Seeing Olruggio immortalize Qifrey's eye color in his own invention while that same color has been slowly desaturating from Qifrey's eye in the manga... this is doing things to my head.
After searching for a while, I finally managed to find all the WHA anniversary comics that Shirahama Kamome had drawn, So I thought it would be nice to share it with you all!!(She only made these, but they're really cute)
Olruggio of the Torch, what the FUCK do you mean the snugstone is the EXACT. SAME. COLOUR as Qifrey's eye?!
I know it's for the girls too, but you already know Olly's mind was plagued with homosexual thoughts™️ when making it.
It's fire magic, it's a heated stone. There is no reason why it should be BLUE aside from the fact that Olly is attempting to out-gay the entire gay community during pride month (and succeeding)
The framing through the stone when he’s says Olly’s magic is kind?? The color that’s the exact same as Qifrey’s eye? The softness in their voice?? The way Qifrey exclusively called him Olly during the whole scene????
Fucking kill me already
This isn’t even subtext at this point this is straight up text
Summary: Your boss’ overprotectiveness could qualify as a workplace hazard.
Word Count: 4.4k
Tags: slight dubcon(?), slight humiliation kink, brat-taming ig, nasty, gratuitous SMUT, minimal plot i just want spanky spanks, Sylus is not The Gentle Dom™ he’s known for here sorryyyy, oh and a healthy amount of daddy kink (sorry 2x)
A/N: HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY LMAO. Idk what else to say but that the spanking scene from the latest banner cognitively altered something cortex-deep and I fear it permanently liberated me from shame. Short, ultra-filthy oneshot ahead.
Also, nobody jump me over Sylus being OOC here, okay. This was borne entirely out of pure fucking horny and what the olden people would probably call a practice in self-gratification, so trust me, I know.
This was written with a non-MC in mind, so that way Sylus is the only one who’s OOC here (but not in my heart and the deep recesses of this c/u/n/t <3) because I genuinely cannot picture canon MC in this situation and I refuse to try, as usual.
“Walk me through what you’ve done wrong.”
You’d already suspected you were in deep shit somewhere between the deafeningly silent drive back from the job that had gone sideways so fast and him leaving you behind the second you returned to base, disappearing without so much as a glance in your direction to cool his head elsewhere.
Still, you knew you’d truly fucked up when you entered his office after, finally, being summoned... only to freeze at the sight of him, and the severity of his glare.
Sylus sits silent, forearms braced against the polished oakwood, hands steepled before his mouth as he fixed you with a sharp, unwavering stare. The dim light from the lone lamp in the corner caught against the rings on his fingers, cold against colder eyes.
“I–”
“Come. Closer.”
The command is final, resolute. You bristle instinctively.
One sharp arch of his brow catches the beginning of that defiance immediately, and that small reaction alone makes you falter.
Still, you force yourself to keep your chin high as you hesitantly approach the terrifying figure situated a mere few feet away. But before you can stop in front of the large desk, he tilts his head, signalling for you to round the corner.
Closer, until you’re standing directly in front of him. Your hackles rise, tempted to stand your ground where you are—but Sylus clicks his tongue, and you loathe to admit you react no differently from a chastised pup when you obey.
So there you stand, barely a hair’s breadth away from sharing the same air, caught between his knees as his hand clamps firmly around your wrist. To pull you precisely where he wants you.
You try to step back, twisting against his grip, but Sylus doesn’t budge. Red eyes pin you in place instead, burning with a cold, terrifying fury.
“Good. You seem capable of being obedient for once.”
“Shut up,” you hiss, stung by the condescension oozing from his voice.
Sylus bares his teeth in a semblance of not-quite a smile. Something more morbidly amused than anything else, tainted with warning. Careful, it says.
Swallowing the remaining hesitation lodged in your throat, you retort, “Stop treating me like a kid. I know what I did, and yeah, maybe I could’ve been smarter about it, but—”
Sylus lets out a short laugh devoid of any real humor. “So you are aware that what you’ve done was utterly foolish?”
“Do you even hear yourse–” You cut yourself off with a frustrated sound, already irritated beyond belief by the sharp dismissal in his tone. “I can’t just stay hidden while they—”
“When I tell you I hold your wellbeing above all else, do you think I say it as mere inflection?”
“No, but what was I supposed to do?” you demand. “Leave you there to fend for yourself?”
His eyes burn a scorching fire as he enunciates slowly, “Yes. That is precisely what you should have done.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re asking for something impossible,” you growl, still struggling to wrench your wrist free from his hold. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”
“Your safety is not up for debate,” he snaps, and the brittle facade of your bravado does, too.
“Gah–!” Your frustration comes out halfway between a yell and something more wounded, your vision already stinging with angry tears. “Fuck, okay, I get it! I know I’m not like your hunter friend, or any of your more competent lackeys, but you don’t have to treat me like I’m fucking useless!”
Sylus opens his mouth, no doubt ready to launch into what would no doubt become another exhausting argument about your incompetence and your complete lack of self-preservation—but something seems to make him reconsider.
The fire in his eyes shifts. From furious, to contemplative.
Then stone-cold.
An oppressive heaviness stifles the air around you. The man before you, your boss by every definition of the word, seems to have decided he’s done arguing.
...The next thing you know, you’re face-down across his lap, staring at the floor as he yanks both your wrists behind your back in a punishing grip.
You shout in indignation, kicking your legs uselessly in an attempt to escape the prison of his hold, but to no avail. Sylus, apparently, is in no mood to grant you even the dignity of false leniency this time.
Without warning, he flips your skirt up—a damning decision to wear one on a heist, though never in the way you imagined would come back to bite you—and bunches the fabric high against your hips, leaving your thin underwear embarrassingly exposed.
Heat rushes violently to your face. Shame follows just as quickly: sharp and prickling across your scalp, before sinking nauseatingly deep in your gut.
“...Are you actually sorry?” he intones softly, something deceptive in the way he says it.
“W-what?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, you feel the palm of his free hand glide slowly from your thigh, trailing upward along the curve of your lower back.
You’re not. Not even an iota. But with your not-quite lover’s current temperament, you feel almost compelled to oblige anyway.
Sylus rarely loses his temper like this. In fact, it only seems to happen when your safety is involved—when you’ve placed yourself directly in harm’s way, or when circumstances leave him too far away to reach you before something goes wrong.
You remember the first time he’d thrown you across his lap. It happened after a supposedly separate mission went catastrophically awry, when some idiotic urge to impress him had driven you to go completely off-brief. You came back bloodied, barely responsive over comms, leaving him without eyes on you for nearly half an hour.
Half an hour that very nearly drove him out of his mind.
So when you finally stumbled back to him in one battered piece, the last threads of Sylus’ restraint snapped entirely. And as a result, he’d doled it out on—
“I’m– ah!” You lurch at the unexpected smack he delivers viciously on your ass.
“Tell me properly, then,” he croons mockingly, a cruel, near-manic light in his eyes. “Like you mean it. Say, Sylus, I’m sorry for being a brat. Come now.”
You gripe stubbornly, refusing to yield so easily. You sink your teeth into your lower lip hard enough to taste rust.
“Words,” Sylus orders. “Or have you lost your tongue along with your wit?”
“No!”
Another harsh swat. This time, the rings adorning his fingers dig cruelly into softened flesh, sending a sharp, stinging ache radiating through you.
An involuntary sob tears free from your throat.
“I’ll count up to—hm, how many rounds did you fire after I told you to stop?”
The question is rhetorical, of course. Asked as if you have any real say in this at all. He already knows the number; the sound of each bullet probably still rings around inside his skull.
“Nine? No, ten. You managed to put down two out of that.”
You blink angrily at his derision, right on the verge of mouthing off—
—then you stop cold, dread curling in your stomach as you remember what comes next.
“Ah, though you did swap mags midway through.” Sylus feigns sudden realization, like the memory has only just occurred to him. “Which brings the total to…” He hums thoughtfully. “Care to hazard a guess?”
Your heart thuds violently in your chest with a growing sense of foreboding, the reality that Sylus is dead serious despite the jeering mockery in his tone becoming painfully clear to you now. The telltale beginnings of trepidation quake through you at the perceived danger you’re in… and the promised pain soon to follow.
You answer a second too late, for him. “Test me one more time,” Sylus warns lowly, “and you’ll spend the rest of the night staring at the floor from across my lap.”
The last traces of mocking amusement vanish from his voice entirely. And just like that, you know you’ve lost.
“T-twenty,” you mutter in defeat.
“Twenty-three,” he corrects. “But let’s round that up to twenty-five, shall we?”
The sudden strike tears a yelp from you, though you quickly stumble through: “Three…!”
Sylus scoffs. “From the beginning,” he says coldly. “And this time, show a little gratitude after each one.”
Spank. “O-one! Thank you–”
Spank. “Two! T-thank–” Spank. “You!”
“Three!” You breathe out through your nose, blinking harshly. “Thank you...”
Spank.
And so it goes. The humiliation burns viciously.
Because your actions had come from instinct. The instinct to protect—something you should be allowed to do as part of Onychinus.
So why does he insist on treating you like this?
As if you can’t handle yourself. As if you aren’t capable of giving as hard as you get.
As if you’ll always remain something weaker than him.
You wail through the pain as he rains his frustration down onto your backside, reduced to pathetic little sniffles through each damned number, even when he delivers the final blow.
“T-t-twenty-five… th-thank you…”
Your throat burns from all the screaming. Everything hurts. But what hurts most is your shattered ego, lying broken in pieces at his feet as your head hangs low like a scolded dog’s. Your breath comes out in short, ragged gasps from the exertion, and you keep your gaze trained downward while tears roll helplessly down your face.
You’ve paid his price, and your ass still throbs painfully from it, but it’s done. It’s over—
until Sylus hooks his fingers into the wet fabric sticking from the pool between your thighs, and the rough slide of cotton against your abused cheeks stings something almost unbearable.
Mortification floods your face instantly.
With it comes the true humiliation; the most shameful proof of all, bared in full view before him: your drooling pussy, mortifyingly soaked throughout the entire ordeal, exposed before him despite all your struggling, all your resistance, all the pride you’d tried so desperately to cling to.
And judging by the dark satisfaction flickering across Sylus’ face, he knows it too. You can’t hide anything from him.
Sylus clenches his jaw, a hiss slipping between his teeth at the vulgar sight of your quivering cunt, drenched in want. Vexation, guilt, and lust rage viciously inside him, and he doesn’t know whether to delight in the fact that you’ve managed to derive pleasure from the punishment—or make it worse for you still, so you might finally understand the helplessness you’ve burdened him with. The helplessness you’ve made him feel ever since.
It would only make sense that you, the source of it all, should pay penance by taking the full brunt of his ire. Shouldn’t you?
His palm settles heavily against your left buttock, a thumb forcing you wide open beneath his gaze, greedy to see more of your lewd insides you’d tried—and failed—to conceal from him. You fuss, though there’s little you can actually do against the unrelenting restraint holding you in place.
Both of you are painfully aware of this. The imbalance between you, the difference in power. How frighteningly easy it would be for him to bend you into submission whenever he pleased.
He’s utterly entranced by the stringy essence drenching his finger—and inadvertently, the worsted wool of his trousers where he’s propped you onto. A rivulet of your desire drips down like viscid honey, splattering on the tip of his shoe, and the obscenity of it all draws a tortured groan from deep in his throat.
“Filthy,” the word comes out scathing, but your body reacts as if it’s been praised. You whimper, shivering at the languid ministrations against your sensitive flesh. “Do you like making me mad?”
Your mind begins to drift further from reality, the pain almost exalting in the way it strips everything else away until all that remains are his words and him, him.
No, you don’t like making him mad. You don’t like the disappointed look in his eyes, as if you’re incapable. You don’t like it when he treats you less an equal, and more like a delicate doll in need of protection from every possible harm.
But you like it when he chastises you, the residual shame washed through with pleasure. You like the sting of punishment when it’s dealt by the same hands that would soothe it all better afterwards.
You like it when he forces your mind empty until nothing else matters except this.
And him.
Only him.
“What do you need?” he prods quietly, stroking the expanse of your wet cunt in a slow, hypnotic caress; upwards, downwards, in slow, circular motions. Pushing a finger in just enough to coax you open around the teasing digit until it reaches the sensitive pearl hidden beneath.
You mewl, involuntarily trapping his hand between your thighs. He stops.
The sudden loss of attention is almost debilitating. “N-no—” Your pitiful pleas dissolve into nonsensical garble, and your cruel tormentor scoffs at your pathetic supplication.
“No?” he repeats boredly. “I’m beginning to grow rather tired of hearing that word from you. Should I stop?”
"N-no—m-more…" you whimper. The man stays still. "Please, please–?"
"You can beg better than that, pet. Have I not trained you well enough?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, the wetness gathered along your waterline spilling down your reddened cheeks for the nth time. The stinging humiliation, the utter ignominy of being rendered helpless and strewn across his lap to receive punishment no differently from a misbehaving child…
The lingering shame prevents you from speaking, but the fear of disappointing Him forces your mouth open anyway, soundless. You shake your head in mounting resentment with yourself, your breathing beginning to stutter as the walls slowly close in around you.
You want, you want— but you can’t have— You can’t do what he asks—
Stupid, stupid—
A palm reaches down to encircle your neck in a firm, but gentle grip. To ground you.
“Sweetie.” Tenderness bleeds through the earlier authority in his tone, and despite yourself, you shiver. “Come back to me.”
Your pupils retract sluggishly, bleary as your vision slowly adjusts when you lift your head, dizzy. You twist slightly in his hold and catch sight of carmine irises melting into a deeper amaranth in the yellow light.
Sylus removes his hands from where they’d been holding you moments earlier, helping to prop you upright before shifting you bodily and arranging your limbs like folded wings, gathering you securely into the nest of his arms.
He tucks your head beneath his chin, breathing you in like he’s taking comfort in the simple fact that you’re here in his arms. Safe.
And like a stranger peering through a peephole, your fuzzy brain slowly pieces together that the worst is finally over.
“Should we leave it at that for tonight?” Sylus murmurs, genuinely checking for the telltale signs that you’ve reached your limit. “It seems we’ve had enough excitement for one evening—”
You let out a small whine against his throat.
The worst is over, but—
No. No.
You don’t want him to stop.
“I wanna be good. I can be good for you.” Mustering the last semblance of courage left in you, you plead earnest; watery eyes stare up at the pair of reds trained on your face.
The name of endearment hits Sylus like a blow to the back of the head. And whatever lingering fury remained from the earlier fiasco dissolves almost instantly at the sound of it leaving your mouth so earnest and broken. So sincere.
And clearly indicative of the subdrop that you’ve fallen deep into, that it nearly makes his gums ache.
His grip tightens around you reflexively as he finally takes in the full extent of your state: the dazed look clouding your eyes, the way your body folds pliantly into his without resistance, openly vulnerable and trusting him entirely to take the reins now that your mind has begun withdrawing into itself.
Christ, how was he supposed to resist?
He slams you down onto the desk hard enough to send papers scattering wildly askew, the force of it knocking the breath clean from your lungs and leaving your head spinning.
Zipping down the front of his pants, Sylus pulls out his rock-hard cock from the confines of his boxers. With one hand wrapped around himself, he rubs the leaking head against your slit in maddening circles, deliberately bumping against your engorged clit with every pass. Yet a few teasing rounds are all he could manage before he tires of prolonging your suffering, and his.
Inch by paralyzing inch, he feeds it to you—the thick length of him, splitting you open deliciously. The way your slit weeps, greedy as it swallows the mushroom tip despite the overwhelming stretch, enraptures him.
You whine weakly, attempting to squirm away, to hide, as though it’s any match against the unrelenting hands keeping you spread wide open beneath him. He huffs at the remaining traces of your resistance, amused by how futile it is when neither of you are under any illusion that you’ll be leaving your place beneath him for hours into the night.
“Let me see my pretty baby.”
Sylus easily pries your hand away from your face, ignoring the fruitless endeavour and the way you try to hide the evidence of what he’s done to you. Traces of the ruinous pleasure he’s left you with.
Your lashes stick together as you blink up at him, mascara smudged beneath red-rimmed eyes.
“There she is,” he coos softly, wiping away the stray tears with his thumb. “Hi, baby.”
You take a second too long to answer, grasping at figurative straws. Sylus, evidently, has little patience left for it.
The sharp thrust makes you cry out immediately, leaving no doubt as to what he thinks of your lack of response. You scramble weakly, nails scratching against the forearms holding you down. They don’t yield as he continues to slowly spear his cock in and out of your tight cunt.
Your thin voice wobbles as you finally acquiesce to the demands of your relentless (not-quite..?) lover, struggling to keep yourself from crying out under the perverse disparity between your small, fluttering hole and his monstrous size. "H-hi, daddy."
“Shhh,” he soothes, sweet in stark contrast to the rough rhythm he has on you. “You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart. Dad’s being too rough?”
You shake your head.
“No? You can take more, then?”
You shake your head again, more frantic this time. The low chuckle he lets out sends reverberations down to where the two of you are connected, and you clench helplessly in response.
"This pussy's telling me something else, sweetie. Do I listen to her or to you, my love?"
Don’t know if I can. It’s too sore, daddy. Sore in the way your body wraps around him, fluttering in time with the frantic hammering of your heart, unable to distinguish whether it comes from the repeated intrusion or the carnal desire for more. You don’t know if you want to plead for a smidge of mercy, or beg him not to stop. You can’t utter anything coherent beyond a long-strung moan.
Humming lowly, he makes the decision for you.
“I’ll take that as both, then.”
Sylus rips through the leather bodice of your top with his evol, disintegrating the material instantly. The sparks left dancing across your skin sting in a way you know is entirely deliberate. Addictive, too.
The next thing you know, he captures your breast in his hungry mouth—ravenous as he sucks, and sucks. It aches, and you whimper at the relentless onslaught.
His right eye blazes as he peers up at you, intent on drinking in every minute reaction you give him. Every furrow of your brow from the torment. Every trembling breath born from the impossible collision of discomfort and agonizing pleasure that only he can drag from you.
It makes Sylus feel almost godlike. In control.
Especially after spending the last several hours feeling as though he’d lost it entirely.
That fear slowly drifts further and further from his mind the longer he keeps you like this, overwhelmed and trapped deep within the throes of corruptive gratification.
Your mind is nowhere on Earth, the only thing tying you to reality tethered to the rough push and pull of his cock pulverizing your insides.
“Ungh–unh—” You mewl brokenly, rivers streaming down your face. Pain and pleasure become an ouroboros of destruction, ravaging you steadily to ruin by the hand pressing down against your stomach, forcing you to feel how he drills and carves a place for himself, deep into your core.
“Look at you,” he exhales as he releases the reddened nub from his mouth, visibly enamoured by the sight before him. “Taking me so well. Do you think I treat you just as well, baby?”
“Y-yes… thank you,” you manage to breathe out. He’s praising you. He loves you. You can’t think of anything else to do but to show how grateful you are.
Sylus laughs softly. “Thanking me now? Quite the contrast from all that earlier grit, I think.” Even as he teases, he makes no move to push you further, fully aware you’re already more than halfway out of it.
With excruciating languor, he pulls out his slick-covered shaft, only to slam fully back into you in one brutal thrust. Over and over, he fucks you like an animal—battering your cervix, hitting every secret spot within, as if staking its claim over the ruined wasteland of your desire.
It's so good. It's so good. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you…” you blabber wetly, unable to stop the endless stream of gratitude spilling from your lips.
Thanking him only fuels the destructive fire raging inside him, and Sylus breathes raggedly as he rests his forehead against yours, watching the roll of your eyes intently. Obsessively. “That’s it—fuck, you’re daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes!” you relent, squirming and arching helplessly against him. One of his large hands slides to your lower back, pushing you upward in support while the other maintains a possessive hold over your belly, leaving you trapped securely between both of them.
There’s a building pressure coiling just below your abdomen; pulsing, clawing its way through the overwhelming haze in your mind, and you feel…
“D-daddy,” you stammer out, a sense of alarm cutting through the thick fog. “I-I think… I have to–”
“Mmh? Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”
“Nnooo,” you whimper in distress, trying desperately to hold it back. Your eyes squeeze shut, and a few more tears escape. “N-not it, no, no…”
Sylus practically coos at the panicked response, all while relishing in your contracting walls, clearly recognizing what’s happening long before you can properly voice it yourself.
“Yes. Yes, shit– let go, my love. Give me everything,” he rasps, sounding almost desperate himself, eyes ablaze with the thirst and anticipation for the full culmination of your passion. Your ardor to wet his cock, and to whet his appetite.
He lowers his head until his mouth finds your throat, teeth latching down against your skin as the demand is punctuated by an overpowering bite meant to take. Everything. All of it. All of you—
The order in his voice commands you to submit, and you’re helpless against the absolute control it exerts over your body.
Almost instantaneously, you clench down. Hard. Your orgasm rocks you to your core, and he fucks you through it as it comes out in sporadic, uncontrollable spurts. It crashes violently over your head in giant waves, dragging you beneath the undertow until you’re utterly lost within the current. Blinded by the paralyzing ecstasy of it all.
Sylus swears to himself, his tempo faltering from the sheer rapture that is your cunt, milking him through spasms. He releases his hold around your midsection only for one hand to slam against the console hard enough for it to crack beneath his grip.
Not long after, he finally follows after you, a rough, possessive growl spilling against your neck as he loses himself in the same blinding wave of euphoria.
_
It might have been seconds, or minutes, or years until your vision finally returns and you regain some semblance of consciousness.
You’re swaddled in a familiar charcoal suit jacket, vaguely aware of being carried across the hallway and toward Sylus’ room no doubt, and the man quietly shushes you back to rest the moment you stir awake in his arms.
So you surrender one more time.
Just as you always do.
-
-
-
“Does it still hurt?” Sylus murmurs gently once the two of you are finally laid together in bed, after he’d cleaned you up and tended to you with almost painstaking care in the bath.
He’s referring to the bruising you sustained from the earlier disaster of a mission gone wrong and not—
“I think it all went to my ass,” you complain mulishly, scrunching your face as he pulls you tighter into his embrace like some oversized python. Or an overgrown koala. “And my vagina. No thanks to you.”
He chuckles, landing a soft kiss atop your head. “Poor thing. Did we learn anything from this?”
“No.”
You feel more than see the smirk forming on his face from where he’s buried against your hair. “Mm. Then I suppose I can’t be blamed for reacting exactly the same way the next time a reckless little mouse decides to throw herself headfirst into danger for me.”
The teasing remark is met with a scoff, but deep down, both of you know neither of you really minds this arrangement.
End A/N: WHAT WAS THAT— must have been the wind. Anyway.
Actually, without spoiling too much but perhaps giving a tiny glimpse of what’s to come, this is somewhat similar to one of the chapters I had in mind for Sundown Purgatory lol. So to the few people who might understand the bs I’m spouting, just know I definitely had SP!OC in mind while writing this :))
welcome to hawkins’ number one diner! where the staff don’t wanna be there and the linecook is a grumpy metal head who likes to argue with his boss and ignore everyone else. but the new waitress can’t hack the rude customers and the regulars can be a little… much.
serving up indiana heatwaves, slow burns, walk in freezer breakdowns, late night talks, shared shakes and food as a love language. order extra spice for $4.
[41K] a linecook!au with eddie munson and shy fem!reader.
CH1. HOME STYLE
CH2. ICE BOX
CH3. SUNNY SIDE UP
CH4. 0800-AWKWARD
CH5. WAKE ‘N’ BAKE
CH6. SPILLED MILK
CH7. SPICE BOX
CH8. BOILING POINT
CH9. SIMMER [EXTRA HOT 18+]
CH10. CHEQUE, PLEASE
THE SNACK BAR 🥡
THE KITCHEN MIX 📻
WWW.JIMSMIDNIGHTDINER.COM 💾
defiance masterlist | king!sukuna x servant!reader
summary: a psychic shares her vision with the king, saying that his soulmate would replace all 5 of his concubines one day. he had her banned from the premises for that absurd prediction. it wasn't until months later when he started believing the old bitch, after one cute yet disobedient servant started working at the shrine.
TL;DR: sukuna's a sorcerer in this one, still ooc but not too much. mc pretty much ran away from home for being a hoe, and went to work at sukuna's shrine lol.
genre: female reader, heian era au, 18+, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, smut, crack, angst, no he wont have two sets of arms, and no he wont have two dicks, i'm really sorry
fic warnings: profanity, explicit smut, graphic depictions of violence, death, pregnancy, war
wc: 106k (complete)
side stories: delicate
Ko-fi link for those who are feeling generous and wanted to show extra support ❤️
One: Did I give you permission?
Two: Flower festival
Three: The King of Curses
Four: Temper
Five: Depraved
Six: My Little Dove
Seven: Counting the Rings Inside of the Willow Tree
cw: mdni, nsfw, bf!bakugou, bratty fem reader, teasing, date night got too exciting, p in v sex semi public sex, dirty talk,
You had started the games before you both even left the penthouse.
You’d come out of the bedroom in that backless dress—the one he hated because he loved it too much—smirking like you knew exactly what kind of hell you were dragging him into. High slit, no bra, and from the way the fabric clung to your hips, Katsuki had the sickening suspicion you weren’t wearing panties either.
By the time you were seated at the restaurant—top floor, skyline glittering through glass walls, the kind of place where servers wore white gloves—You were already in full mischief mode.
You crossed your legs under the table so the slit of your dress hiked higher, flashing smooth skin that he couldn’t stop glancing at, no matter how hard he tried. You leaned across the table to sip his whiskey instead of your wine, licking the rim slowly before handing it back with a faux-innocent smile. And when the server turned to take your order, your hand slipped under the table to rest on Katsuki’s thigh.
Higher. Higher.
“Quit it,” he muttered, jaw tight, while the server went on about pairings.
Your nails dragged up his slacks, brushing close enough to make him flinch. “What? I’m just keeping my hand warm,” you whispered, eyes shining like sin.
Katsuki shot you a look. The kind of look that promised you were cruising for trouble. You only grinned wider, swirling your wine like you hadn’t just given him a semi in the middle of a four-course dinner.
You kept it up, too—sending him texts across the table. Pictures of your neckline at different angles. A blurry shot under the table where the slit fell open, the bare skin between your thighs showing just enough to make his pulse spike.
He nearly crushed the stem of his glass when the notification lit up with:
“Forgot to tell you… no panties tonight.”
That was the breaking point.
Katsuki set his drink down so hard the ice jumped. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, leaning down just enough to growl into your ear:
“Bathroom. Now.”
You blinked at him, lips parting like you were about to play dumb. Then you saw his expression—the warning in his eyes, the dangerous calm in his voice. It wasn’t a request.
Your pulse fluttered. You rose without a word, letting him guide you through the candlelit maze of tables with his hand heavy at the small of your back.
The second they hit the polished black door of the restroom, Katsuki shoved it open, scanning to make sure it was empty before dragging you inside. The lock clicked, and then he had you pinned against the wall, dress hitched to your hips in one rough motion.
“You think you’re funny, huh?” His voice was low, rough, the kind of growl that made your thighs squeeze together. His mouth was hot against your jaw as he pushed your legs apart with his knee. “Teasing me all fuckin’ night. You want my attention that bad?”
You bit back a laugh, breathless already. “Maybe.”
That earned you a hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye. His other hand slid down between your thighs, finding you slick and aching. “Maybe, my ass. You’re dripping.”
Your gasp turned into a whimper as he dragged his fingers slowly, deliberately, keeping you right on the edge of more. “So tell me, baby. You want me to stop… or you want me to fuck you right here?”
Your back was pressed against the cold tiled wall, heart hammering as Katsuki’s hand tightened on your jaw. He tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes. The restaurant’s muffled sounds were nothing compared to the silence in here—just the heavy drag of his breath, the faint buzz of the light overhead, and the obscene sound of his fingers dragging through your slick folds.
“Fuckin’ soaked,” he muttered, thumb circling your clit in lazy, taunting strokes. His gaze was molten, unreadable, like he was deciding whether to ruin you or let you suffer a little longer. “All this shit you’ve been pulling tonight… you think I wouldn’t notice?”
You gasped, gripping his wrist, but you weren’t trying to push him away. Your thighs shook as he brushed over you again, slower this time, deliberately. “I just… wanted to have some fun,” you whispered, breath uneven, that defiant smirk still lingering even as your knees threatened to buckle.
Katsuki’s laugh was dark, sharp against your ear as he pressed in closer. His chest was hard against your front, body heat surrounding you. “Fun?” His fingers slid inside you in one sudden, smooth thrust that made you cry out, muffling it against his shoulder. “You call teasing me in public fun?”
Your answer was a strangled moan, nails digging into the back of his shirt.
He pumped his fingers slowly, scissoring them apart, curling just right to make you clench around him. He wanted you squirming, whining, begging—but not yet. His thumb pressed down harder on your clit, drawing lazy circles, and your head fell back against the wall.
“Kats… please…” you breathed, your lips trembling against his jawline as you turned your head, trying to catch his mouth.
“Please, what?” He stilled his hand completely, leaving you desperate and twitching. His other hand held your hip firm, pinning you in place. “You spent the whole night pushing me. Now you’re gonna say exactly what you want.”
Your cheeks were hot, eyes glassy as you tried to grind down on his still fingers. “I want you…” Your voice was shaky, barely audible. “I want you to fuck me.”
That’s when he smirked. Low. Dangerous. The kind that promised he’d been waiting to hear that.
He withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately, and brought them to his mouth. Sucked them clean right in front of you, groaning at the taste. “Good girl.”
In the next second, he spun you around, pressing your front against the wall. Your cheek met the cool tile as he shoved your dress up, baring your ass. You could feel the heat of him right behind you, the hard outline of his cock straining against his slacks as he ground against you.
“You'd better keep quiet,” he warned, undoing his belt with one hand, the clink of metal loud in the small restroom. “Unless you want the whole damn floor to hear you.”
You bit your lip, already trembling. “Then maybe you should fuck me quiet.”
He growled, low in his throat, grabbing your hair and tugging your head back so your mouth parted on a gasp. “Mouthy even now, huh?” He freed himself, stroking once, twice, before lining up against your dripping cunt. The head pushed in, stretching you slow, and you nearly choked on the whimper that spilled out.
The drag was agonizing—he took his time sinking into you, every inch deliberate. His hand at your hip pulled you back onto him, seating himself deep until your walls clenched tight around him. They both groaned, breath mingling.
“Fuck, baby…” he rasped, teeth grazing your ear. “So damn tight for me.”
Your hands braced against the wall, nails scraping tile as he drew back and slammed in harder this time. The wet slap of skin filled the space, the rhythm brutal from the start. Every thrust shoved you forward, your dress bunched high around your waist, your hair tugged tight in his fist as leverage.
“Wanted this attention so bad?” Katsuki growled against your neck, pounding into you mercilessly. “Then take it.”
Your cry was muffled as you bit into your own hand, the sound of his hips snapping against yours echoing in the restroom. He didn’t let up, angling his thrusts until you saw stars, each stroke hitting deep, his thumb finding your clit again and rubbing in sync.
“Gonna cum for me, baby?” His voice was harsh, ragged with control, but the smirk was still there in his tone. “Cum right here, where anyone could walk in and see you getting wrecked?”
Your whole body trembled, your thighs giving out as he held you up, fucking you through the tight clench of your orgasm. You muffled your scream against your arm, body jerking as you came, soaking him.
Katsuki cursed, biting into your shoulder as he chased his own release. A few more punishing thrusts and he stilled, buried deep, spilling inside you with a guttural groan.
For a moment, all that filled the room was their ragged breathing, the sound of your hearts pounding in unison. His forehead rested against your back as he held your hips tight, like letting go might make you slip away.
Finally, he dragged his mouth along your shoulder, breath hot, and whispered, “Next time you pull that shit at dinner… I won’t even wait for the restroom.”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
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