believe everything you say is true?”

Plucking out their polaroid from your bag and shoving it to his chest, you watch as he crumbles piece by piece. He holds the photo tentatively before cradling it to his chest, and what you presumed was a cold-hearted man was actually just a lost person.

“I don’t know why you closed that case, but it isn’t over. He’s still here, and he needs our help.”

You turn away from him to give him peace and wrap your fingers around the doorknob, “Suguru Geto is out there walking freely. You can still make a difference, Sir. It’s not too late.”

Happiness was a concept you believed to be fleeting.

One moment, you are giggling with the ghosts who tell you funny stories and whisper mischievously in your ear the correct answers in your pre-school days, and the next moment you are pressing a hand against your car windows, watching as the only people you considered friends are witnessing you leave without a goodbye.

That feeling comes back again and again, from little moments such as eating lunch with your high school friends and making empty promises to keep in touch after graduation, giggling when a cute boy comes by and asks for your number. But like any other moment in your life where you feel happy, that feeling dissipates as fast as it came.

The bell attached to the door chimes to signal a customer, and the cute florist you met on the first day you moved to this city, Choso, looks up from the pot he’s currently watering. Bowing politely, he sends a pleased smile upon the sight of you.

You tuck a stray hair behind your ear and return the smile back, his musky perfume blending in well with the sweet aroma of flowers as he stops in front of you. “Hi, I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, “Our latest branch just opened downtown, so I was a bit busy with that.”

“Oh, you work for that bookshop everyone’s been talking about non-stop?” You nod and laugh at his question, proud of yourself that the new opening had been successful. The state campus was only three bus rides away, and with the extensive amount of books your bookstore offered, along with its affordable prices, everyone’s been talking about it. “I’m proud of you, it was a success,” he commends, rubbing his dirties hands on his apron before opening the door for you. What can I get you?”

Personally, you thought Choso was a bit too rugged to be working in a floral shop. He always seemed to carry himself in such an awkward manner and had an authoritative yet welcoming aura to him, his shy smiles the highlights of your day. “I want to give it to my friend. Today’s their special day.”

“I see,” Choso’s eyes are already scanning the plethora of flowers he has in his shop, his brows pinching together in thought. “Can you tell me a little bit about them? It’d help to make their bouquet more personal.”

A smile makes its way to your face. “They’re… bright, carefree, innocent, and pure. They almost seem like an angel, if you ask me. I was also thinking about something that represents young love, and… new beginnings?”

You have absolutely no idea what you’re saying. The words coming out of your mouth are beyond your control. You’re sure you’re making a fool out of yourself, but Choso nods understandingly, frows burrowed before he snaps his fingers and turns to you. “White roses describe all of those, but if you want, I can whip up more flowers for you.”

He makes a move to get his scissors and starts listing off flowers with the same meanings, but you run up to him and not so accidentally wrap your hands around his to get him to stop. His eyes widen at your close proximity. You clear your throat and take a step backward, fighting the urge to smile when his cheeks are dusted a fine pink. “White roses itself are fine, thank you.”

He gulps and heads towards the back door, coming out later with a bouquet of white roses. You reach for your wallet before his arm wraps around your wris, his smile wobbly and hesitant. “It’s on the house. You can pay me back with a cup of coffee next time.”

Eyebrows rising at his smoothness, you gratefully accept the flowers and cradle it near to your chest. “A cup of coffee it is.”

Choso chuckles shyly and ducks his head, and you leave the shop with a wave of your hand before walking further and further. Your surroundings shift from the high-rise building and busy streets to a hill covered in trees sprawled out everywhere, flowers blooming and withering at every corner. Sitting down on the soil with your legs crossed, you place the bouquet in front of his headstone, his framed polaroid with Suguru standing in front of you. 

It’s been exactly seven days since you last saw Satoru.

After countless sleepless nights of phone calls from Officer Kento, he’d finally cracked the case with your help. Suguru Geto was found. He’d confessed to all his crimes, his handsome face weary yet relieved. It seemed he’d never once forgotten about that night when he betrayed his friend, and just before he was ushered behind bars, he turned to you. You wished you felt anger towards him for what he did, but there was only sadness. Only regret in his eyes. He looked so tired, so hopeless.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “Thank you for finding me.”

A nod was all you could give. Suguru felt so familiar, yet so strange. You’ve heard tons of stories about him from Satoru, all about their happiest moments together. He’d been his closest friend, the one he shared so many dreams with, and the one who knew him the most. Maybe he knew Satoru wouldn’t fight back once his demons consumed him. Maybe when Suguru was holding his friend’s bloodied hand in the night, he knew – Satoru was never mad at him. He only wanted to save his friend. Maybe he knew Satoru wasn’t completely dead yet, not when he lived in everyone’s heart, and most especially yours.

That night when you returned home, the apartment felt colder than ever. Normally, it would mean a ghost lingered. But there was no longer the sound of Satoru’s humming, and the dishes were left half-washed in your sink. And for the first time in your life, you hated your eyes and how it gave you the ability to see the traces he left behind. 

Because you wished you had enough time to say goodbye. You wish you had told him everything, but the thought of being another tether to the living realm weighed down on you. You couldn’t do that to him. He had to go. For Satoru to truly move into the next life, you had to close your heart and forget him. Just as Suguru’s forgiven himself, and just as Shoko’s accepted her friend’s death - you too had to say goodbye. 

Tears clouded your vision.

The white remnants of his soul sparkled in your apartment. For the last time, you watched as the blue of his hoodie finally disappeared, his hands scrubbing your dishes away fading into nothingness. The plate drops and breaks. Satoru stood, his legs vanishing bit by bit as he saw the running water through his hands. He’d wanted to return your apartment to the way it was before he’d met you, but he knew – his time was running out. He didn’t have energy left to turn everything off.

The water floods your apartment. The new series he’d dearly loved still plays on the TV. 

But he was here – hugged by the earth and decorated with flowers, smiling at you from far away even when you could no longer see him. Placing the bouquet of white roses down at his grave, you smiled at the photo they’d taken months before he died. He still looked just as beautiful – all wide smiles, kind eyes, and soft hands.

To you, he was still alive in your heart.

“I’ll see you around, Satoru.”

There's a slow song playing when you get home. You drop your bag, toe out of your shoes as you make your way to the living room to find that Dabi's cleared the furniture away, giving the room more space.

On his phone, is a slow song blaring through the speakers, just loud enough that you can talk normally.

'Dabi, what's this?' You ask, and he turns. He's wearing simple clothes, but his grin is bright.

'This is for you, babe. Come here.'

He takes your hand, pulling you close. 'May I have this dance?'

Giggling, you nod and let him lead, the sides of your heads pressed together. It's unexpected, but that's what makes it even better.

-dabihawksluva

This is so sweet 🥹🥹 thank you. I woke up not feeling great but seeing this just made my day @dabihawksluva

I’ve never actually danced with anyone before but for dabi I’d do it any day 💙

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

Hollow Heart

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ summary: The dynamic duo of Dynamight and Deku are unstoppable, climbing the hero charts like they always dreamed of as kids. Their journeys were tough, but offered them the world - fame, fortune, protection of their family and friends, a comfortable hero life. The recent increase in crime around Tokyo kept their entire sector busy, sending heroes out non-stop, desperate to keep the statistics as low as possible to maintain a clean reputation. When a nearby sector is requesting assistance, the boys are tasked with a mission to inspect a villain’s lair in a deserted area outside of the city. Reports have noted people going missing, specifically with rare quirks. With plenty of other heroes being unavailable, you’re chosen to tag along with the duo for the night operation. Everything is going according to plan until the villain lands a surprise attack, resulting in the your kidnapping and whisking you away through a mysterious portal. It’s been a month since your disappearance with no help of the hero agency. Bakugo and Midoriya take it into their own hands and are determined to get you back - no matter how long or what it takes. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: Prepare for the heartbreaking journey of Bakugo battling with his feelings when it’s too late…or is it? :) ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 5,092 as of ch.1 ꒱ Chapter 1 | Hurricane Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You Chapter 2.5 | Choke Chapter 3 | The Grey Chapter 4 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 5 | Tourniquet Chapter 6 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆

CHAPTER ONE: HURRICANE

A beautiful summer morning, rays of tangerine light poured into the living room of your apartment as you sleepily make your way to the kitchen, desperate for that first cup of coffee. The clock on the stove read 8:35AM - the latest you’ve overslept in the last month. It was another long night in the office, writing reports for your previous week’s hero patrols that you’d put off for far too long. You'd think someone else would be responsible for inputting notes into the agency's system, but no - anyone below rank 10 was tasked with entering in their own data. 

Criminal activity in the area had increased significantly within the last 3 months, calling heroes of all ranks out nonstop, especially lower ranked heroes. Was it annoying? Sure, being awoken in the middle of the night out of a dead sleep to go stop a small robbery at the local late-night supermarket wasn't ideal. Especially when you dreamed of dealing with bigger threats, akin to crime syndicates and large scale villain organizations. As a hero, you’re taught to tune out the small details and focus on what’s in front of you - keeping the citizens of your ward safe and sound, even if it's helping a granny cross the street in the middle of the afternoon.

The agency accepted you with open arms right out of UA High, over the moon to have a hero with a quirk like yours in their roster. Psionic energy manipulation was shockingly uncommon amongst the 80% of the population of quirk users. The kinetic hero, Y/H/N, ranked number 37 - high enough to earn respect from your peers and low enough to not have to worry about being followed by paparazzi and negotiating brand deals. Cities were full of billboards with ads sponsored by heroes, heavily focused on those in the top 10 for allure to their product. Deku and Dynamight’s athletic wear collaboration, Uravity’s mochi bites, Shouto’s fire and ice energy drinks - it was impossible to avoid. Did you wish you had the smallest bit of spotlight? Sometimes, but being able to walk the streets off-duty and not be bothered was a luxury you'd like to keep. On the counter, your phone buzzed and flashed awake, shaking you out of the sleepy stupor.

Incoming Call: Katsuki Bakugo 

A picture of you and Bakugo appeared on to the caller ID screen - one of your favorite pictures with him. It was from a concert in Shibuya you'd attended a few months back. His arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he flipped off the camera, wearing his infamous toothy smirk as you leaned against him with a small peace sign and a warm smile. 

It's unfair how effortlessly attractive he was. Admittedly, you'd had a crush on him since high school and drank up every ounce of affection he threw your way over the years. Even though you've known him and Midoriya since childhood, your friendship didn't truly blossom until your first year in UA. Thanks to your tenacity and fighting spirit, he respected you after a long six months. That broke down his walls just enough to tolerate you and continue to be friends ever since. 

You, Midoriya, and Bakugo became three peas in pod, a strong bond established to last a lifetime. Post-UA life wasn’t as easy to see each other, but you made it work - trainings, missions, conflicting work schedules, and general life couldn’t get in between the three of you, even if it was just over texts, phone calls and late-night movie marathons. It helped that you all lived in Tokyo, at least. Midoriya, of course, was extremely special and essential to your life. He’s like the little brother you always wanted and a constant ray of sunshine, always there for whatever you need. There was just something different and special about your bond with Bakugo - a spark, without sounding cliche. And after all these years later, he's still your favorite person and one of your best friends. 

You wouldn't trade it for the world. Oh shit, I forgot we planned to go for a run this morning. You answer hesitantly, knowing full well you’re about to get an earful about being late. 

“Yo, Y/N, you plan on showin' up anytime soon?” There was shockingly no annoyance in his tone. “It’s almost 9.”

“Sorry Kat! I overslept. Had a long night writing reports in the office. I’ll be there in 10,” you say, not making any excuses. You hear a loud tch in response - ah, there’s the annoyance.

“I was about to bust down your door and give you a personal wake up call,” he teases, laughing to himself. “Get your ass to the park. See ya, lite-brite.” The line ended with a click. 

He'd never let that nickname go, one that followed you all the way back from high school. You'd grown used to it as he typically reserved it to get under your skin or light a fire under your ass. Most of the time? It worked - and you liked it.

Setting the coffee cup in the sink, you jog back into your room down the hallway and change into a clean set of workout clothes. You'd just gotten the PR package from Midoriya last week with his new sports wear collaboration with Bakugo, saving you time by not having to dig through your laundry pile. He would have scolded you for slacking on chores if he were to have woken you up in person, and then folded it himself to prove a point. He’d often harp on you for not keeping up with basic shit around your place, but in the same breath, start cleaning up for you - it was one of his love languages. 

The company they collaborated with nailed the designs perfectly. It was minimalistic, but still paid homage to their hero costumes. You grab Bakugo's set - a cropped black sleeveless hoodie with an orange 'X' across the front, a forest green band with a drawstring around the midsection, and an orange hood. The matching shorts were all black with a simple orange stripe down the sides. The neoprene material allowed for the set to breathe in any weather condition.

Thankfully, the park you were meeting him at was only a couple minute walk from your apartment building. Not long after pulling your hair into a ponytail, splashing your face with water and brushing your teeth, you're kicking on your sneakers by the door and shuffling out of the apartment. A few minutes to spare, you duck into the convenience store along the way, grabbing two sports drinks and a bag of his favorite spicy-flavored chips. God, you hated the taste of them and never understood why he liked them so much. Some part of you jokingly thought it fueled his already explosive personality, literally heating him up from the inside.

───

"You wear that on purpose?" Bakugo snickers over his phone as you skip toward him, pointing to your workout gear. 

"What can I say? It's comfortable. Happy to be a walking ad for the number four hero," you say, elbowing him in the arm. He rolls his eyes, snatching the sports drink you've outstretched to him and mutters a thanks. 

"You should model our next set," he pats you on the back. "You're the perfect fit." 

You scoff, waving a hand at him. "Yeah, like I'm model material."

"I literally just said you were, dumbass. Take a damn compliment!" 

He peers over your shoulder to see the chips in your bag. "Damn, you're really kissing up to me today. What's the occasion?" He's beaming over the attention you're showering him with - he'd never admit how much he loved it.

You shake your head playfully. "What, I can't spoil my favorite person?" 

Bakugo barks out a laugh while opening the sports drink and chugging half of it in one go. Again, it was stupid how attractive he was, no matter what he did. The summer breeze made his blonde locks dance lazily in the morning sun, a sheen on his flawless skin as some of the liquid spilled out of the corner of his mouth, trickling down his jawline. A sadistic part of you thought he did this shit on purpose to rile you up, testing the boundaries of your friendship. 

If only you had the nerve to just scream from the rooftops - Katsuki, I fucking love you.

“You good, Y/N?” He's waving a hand in front of your face. “Space case much?”

“Yeah! Sorry, apparently still waking up,” you apologize while stretching your arms over your head. “Let’s go!”

───

An hour later, you and Bakugo finish your run in the park, completely drenched in sweat. The two of you plop under a nearby tree in the shade, the humidity adding a layer of exhaustion to your depleted stamina. Lazily slouching over onto your shoulder, he steals the sports drink out of your hand and downs the rest of it himself with a satisfied hah. Somehow, you always forget that he smells like caramel and burnt sugar after a run, invading your senses with that sweet essence that you loved. His bangs stuck to the sweat on his forehead as he dropped his head back against the tree, eyes closed as he caught his breath. 

God, he’s so fucking beautiful, you think to yourself, almost afraid he'd somehow hear you.

"I'm free the rest of the day," he comments between shallow breaths, lazily opening one eye and elbowing your side. "Down for a movie day? Been awhile."

"Hell yeah. Junk food, too?" Your eyes light up with excitement.

"Like you gotta ask. I didn't run three fuckin' miles just to look good," he quips. "Cool if I shower at your place?"

That catches you off guard, sending a flutter of butterflies off in your stomach. Why the hell are you so riled up today? Sure, you've had a massive crush on your best friend for ages, but its usually not this intense. Must be the scent of his sweat deluding your thoughts...or maybe it’s the potential scene of watching him walk out into your living room, shirtless - excess water cascading down his hourglass figure, tracing his abs and settling into the hem of his sweatpants.

Stop it! Calm the fuck down.

"S-sure. I have a pair of your sweats, I think…maybe Izuku’s? It’s like you guys leave your shit at my place so I do your laundry for free." 

He shoves you jokingly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Hah! Knew it was you who stole my favorite pair. I’ve got shit with me, no worries.”

Bakugo climbs to his feet, extending a hand back to you. “C’mon, I’m fucking starving and dying to do nothing the rest of the day.”

───

The sunset’s sorbet-colored afterglow flooded the living room as the fourth movie’s credits rolled on the TV screen, a faint warm breeze coming through the open balcony door. The two of you had settled in after your run, marathoning through a collection of films you'd be wanting to watch, surrounded by a buffet of comfort food - taiyaki, meat buns, spicy fried chicken bites, mabo tofu, yakitori, and a box full of various flavors of dango. The cashier at the convenience store must have thought you two were hosting an insane party with how much food you bought, cleaning out their entire hot foods section in minutes. 

Bakugo stretched out like a cat, his abs flexing as his black tank top moved up his midsection. It was impossible not to stare, especially when he wore cropped shirts, showing off his hard earned muscles. You found it ironic how you mentioned once - and only once - how crop tops on guys are attractive as hell, and a few weeks later? He had a handful of them that he’d rotate wearing during the summer, claiming he only wears them for “regulating his temperature for his quirk.” You knew that was a bold-faced lie, but never called him on it. Why would you risk making him change his mind when they looked so good on him? 

He let out a satisfactory groan, putting his feet up on the coffee table and hands behind his head. You stretch as well, throwing your feet in his lap like always. Bakugo looked comfortable, like he was at home. You were home to him.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” He jokes, lolling his head to face you. 

Lost in thought, you have no time to stop the words falling from your mouth.

“No, just admiring you.”

Bakugo quirks an eyebrow, surprised by your flattery. You see a faint pink blush begin to make it’s way across his cheeks, an extremely rare sight.

“Th-thanks,” is all he can muster to say in a low voice. 

“Is that so weird to say? You’re gorgeous, Katsuki,” you blurt out, shocked by your own words. Where the hell is this coming from? You normally weren't so...forward. Not that you were lying in any capacity. You've complimented him plenty times before, why is now different? 

Right?

You pause, realizing you could be overwhelming him. He'd always been adamant on how much he hates when "fans" view him as just a sex object rather than respect him as a heroic figure. 

“I know you hate being objectified. I’m sorry -,”

“Don’t be, y’didn't.” 

The static of the TV hummed through the lull in your conversation, the credits of the last movie approaching the end of its sequence. You nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Thank fuck he can't hear your thoughts.

Bakugo notices your nervous tick and grins. That damn shit-eating grin. 

"Relax, Y/N. I didn't say I didn't like it. Big difference between you and a fan girl sayin' shit like that." 

As he’s about to continue the conversation, both of your phones ring simultaneously. That’s weird…it’s 8:30PM on a Tuesday night. Neither of you were scheduled for patrol and all sectors had coverage from the last e-mail update. You pull your phone out to check the caller ID and sigh in annoyance.

Incoming Call: AGENCY - EMERGENCY LINE

“The fuck?” Bakugo huffs, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

───

After 15 minutes, you're debriefed with a new mission, and strangely, you’re assigned with none other than Bakugo and Midoriya. This was extremely uncommon for heroes of top 10 rank to work with those below rank 25 and only happened when other top 10 heroes are too busy. Emergency calls were normally automated messages, but this was a personal conference call from the board of directors.

We are in need of Y/H/N to assist Dynamight and Deku’s mission to stake out a villain’s laboratory tonight in Sector 42. We’ve received reports of civilians going missing near the area over the last few weeks, specifically those with uncommon and rare quirks. There is a probability that hostages are being using for the development of a secret serum, to which is unknown at this time. Report to the agency by 11:30PM for further instruction.

Man, you were really looking forward to more time with Bakugo. Granted, you’ll still be with him, but now you’ll be stalking around for work, not stuffing your face on the couch together.

“Kat, I don’t know what it is, but I…I have a really weird feeling about this stake out,” you admit, unsure of where this anxiety is coming from. This isn’t the first time you’ve been assigned to a mission like this, and certainly won’t be the last, there was just something odd in the air surrounding this one. 

“Yeah. Go grab your suit, I’ll call Izuku to meet us here and we'll go over together,” Bakugo says hesitantly, already dialing Midoriya and bringing his phone to his ear. 

“Hey, yeah just got the call. Y/N and I are at her apartment, swing by and we'll go to the agency together.”

───

By 11:45PM, the three of you are suited up and stationed in Sector 42. The area was very…barren? It was confusing to you how people would wander out here and disappear. It was in the middle of nowhere, miles from the city limits, an open field surrounded by a spotty tree line. Something still felt off about this entire set up - a gut feeling, but it was enough to keep you on edge.

“Y/N?” Midoriya called to you, blinking with concern. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”

You rub your temple, desperately trying to push the feeling down. 

“Sorry, Izu. I’ve had a gut feeling something was wrong since the phone call.”

“What do you mean?” His interest is peaked, both out of curiosity and concern. 

“Can’t place it, but I feel it, too. Something’s not right,” Bakugo chimed in, surveying the field for any signs of…whatever the hell it was they’re looking for. An entrance to a lab? Masked minions abducting people? The agency was extremely vague in their details. That didn’t sit well with you, and Bakugo now, too. 

“You’re not wrong. This is an open area in the middle of nowhere. Why would anyone wander out here alone?” Midoriya muttered, continuing a conversation with his own thoughts aloud. “It's not a common road for travel, by foot or by vehicle. And how would the agency know what this villain is making without having the location of the lab in question?”

The abrupt sound of creaking metal echoed around you, a sense of danger spiking in your nerves. You place a hand on the shoulder of both Midoriya and Bakugo to halt them in their tracks.

“Did you hear that? It sounded like a door was opening…close by,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Whoosh!

You didn’t register there was another presence amongst you until the dart made contact with your skin. A warming sensation flowed through your right shoulder as you let out a cry, stumbling to your knee. What the fuck? Your hero suit was designed to prevent piercing damage to a degree, but this dart cut right through it. The dart resembled a syringe, automatically activating the injection mechanism as it pierced your skin.

“Y/N!” Midoriya shouted, immediately wrapping an arm around your waist to whisk you away from another potential attack. Bakugo whipped his head around, looking for any sign of where the dart came from. Was someone hiding, or was it a device hidden out of sight? Maybe in a nearby tree? That's not possible, these trees don't have enough leaves for coverage like that.

“Hold still, I’m going to pull it out,” Midoriya warned. You braced for the pain as he yanked the dart from your shoulder, tossing it out of reach. You wince, the sting slowly fading a few seconds later. “Are you feeling okay?”

Things were starting to feel fuzzy, the ache spreading rapidly through the rest of your body. Everything felt warm and cold simultaneously, as if your body was at war over what temperature to settle on. 

“I’m alright, just…dizzy,” you mumble, slurring as you attempt to reassure him.

Midoriya helps you to your feet, offering to let you use him as support. You wave a hand, muttering over and over again I’m fine, I’m fine. There’s a pulsing sensation starting to build in your shoulder, creeping its way through your right arm. It’s tingling, crawling - uncomfortable, but not painful. What the hell was in that dart? 

A flash of black invades your vision, throwing you off balance as things pixelate and sharpen repeatedly before completely disappearing. Things are spinning and your senses are dulling. You notice that you don’t hear Bakugo or Midoriya anymore…did they wander off? You should be able to hear explosions, gusts of wind, crackling energy - something.

A force knocks you on your back, slamming you to the ground. You don’t feel a damn thing, just a vague numbness as your body, what you presume, hits the ground. You can’t make out whatever, or whoever, it is that is attacking you. I still can’t hear anything! Can you speak? Can anyone hear you even if you could?

…Y…N! …Y/N!

A voice? It’s muffled, but you hear someone calling for you. Was that Midoriya?

“Let her go, jackass!”

Oh no, that’s Bakugo. 

His booming voice reverberates through your head, sending your thoughts whirling in a vortex more than they already were. A vision of the battlefield was starting coming into focus, hazy, but a semblance of scenery was making its way back to you. When did I get up from the ground? Didn't I get knocked down? 

The field before you was littered with debris.

…Branches and broken stumps of dead trees.

…Craters in the ground.

…are those broken pieces of Bakugo’s gauntlets? 

…patchy trails and puddles of blood soaking into the dirt.

The sights sent a chill up your spine - your gut instinct was right. 

To your right, Midoriya panted with force as he held onto his thigh, blood seeping through his suit and staining around the wound. He was close enough that you could see the detailing of his tendons exposed from the impact, frayed pieces of skin hanging from the damage. His hair was slicked back, matted with a mix of, what you think, is dirt and blood. The rest of his suit had a variety of slashes and cuts, the material tattered and torn all over his body.

To your left, Bakugo’s on the ground, battered and bruised as he’s struggling to get to his feet. His gauntlets were missing, along with the glove underneath on his right hand. His exposed forearm was beat red, what looked like hand prints blistering the area. Blood trickled from his forehead and pooled under his mask. He’s shouting again…you can’t quite make out what he’s saying as he’s extending his bare arm in your direction.

What the fuck happened?! 

Something inside you clicks abruptly, adrenaline surging, urging you to fight. It’s competing with the numbness in your muscles. How much damage have you taken if you can’t feel a damn thing?

Fuck. Come on, dammit. Move, fight - do something! Help them!

In your peripheral vision, a man appears beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turn on your heel, ready to activate your quirk and blast this guy into oblivion. Your hand meets his clothed chest with a thump.

Nothing happens. 

Your quirk doesn’t activate.

Another swing, focusing all the energy you have into a concentrated blast.

Nothing.

Panic sets in as you study your hand, mortified that you’ve been rendered useless. Your mind is racing faster than you can keep up with. Is this the serum they talked about earlier? How long was I unconscious...was I even unconscious? 

And then it dawns on you - it’s a quirk suppressant. 

The serum they’re using to abduct people nullifies their quirks to make them a willing target.

The mystery man cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Your vision tunnels on his face, the rest of your body shutting back down. You feel your arms flop to their sides as your knees begin to buckle - the adrenaline being zapped from your muscles at his touch. 

“Good, it’s setting in. You’ll be a decent specimen. We’ve been waiting for a psionics user like you to add to our roster.”

A giant swirl of matter begins to manifest in front of you, a gentle force sucking you closer to it’s entry point. You can't help but think about how helpless you look in this moment, confused as hell that this scrawny man could take down three heroes with ease. You fucking hated the feeling, never wanting to be the damsel in distress. It pissed you off beyond belief.

“It’s time.” The man, in what you can now see is a white lab coat, turns you around to face the boys sprawled on the battlefield. “We’ll be going now.”

Every inch of your body is screaming run. But you can’t. You can’t move, paralyzed by all the conflicting effects of the serum running rampant through your veins. Your vision is dimming once more, your eyes threaten to close as Bakugo’s voice drags you back to reality. Your eyes snap open as he appears in front of you, digging his heels into the dirt. 

“Hey, wake up! I’m not letting you go!” 

He’s screaming at the top of his lungs, pleading for you to hear him as he clutches your forearm, attempting to pull you to him. You can’t feel it, but by the strain shown in his bicep, he’s using all of his strength to hold onto you. His eyes are full of panic, wide and bloodshot, crimson irises aflame.

"Let her fucking go!" he roars a second time. His hand is slipping down your forearm, now desperately gripping onto your hand. You attempt to grasp it to no avail, your strength failing you. You hear him let out an anxious grunt, struggling against the force of whatever is pulling you away behind you.

Time seems to slow as you lock eyes, an exchange of unspoken words between you two. A sense of dread begins to flood through your body as you see tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

He's terrified. 

You remember a thought from earlier in the day, if only I could scream "I love you."

There will never be a perfect moment, never a time and place for you to say it. You have to create the moment yourself.

A steady breath escapes you, softly gazing at Bakugo as you see his fingers slipping through your own.

"Katsuki," you mouth, barely able to hear the sound of your own voice.

"I love you."

The last thing you see is Bakugo frantically scrambling toward you before darkness envelops your sight.

- - - BAKUGO POV - - -

Everything happened in the blink of a fucking eye.

Ambushed, both him and Midoriya were hazed with a mysterious smoke, rendering their quirks useless. His explosions fizzled out as he fought the onslaught of henchmen surrounding them, armed with various weapons. The two of them blitzed through a good number of them before quickly becoming overwhelmed - 25 on 2 wasn't ideal odds.

Their hero suits were ripped, equipment shattered as they were punched, kicked, stabbed at, battered, and thrown around.

"I don't need my fuckin' quirk to kick your asses!" Bakugo threatened as he swiped at a nameless henchmen, nailing a right hook to his jaw. Midoriya was holding his own behind him until he let out an agonizing yelp, falling to the ground audibly.

"Deku!" Bakugo called out, spinning in the direction of his cry as someone socked him from the left side. He skid onto the ground, particles of dirt trailing behind him.

Regaining his composure, he looked around to see that all of the henchmen had swiftly disappeared without a trace, as if they were never there in the first place. What the fuck?

He saw her body standing still, some man in a lab coat behind her. She resembled a lifeless puppet, the light from her eyes dim and limbs loosely at her sides. It looked as though she could collapse at any moment.

"Let her go, jackass!" Bakugo shouted, unable to get to his feet.

The unknown man gripped her shoulder as a large black mass appeared behind them. 

Is that a portal? That looks like Kurogiri's quirk from years ago, he thought to himself, willing every fiber of his being to get to his fucking feet.

He's able to muster enough strength get one knee off the ground, enough to launch in range of her and wildly grasp for her hand. 

“Hey, wake up! I’m not letting you go!” 

Bakugo doesn't realize he's screaming, he's acting on impulse and adrenaline - desperation to save her. His hand is slipping at an agonizingly slow pace, moving from forearm to her hand, hardly able to keep his hand clasped with hers. He's cursing internally, hoping that she can't see the terror in his eyes, the anxiety filling him to the brim. That's when he hears her speak, her voice hauntingly quiet.

"Katsuki, I love you."

His hand slips away, watching her disappear into the portal. It closes in an instant as he's hopelessly dashing to it, not noticing that Midoriya is charging from behind him. They briefly collide, stumbling from the impact before they both steady themselves. 

The silence surrounding them is deafening.

"Kacchan," Midoriya snivels, head hung low. "I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough to help." His voice was breaking, clenching his fists at his side.

Bakugo stares at his hand, collapsing to his knees. He felt nauseous, the crippling realization churning in his stomach.

I love you.

Her voice ricocheted through his head, bouncing around as it tugged hard at his heartstrings. An overwhelming sensation of loss fills his heart, refusing to come to terms with the current reality. 

A brief memory flooded into Bakugo's mind, reminding him of a feeling he'd long shoved away. One night - years ago - at his brand new apartment in Tokyo, they'd been up all night talking after the long day of moving his shit into the place. It was 3AM, boxes piled everywhere as they laid in his bed, bullshitting the night away with random talks of life. She started a vulnerable conversation of mental health amongst heroes, ranging from her own family issues and medicated struggles as examples of not knowing what people deal with beneath the surface. He'd been listening, watching as she poured her heart out next to him, able to smile through it all. It was in that moment that struck him like lightning - he'd fallen madly and irrevocably in love with her. He had convinced himself there was no way she would have felt the same, forcing himself to suffocate that feeling for years.

And he was wrong.

Midoriya crouched down beside him as he's lost in the memory, a hand on his shoulder. 

"We'll find her, Kacchan, don't worry," he attempts to declare confidently as his own tears are staining his cheeks. "She's strong, she'll be -,"

"She said she loved me." Bakugo's facade was shattering before his eyes as he watched his best friend crumble onto the ground, clutching his chest. He couldn't control the wail that escaped him, tears pouring from his eyes like the downpour of a rainstorm. 

Midoriya pulled him close, Bakugo falling limply into him, curling into a ball as they sobbed together.

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas.

cw/tags: touya todoroki x fem!reader, royalty!au and regency!au, fake dating, strangers to lovers, canon-typical violence and swearing

update status: in progress!

HAND ONE - HIGH CARD, or the duels

HAND TWO - PAIR, or the deal

HAND THREE - TWO PAIR, or the date

HAND FOUR - THREE OF A KIND, or the debutantes

HAND FIVE - STRAIGHT, or the deal, revised

HAND SIX - FLUSH, or the dinner

HAND SEVEN - FULL HOUSE, or the deceiver

HAND EIGHT - FOUR OF A KIND, or the flop

HAND NINE - STRAIGHT FLUSH, or the turn

HAND TEN - ROYAL FLUSH, or the river

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

Reaaaally feeling the bully!Bakugou being sweet and redeeming himself to victim!darling!!! But could you make one where darling doesn’t accept him after all 😈 😈 😈 and he’s suddenly not so inclined to be sweet anymore???

Changed it up a bit from the last one cuz i didn’t wanna write the same-ish thing, but anyway check that one out too here

BNHA ! FIC

Bakugou Katsuki x darling

TW: yandere, NSFW, noncon, mentions of minors/teens having sex (but no actual depictions of it), toxic relationship, possessiveness, angst WC: 3.5k

No One Else

She’s not sure why she'd ever let it drag out for so long. 

In the beginning, it could be blamed on things outside their control. Where, between the tension that had always simmered within their strained dynamic as pretty girl and vile boy -plus the oncoming of puberty and its whirl of hormones- they were both left in a turmoil of strange pheromones making them panicked, embarrassed, confused, and most of all in dire need of an outlet for it all.

One of which they surprisingly found in each other.

They’d been but foolish teenagers at a silly house party at the time, their first-ever shots of alcohol buzzing through their system as they shared a kiss like none other. 

They’d stumbled up the stairs and gotten frisky in the bedroom while family pictures of their shared friend and his family witnessed them tearing at each other until the skin of childhood had shed and left them both as grown-ups. 

Waking up with a new special understanding of themselves and each other, one with a strange respect and newfound curiosity for the other’s body.

But why he hadn't grown bored of it since and why she'd never put her foot down and ended things was beyond her.

Katsuki had explained it once, one of those times he'd come stumbling into her apartment, drunk and in the midst of buckling up his pants while pawing at her. Kissing her sloppy, he’d mumbled out something along the lines of how no one else knows him like she does. 

And she supposed that had mainly been the reason; that they just knew each other too well and had known each other too long, to which point everyone else just seemed alien; that there was a sort of comfort -if one could call it that- in the familiarity of each other that just couldn't be replicated or replaced by anyone else. 

She’d been raised and groomed to sustain Katsuki and all his ugly tempers all her life. And -blinded by a sense of distorted credit she used to don herself- she couldn't quite imagine anyone being able to handle him but her. And -though she still can’t really put her finger on why- the thought had used to make her proud.

It had made her feel somewhat special...

And needed.

She thought it would go on forever then…

Not that she’d ever bothered to give it much thought. 

That is… until she had that very flirty encounter at the café where she worked. Where, in between being sweet-talked into a stuttering blushed mess and being asked out for coffee someplace where she wouldn't have to serve it herself, she’d come to question her current relationship and started doubting her true obligations toward Katsuki as a partner.

They didn’t go on dates. They didn’t live together. They didn’t text or call one another. They didn’t eat dinner or plan things or visit each other’s parents. 

She didn’t have anything in his apartment, nor him in hers. She’d never washed any of his clothes. She’d never worn any of his clothes. She’d never even driven his car. 

They’d never given each other presents. They didn’t tell people about their relationship. They didn’t talk about work, their day, or their feelings. Actually -having given it a long thought- they didn’t really talk at all. 

In fact, when it came down to it, the only thing she'd been able to think of that they'd ever done together… was sex.

Sex and nothing more…

She doesn’t know if things would have ever changed if he hadn’t asked her what the number scrawled in blue pen on her arm was...

But nevertheless, that’s when Katsuki started acting strange.

She'd never expected he’d get so upset by it, but she ended up apologizing that night while promising him that next time she wouldn’t be so silly, that next time she’d make it clear she already had a boyfriend.

She remembers thinking how the way he fucked her that night had been nothing short of desperate. Having given her nearly no room to breathe with how tightly he’d held her, his face nuzzling into her neck with lovebites, thrusting into her in such a way he was barely even pulling out, pounding her cervix more than her cunt to the point she’d feared it bruised, having had to pat his shoulder to tell him to calm down. 

He’d held her face then, and she’d realized that they hadn’t really had too much eye contact before. She remembers that even then, she couldn’t really decide if she liked it or not. Or rather... she’s sure she’d found it unpleasant, though just hadn’t had the guts to give the feeling any influence. 

She regrets it now that it’s too late. Maybe if she’d done or said something back then, she wouldn’t be in the situation she was trapped in now.

For lack of a better -more suitable- word, she’d have to say he’d become clingy if only it didn’t sound too sweet and childish for someone so much larger than her. But maybe she’d just feared calling it what it had been.

And what it had really been…

Was threatening.

Overbearing and possessive, and needlessly protective. He’d quickly become paranoid with jealousy. Portraying strange obsessive emotions she hadn't known he harbored for her at all until then.

She hadn’t really been able to put her finger on it at the time.

It started out small. Or, small in comparison to now. Small pleasantries he’d never bothered with before. Small niceties she’d never imagined the two of them would do together. 

Thinking back, the first deviation -aside from the triggering night he’d initially seen the phone number and felt the threat of her slipping from his grasp- was the time he’d come and visited her at work when out on patrol. And though he hadn’t really asked, she’d come to realize -rather hesitantly- that he’d come there to eat lunch together with her.

Maybe she’d been too swept up in the embarrassing buzz to notice, caught in the paparazzi of hushed whispers and judgy stares -all of them asking whom the Plain Jane thought she was, eating lunch with the up-and-coming pro-hero Dynamight- she hadn’t really the time nor mind to pay attention to him and all his newly awoken instincts regarding her.

It seemed fucking silly now… How she’d foolishly thought the bizarre lunch was an isolated incident of which wouldn’t ever happen again, only to find herself quickly schooled the next day and the day after that, coming to understand she was to expect it as a regular thing. And soon, it wasn’t even the strangest thing anymore.

Soon he was driving her home every day, coming inside, eating dinner, watching the news until late, and staying the night. Soon she found herself waking up in his apartment alone, coming downstairs to find he’d made her breakfast before leaving, combined with a little note telling her when he’d be back. Soon she wasn’t spending a single week or weekend without him. Soon she couldn’t find anything to wear that didn’t either remind her of him or smell like him or that downright didn’t belong to him completely.

And he’d started taking her places too -on dates- broadcasting their relationship to anyone with a cameraphone who could snap a picture and send it to every gossip magazine in Japan. He’d introduced her to his colleagues -whom she knew to be “friends” from some rather upsetting stories he’d told her when he was in a less and less rare mood for talking- and they’d seemed to know whom she was just as intimately, giving her the sneaking suspicion that Katsuki’d been running his mouth and saying private things he ought not to.

But that had all been child’s play.

It got out of control when he’d ordered a delivery truck to pack down all her things and move them all to his apartment before she got home from work. Sure, he’d introduced the idea of living together in passing, but she couldn’t remember ever committing to it or being at all close to an understanding of where and when.

Thinking about it now, that was probably her last chance of escaping before things got ugly.

But then, it was already too late. She was living with him suddenly. Sharing all his space while unable to shake that awfully crippling feeling of just being another medal or trophy up on the mantle. Just a decorative doll he’d locked behind glass.

She’d felt as though her head was in a cloud. And not in a nice way, but in the utmost hollow way. As though she’d put herself on auto-pilot and just gone with the stream like jellyfish.

And now…

Now he was down on one knee.

Asking -no demanding- that she give him everything. 

For life until due death.

Just the two of them. 

Together.

Forever.

She swallowed thickly, feeling her head prickle as though it had fallen asleep without taking her with it. 

Her lips dry, her eyes dry, feeling more sober than ever.

She took a breath and, on the next exhale, spoke.

“No.”

They both just stared at each other for a while as though neither could decide who was more shell-shocked and had the right reserved to remain still the longest. She left -deciding it was the person on the floor with the expensive ring weighing down his hand- and walked towards the mudroom.

“What are you doing?” He asked then, hesitantly at first. Shaken from his spot, he’d resumed his full height again, loudly stomping across the floor to reach her.

“I’m sorry- I- I can’t stay here- I need to go.” She rushed, head spinning, only able to understand how she wanted to put shoes on and leave. Maybe get a drink at a bar by herself and figure her shit out without being suffocated by him.

“Don’t do this.” He said then, sounding desperate and somewhat feeble if it weren’t for how he had her pushed against the wall in the same second.

She nearly decided against herself when seeing the look on his face. Warped into something truly fragile. Plead had his brows pinched together while his sharp red eyes -now doe-like- had glossed over and looked nothing short of hopeless and scared.

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her heart twist and ache and feel a little guilty.

But nevertheless.

“I can’t marry you, Katsuki….”

She couldn’t keep doing this.

“I’m sorry- I don’t love-” 

She didn’t get to finish. The word taken, stifled, strangled in a fist closing around her throat.

“You do love me.” He refuted quickly, as though terrified to have let her finish. “You’ve always loved me.” Trembling while he said it, as though trying to force himself into believing it too. 

Shaking her collar in unstable hands. Bearing down on her until she couldn’t be pushed flatter against the stone behind her, until his forehead rested against the wall and his lips brushed the shell of her ear in hot, heavy strained breaths. 

“You’re just confused.” He rasped, voice light and breathy and nearly amounting to a giggle -or a sob- she wasn’t sure which.

But she couldn’t care much when she couldn’t breathe. Head burning into a numb wet cotton that was no longer able to tell her to push him off and instead let her hands go limp against his chest, knees going weak beneath her. 

“Katsuki… Kat… su-”

She was convinced he’d kill her before the tiniest slither of air was allowed back in through her windpipe, gasping for it like a glutton until coughing it all up again when choking on her own desperate gulps. 

Her hands held her throat in an act of soothing it from the forming bruises and shielding it from further attack. But Katsuki was ahead of her and had his sights on attacking something else.

He took her by the hair and started pulling, dragging her from the door and further into the apartment.

“Stop- stop it- Katsuki-” She begged between hiccups and coughs, her hands clawing at his in an effort to free his grasp from her scalp. Her shins dragged to burns against the cold marble as her legs kicked in the struggle, hitting the floor in a series of sporadic thuds until he stopped. “Katsuki-”

He’d crossed the threshold of their bedroom and was now throwing her down on the mattress, pinning her in the same second with a hand gripping her jaw and eyes a searing cold that seemed to lash out at her like unstable fire, glaring at her with a look so blank and empty she felt it like the chill of death creep throughout her bones.

“If you want me to be nice, you should shut up.”

She knew she ought to listen, but still, one last prayer slipped off her tongue against her better judgment before she could think twice about it. “Katsuki, please don’t do this-”

“Don’t do what!?” He barked -spit flying and teeth bared just like a rabid rottweiler- louder than she’d ever witnessed, loud enough to make her wince. “Break your heart!?” His voice cracked on the cry, and he paused, giving another gruesome and gut-wrenching chuckle. Head ducking between her breasts with spikey hair nipping at her throat like a million needles. 

His hand tightened even more, clawing into her cheeks.

“I’m just making things even.”

She’d never realized just how hopeless she was if she’d ever needed to fend him off. But she’d never needed to before, never wanted to until now.

Now that he had her so helplessly beneath him, where the reality was slowly dawning on her and making her ever more hysteric, slowly settling upon her like dust after an explosion. The ensuing violation and her utter defeat in fighting it, her failure in doing much more than make it worse, where every time she landed anything that weakly resembled a slap or kick, he retaliated tenfold by crushing her in his strength.

Spreading her legs by positioning himself between them, he cared little for all her bleating where the former fight she’d tried to make match his diminished into desperate attempts to protect herself instead. She was sobbing now, gasping for breath with her chest rising and falling on beat with the deafening drums of her racing heart.

He tugged his tie loose and threw it off his head, wrapping her wrists in the loop and tightening it into restraints. Only now noticing just how brittle she was. So much smaller than him. So much so, he nearly abandoned his task of tying her hands to the bedpost in all. But -finding he might lose his cool and break her arm if she dared continue shoving at him- he pulled them over her head and fastened them anyway, if not for his than for her sake to avoid it.

And then she really was less than nothing beneath him. Just a defenseless pile of warm plush flesh soft against him and all his scarred muscles and callouses and years upon years of dedicated training.

She’d pulled her thighs shut, but it hardly mattered. His hands -buried in the fine plume of her cakey fat- had them both spread again with nearly no strength put into it at all. 

It was all right there -taken with no effort- only a cute pink cotton panty stopping him. 

His heart clenched at that, flickered and tugged with misery at the look of her crying into her own arm, trying to comfort herself while her chest heaved, already tired of screaming and bawling. Having resorted to soft sniffles and weak snivels while tiny quakes shook through her still, goosebumps adorning all her exposed flesh, which was every part of her sept for what her pretty silk dress kept hidden.

She was so beautiful…

Adorable. 

Precious and just…

Too good.

He knew that. He knew that she was too good for him and had always been too good for him -part of the reason why he used to act as though he hated her- when, in reality… he actually…

“I love you.” He cried. “I’ve always loved you….”

Hot tears splashed in big droplets, staining the silk with splotches that seeped into large flecks on her stomach. 

“I can’t live without you-” He continued, his hands shaking where he held her apart while his body sagged forward, bowing down, donning soft kisses to her neck and jaw, upon the tears staining her cheeks with streaks, whispering in a voice close to breaking. “I can’t- I won’t-” Choked and pitiful, raw from shouting only a moment earlier.

One of his hands detached from its bruising grip, whilst the other loosened and slid higher -pulling her dress up on its way- and started rubbing loving circles into her midriff. She heard his buckle go undone a second later and offered another whimpering sob, her own hands jostling in their bonds on beat with her shaky breaths while trying to angle her face further away with the aim of avoiding the attack of his wet teary kisses.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, but I can’t… I can’t let you go.”

She felt him press against her clothed cunt with the weight of his swollen thickness and let out another whimper. Nose stuffed full with the smell of his breath and the scent of his sweet nitro-like sweat and eyes full of unyielding tears. 

His hand reached for her panty, hooking the trail and pulling it to the side, making her sink her teeth into the plump of her lip to suppress yet another whimper while she cringed with uncomfort and the unanswered wishes for him to stop as he nibbled on the corner of her mouth with more teary proposals.

His fingers soon prodded her slit like they’d done nearly every day for years since they were but teens. Touching her with a perfected skill he’d learned would have her shiver with arousal. 

She yielded quickly, her sex turning puffy and wet sooner than she had the time to be embarrassed about it.

“No one knows you as well as I do. No one loves you as much as I do.” He chanted against her skin, entering her with both his longest digits, pumping them deep and scraping them in a cruel curl into that spot he knew had her toes doing the same. Smiling, once her hips made an involuntary jolt in response. “No one else but me.” 

He pulled his hands to himself once she’d left three of his digits warm and soaking with slick, lathering his own arousal with it before nudging his cockhead against her opening in a sticky kiss and breaching it.

She stiffened, and he groaned into her neck at the feel of her clamping down even tighter as he bottomed out into her already taunt choke.

“No one else would know how to love you.” He hissed, setting a sweet tempo, lips still close, grazing on the peachfuzz of her cheek, ghosting her skin with hot breaths and even hotter words.  “No one else would know the first thing to do with you once they had you.”

She shook her head, more so in askance of space than anything else. Needing air free of him. Needing to clear her head off the building warmth she felt spread from her core. Needing to shake the coil loose before it could knot itself further. But it seemed the more she tried fending it off, the faster it neared its end, like a spark aided by the wind in chasing the tail of a wic until exploding what dynamite found at its end.

She always shook so prettily when cumming -so preciously- when spilling over and moaning all flushed and cute for him with her hips riding it out against his until it left her panting, blushed, and adorned with a shiny sheen of dew, making her look golden in the glory of the after high.

He used to regard it as something sweet she’d give him, like a reward or devotion. 

Only now did he realize how utterly at his mercy she was -unable to keep even this from him- just completely laid bare to accept what he gave and give what he decided to take.

She was his, and not even she herself could deny it. 

She belonged to him.

She belonged to him. 

She belonged to him. 

“No one else.”

tip-jar: Kofi

ahh i love your writing and your dark!peter fics are the best, could we get a darkfic of peter bullying/harassing the reader and then things escalate if you know what i mean ??

rude boy | peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x reader, bully peter, verbal/physical harassment, noncon/dubcon, fingering, public sex, mentions of intercourse/oral sex, peter being a jerk, fish sticks

A/N: I combined your ask with another bully peter request I got! I’ll post that asks right after this. Hope you like this!

In which Peter can’t make up his mind about whether he loves or hates you. 

word count: almost 3k

Your gaze fell down to your lap as he entered the classroom. Everyone else’s seemed to lift, admiring their classmate who famously saved the world several times. It was safe to say that the fame had gone to his head. You nervously played with the ends of your skirt as you waited for the commotion in the room to die down and for the class to start. 

That didn’t happen because an unfamiliar person slid onto the stool beside you and you lifted your head to see Peter. He gave you a bored look as he looked you over, “What’s up, fish sticks?”

Your eyes shut tightly as you winced at the name. He knew it got under your skin and loved to watch you squirm. He nudged your arm, “Hmm?” 

Everyone remembered that time in fifth grade, on the trip to the aquarium, where you threw up your packed lunch on one of the employees. Your mom had packed you fish sticks and, as you sat through one of their fun presentations, one of the presenters picked you to come up to the stage. You were shy, even back then, and as he asked you something you learned that day, you completely lost your lunch on his shoes. This all led to one of your classmates shouting, “She barfed up her fish sticks!” and laughter ensued. 

Even Peter seemed to think it was still funny, “You’re not my partner, Peter,” You said, not meeting his eyes. 

“Now I am,” Your heart skipped a beat as you heard him, “I can’t work with Ned anymore, he sucks at cooking and I need a good grade in this class.”

You looked back at Peter’s normal seat to see your family and consumer science partner sitting with Ned. You liked her and she always did her fair share of the work. You were sure the opposite would be true for Peter. 

Peter faked a smile at you, “So what are we cooking today? Fish sticks?”

You took a deep breath, your hands tapping nervously at the table, “You could try looking at the board,” You felt him scoot his stool closer to you, his body leaning over the counter. 

“I think I’ll just look at you instead,” Your breathing hitched in your throat as he leaned into your ear. Just as he did, your teacher entered the room. You thought she was a good teacher, she graded easily, and Peter must’ve been a complete idiot to not be doing well. Clearly, this wasn’t his subject of expertise. 

The room was set so each station had its own oven, stove, and appliances. This unit was all about cooking and today you were making dessert. Your teacher gave you a list of instructions before adding that you should all make sure you’re following safety protocols. 

You stood up from your stool, mostly just to get some space from Peter and walked over to grab an apron. 

The assignment went much worse than you expected. Peter refused to even lift a spoon or even wear an apron. He sat by as you did all the work, only offering to lick the spoon clean when you were finished with it. The times he got off his butt were to walk over to Ned’s table to chat with him. 

“You’re good at this,” Peter said, as you poured the batter into a cake tin. You were a little out of breath from running around to grab supplies, “You should come over and make me a sandwich sometime.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself from responding. 

As soon as you got your cake into the oven, you took a deep breath, taking a look at the clock to see if you were going to finish on time, “Can you chill? You’re stressing me out.”

You rested your hands against the counter, “I’m …” Your voice raised only for a moment before you lowered it, “I’m stressing you out?”

Peter noticed your frustration and smirked, “Awe, I’m joking fish sticks. You’re doing great,” He winked. 

Maybe you could talk to the teacher, tell her that you and Peter were not a good fit together. She’d ask you why you didn’t want to be partners and then you would have to tell her … and facing Peter after that would be a nightmare. You shook your head at the thought and convinced yourself you could go the rest of the semester doing the work all by yourself. 

+

You were going to get into a good school, especially with the number of clubs you were a part of and the one that you created yourself. A book club because you loved reading and school was lacking one. There were four members in total including you and your friend Jess. If you wanted your club to seem serious on college applications then you needed more members. 

Jess had the idea of hanging up banners and flyers during the free period and, of course, you were all in. 

You went around the school with a ladder the janitor lent you and hung up your homemade posters. You were hanging a large banner towards the front of the school when the bell suddenly rang, ending the free period. 

“Just a few more inches to the left,” Jess instructed you and you slowly moved the poster to the position she wanted before Jess reached up to hand you the tape. 

There was something about you that Peter couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. It was something about the snooty, preppy way you dressed that he a distaste for but turned him on to you at the same time. You were so intelligent but corruptible still. It was quite frustrating knowing you’d only see him as a nuisance. 

He watched the back of your legs, your skirt slightly rose as you taped up your poster. He thought about those baby pink panties you were probably wearing. 

You were admiring your work when suddenly the ladder shook and, for a moment you thought you might fall back until you barely caught yourself. A sharp shriek left your lips and the hall went silent until everyone was staring at you and then chuckling. You felt your cheeks warm as you quickly stepped down the ladder. 

You looked around the culprit and found Peter walking backward in the other direction. He smiled, “See you at book club, fish sticks!”

Your hands formed a fist at your side as you gave Jess an incredulous look. 

“Sorry,” She apologized, but you were already marching away. 

+

Two weeks later, you were in a crowded subway car heading to school. Some soft pop song was playing in your headphones and you were swaying your head slightly to the music. Your eyes traveled around as you people watched.

You had done this route every day but you found yourself getting nervous now when you thought about school. Peter had seemed to take a special liking to you and wouldn’t leave you alone. He made you do all his work in family and consumer sciences and he’d make sure to shout something embarrassing at you when you saw him in the hall. 

A few days ago you were heading to your lunch table with your tray when he walked up to you, “Sit with me today,” He had told you, eyes more serious than you had ever seen them. 

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I said so,” He continued and you raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I can take any more fish stick jokes,” Anger settled over his features and it scared you, “No, but thank you.”

Any day before this, you would’ve said yes just because of how much he scared you. He was a superhero and what were you? Nothing. And everyone saw you that way. You were just tired of him torturing you. 

You should’ve trusted your instincts because as you walked around him, you lost your balance, and tripped over his outstretched foot. The cafeteria went quiet and you moaned in pain as you pulled yourself up. Your spaghetti was now staining your bright colored sweater.

Peter leaned down, “Forgive me for trying to be nice to you, Y/N,” He held out his hand for you to take and, you only stared at him, before standing up yourself. Jess rushed over, napkins in hand, but you were already running from the cafeteria, tears stinging your eyes. 

You shook your head as you tried to stop thinking about it. As if you had unconsciously summoned the devil, you felt a hand on your waist. You jumped, of course, and thought some middle-aged man would be standing behind you but it was even worse. 

“Turn back around,” He spoke huskily in your ear and you shook your head. His arm wrapped around you, his hand wrapping around your throat as he pulled you back into him, “Don’t struggle. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, right?”

How long had he been watching you? How long had he been following you?

Your eyes darted around, looking for anyone who had noticed what was happening to you but you saw no one. Everyone so packed together and clearly focused on whatever was going on in their busy lives. Peter’s other arm wrapped around you, under your arm, and settled on your stomach. 

You started to shake your head as his fingers trailed against the top of your skirt but his grip on your throat tightened, “What color panties are you wearing?” He whispered in your ear, “Hmmm?”

It was clearly rhetorical because, with every word you spoke, his grip tightened. You had to keep still in order to breathe. His hand slid between your skin and the waistband of your pastel skirt and he felt between your legs. A small whimper left your lips as his fingers rubbed your sex through your panties. 

His nose pressed into your hair and he took in your scent as he began rubbing circles against the fabric of your underwear. 

Peter had to see for himself if you were really what he wanted and he was tired of hiding his attraction. The confusion and tension in his mind had finally stopped. He was going to have you.

You had rarely even touched your private parts yourself so, the feeling rising in your core, felt completely foreign. A second later, he was dipping his fingers in the fabric of your panties. Your face completely warmed and you couldn't help how your body flinched at the sensation. 

“You’re mine from now on, to do whatever I please,” You ran from the feeling, from the pleasure, for as long as you could but Peter’s fingers worked like magic. Your chest heaved up and down as your breathing became more erratic. You were nearing something and that scared you even more. Peter held you steady and kept you from going anywhere and you were forced to face whatever he had unleashed inside you. 

“There you go, that’s it, Y/N,” It was a giant explosion deep inside you, and Peter moved his hand around your neck to cover your mouth as you orgasm. 

You were shaking as his fingers still played with that sensitive bulb in your panties. When he finally released you, you felt more disgusted at yourself for feeling such pleasure. 

Peter turned you around and you were so dizzy that you couldn’t even push him away as he slammed his lips against yours. Anyone around you would’ve saw it as annoying PDA by a couple of teenagers but, really, a predator had just sunk its teeth into its prey.

+

You sat with Peter at lunch from the day forward. You decided it was better than him humiliating you in front of the entire student body. 

You weren’t sure what exactly you were to him. He seemed to want a personal punching bag as well as the intimacy you could provide. He’d tease you constantly, especially in front of his friends, but he’d want to make you cum right after being the jerk he was. 

He’d invite himself over to your house so you could help him with a school project or rather have you do it for him. Then he would … use his tongue against your private parts and make you lay with him for hours. 

One weekend, while you were walking home from a late-night study session at Jess’s house, a figure landed right in front of you. You hated how he loved to make his entrances by scaring you. Completely clad in his red and blue suit, Peter looked you up and down, “Why are you out walking so late?”

You took a cautious step back, “My apartment is three blocks away.”

“I’m aware and that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Can I at least have the weekends to myself, Peter?”

Peter cocked his head to the side and you wished very much to see whatever devilish look was. As he took a step forward, you took another backward, which caused him to laugh, “I’m offended, Y/N. I’m just a friendly neighborhood spider-man trying to help a poor, lost girl find her way home. There are sickos out this late.”

“Peter-”

Peter suddenly raised his hand and you saw a web shoot out into the distance. Before you could follow where it led, Peter’s arms were around you, and you were flying with him in the air. You squeezed him for dear life, your lungs unleashing every scream within you, as your stomach rose and fell with the swinging motion. 

When you finally landed on your feet, you were standing on the fire escape just outside your bedroom. You lost your balance but Peter was there to catch you again. Peter pulled off his masks and you saw his tired face and messy hair beneath it. 

He smiled at you, “Gonna puke, fish sticks?”

You tried to pull away from him, anger boiling up inside of you, “I-I hate you! I hate you, Peter!”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were punching at his chest. It had no real effect on him and he simply grabbed your hands and held them in place. He pulled your hands down and pulled your forward, kissing you hard. 

You seemed to calm as his soft lips moved against yours. You hated it but it did. Your hands calmed and he let them go. Peter’s brown eyes narrowed into yours when he finally pulled away. He grabbed your face then, “I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” He wiped a tear away from your face, “But I don’t think I can let you go just yet.”

He kissed you again and you started to move your lips against his. It was easier that way. You stayed there for a long time, your lips on his, as your tears began to dry. He wasn’t going to leave you be so you thought you might as well enjoy it. The most popular boy in school, in New York, wanted you. Shouldn’t that make you feel good?

Peter moved to open your window, “Peter … my parents.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Peter insisted as he slipped inside. You did the same and you watched as Peter slowly shut it back. 

You moved over to the bed, taking off your backpack, and preparing for what Peter usually wanted to do. You looked up, surprised when you saw he was taking off the suit … all the way. 

“Peter, I’ve never-”

He shushed you, “I haven’t either,” That surprised you to hear. He approached you on the bed, only wearing his boxers, and your eyes raked in his exquisite physique. A lot has changed for him in the last few years, “But I’m sure I can figure it out.”

He kneeled down by your feet and took his time removing your shoes and then your socks. He wanted to take his time admiring you and this made you feel like a piece of art, “Why me?” You asked hesitantly.

“I have this awareness of my surroundings, like something in the back of my mind,” You weren’t expecting an honest answer but Peter’s eyes were completely earnest, “When I’m around you, it goes haywire and when I don’t have it, I’m vulnerable. I hate that.”

“So you do this to me b-because you hate me?”

Peter stood up, leaning forward as he pushed you down towards the bed. You slowly moved back towards your headboard as Peter crawled on top of you, “Not anymore. I like feeling certain things … when my defenses are down.”

His face was hovering above yours now, his fingers trailing over the waistband of your underwear. He started to pull them down and you stared with wide eyes because he didn’t even look away from you.

“Oh,” was all that left your mouth as he spread your legs. Everything about him confused you but it was useless to argue with him. You reached up to touch his shoulder which surprised him, to say the least. You touched the skin there and then the hardness of his chest. 

Peter tossed your underwear to the side, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes darkened as he looked at you and, suddenly, he was pinning your hands above your head. He kissed you as he used his other hand to pull down his boxers, letting his member spring free. He rubbed its tip against your sensitive bulb, trailing it up and down to tease you. 

When he finally entered you, it was slow and patient despite the hungry look in his eyes. He watched as you winced and moaned in pain as he stretched you for the first time. He’d bury himself deep inside of you for the rest of his life if he could. He’d make you tighten around him as he gave you orgasm after orgasm. 

“You make me feel human again, Y/N,” Peter grunted into your ear. After all, he had lived through and what he was meant to go through now, he’d use you to bring him down to earth. You were a toy, a tool, but maybe you could learn to enjoy the closeness. The intimacy.

Human. 

Peter both desired and despised the feeling. 

+

I hope you enjoyed this! Please be sure to like, reblog and let me know what you think! Check out my harryspetrequests tag for more of my requests and my master list for more dark peter fics!

holding out (just for you) masterlist

pairing: dragon!bakugo katsuki x reader (ongoing)

mentions: sfw, aged-up characters (24+), fantasy au, fem healer reader, descriptions of injuries, near death experience, cultural misunderstandings, fluff, second person, part of the bnha big bang collab

summary: after getting caught out in a vicious storm, you seek refuge in a dark cave, not knowing that it is already occupied by a large dragon who really doesn’t want you there.

too bad you aren’t planning on leaving anytime soon—not when he looks like that.

(or: in which you find a horrendously injured dragon in a cave and make it your duty to heal him, not knowing that he’s the infamous dragonshifter, bakugo katsuki, who has been cursed to remain trapped in his dragon form forever—unless the spell is broken)

with art done by the lovely @your-fellow-passerine !!! here is a link to the original post (give it some love!!!!) <33

also on ao3 and quotev!

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four - TBA

KIRISHIMA SPINOFF - TBA

MIDORIYA SPINOFF - TBA

TODOROKI SPINOFF - TBA

brighter than ever (we'll burn, baby) - SEQUEL TBA