doe. 25. she/they. intj kid. a psychology graduate pursuing her master's degree who occasionally returns to her roots in writing and poetry. my current obsessions are arcane, my hero academia, and jujutsu kaisen, so most of my content will revolve around those three. i also make gifsets and playlists when the mood strikes.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ENTR’ACTE: SHADOW ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
SOME CONTENT WILL BE EXCLUSIVELY 18+ AND WILL BE TAGGED ACCORDINGLY. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT WITH THESE POSTS. i do not write for underaged or minor-coded characters. i am extremely selective about explicit content and will only typically write such things for characters with whom i’ve felt a strong connection. requests are currently closed, but i'm taking suggestions for my all too well writing prompt masterlist (send a character + a prompt!). please note that i write according to my own schedule, so i won’t be publishing content on a regular basis. current reqs count: 4 pending.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ACT II: SELF ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
under the cut is a directory of my works (including gifsets and playlists)
one-shots.
╭──╯ . . . . . GENSHIN IMPACT
siren’s song. ( diluc ragnvindr x reader / fluff )
promise and doubt. ( kaeya alberich x reader / angst + comfort )
╭──╯ . . . . . JUJUTSU KAISEN
repeat until death. ( nanami kento x reader / angst )
lost / found. ( nanami kento x reader / angst + smut )
drabbles.
╭──╯ . . . . . GENSHIN IMPACT
something stupid. ( kaeya alberich x reader / fluff )
╭──╯ . . . . . JUJUTSU KAISEN
nanami kento general boyfriend hcs
nanami kento nsfw boyfriend hcs ( coming soon )
mind over matter. ( nanami kento x reader / smut )
nanami's final mission ( nanami kento x reader / angst )
╭──╯ . . . . . HAIKYUU!!
atsumu and why he loves your fingers ( timeskip!atsumu x reader / smut )
╭──╯ . . . . . gifsets.
name meanings: marley’s warriors ( attack on titan )
name meanings: 104th survey corps ( attack on titan )
╭──╯ . . . . . playlists.
you’ve got it from here. ( nanami kento angst ) ( youtube. )
female anatomy for reader (no use of y/n, gender-neutral pronouns)
nsfw, fluffy smut basically
word count: 1900~
english is not my first language. if you spot any mistakes (especially grammatical), any typos/misspelled words, or if you have any advice for me in general: please let me know. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.
art cr: @arcanescribbles
"Have some mercy on yourself," you mumble, wrapping an arm around his slender waist, and its thinness has you puzzled and somewhat concerned again. He doesn't hesitate. Allows you to place that weary head on his shoulder, to nuzzle into the crook of his neck — a pleasant relief in the guise of your heat, of rhythmic breath tickling his slimline skin.
"You can't work that much,” you remind him, trying to hide the evident worry behind a light-hearted chuckle.
“Have you ever heard of a proper greeting?” Viktor quirks an eyebrow, and his deft hand quickly grabs yours to do a thing that never fails to make your heart shrink: has you melting at the feeling of his dry, warm lips on your knuckles yet again.
“Hug is a proper greeting,” you protest with a slightly offended scoff, burying your nose into the gorgeous mess of his hair — all unkempt strands and a sturdy scent of something pleasant, yet not exactly definable.
“Not when it comes with scolding,” Viktor releases your hand, the touch of his lips lingering on your skin, and he turns around, forcing you to break the embrace for a second — which you do reluctantly. But now you get to face him, and it certainly feels like a much bigger win.
A win and another reason to give him a lecture. Viktor initiates eye contact, runs a hand along the perfect curve of your hips, hoping that his gentle touch is a good enough distraction from his terribly deep eye-bags — so treacherously confirming your concerns about his sleep schedule (or the lack of such, to be precise).
"You've gotten thinner," you state with a sad frown, looking Viktor up and down. "And you need a nap," you continue, tangling two fingers into his hair. "And a bath.”
“I’ve missed you terribly, and that’s the first thing you mention when I finally have you in my arms?” Viktor cooes, staring at you with a guilty smile — your love-sick genius, always exhausted yet so unexplainably handsome in his own special way.
You scoff again, wrapping your arms around his neck and gently pressing him against the desk — a small gesture of care that allows his body better support without the cane.
“Have you eaten today?” you carefully ask, watching his expression closely.
“Maybe,” he grudgingly answers, and his amber eyes are lancing right through you in the dull light of his lab — tired, attentive, pretty.
“I don’t like that answer." Your voice is a sweet purr against his skin, and he winces as you slide a hand down his chest, fixing his vest for him.
“You’re being incredibly annoying today,” he informs you, pressing a quick peck to your lips. A brief one, barely palpable, too fleeting to give you a proper taste. “Perhaps I should appease you.”
“If you want to appease me, a kiss like that won’t do.”
“Demanding, are we?” He quirks an eyebrow, casually sitting down at his desk, squeezing your waist in a playful attempt to pull you onto his lap. But you don’t move an inch. Not until he kisses you properly, at least.
He gets the hint. Gently grabs your chin, pressing your noses together — kissing the right way this time, deep and slow, with his tongue brushing your bottom lip before slipping into your open mouth — it’s almost lewd when that small motion steals a surprised moan out of you. A kiss of a hungry, fervently missing his lover man. Your man.
“Better?” His question is rhetorical at this point. He knows he left you amazed and dizzy once again — your messy breath is giving it all away. But Viktor wouldn’t be Viktor if he hadn’t asked. The incorrigible tease at his best behavior.
“Much better.”
You give him the reassurance he’s been seeking, adding the missing touch to this affectionate gesture by nuzzling into his embrace, and he hums, satisfied with the solace you’ve brought him so easily with the mere power of your presence.
“So… is my darling appeased now?”
“Relatively.” You laugh, and a self-assured smirk plasters smugly across his face. “It won’t save you from having dinner with me tonight though.”
“Is that so? Well, I appreciate the effort, and the fact that you came here just to visit your sick, touch-starved man, but I’m afraid I still have work to do—“
“I’m not here just to visit you,” you cut him off, as one of your hands slips off his neck straight to cup his sharp knee. “I’m here to collect you. I’m stealing you home with me.”
“Oh no.” He cracks an exaggeratedly offended expression, but judging from the still present on his face grin — he’s actually rather pleased with your intentions. “Being abducted definitely doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.”
“That’s right.” You nod, nudging him softly. “I’ll even hold you hostage if that’s what it takes to bathe you and get you into bed.”
“But what a horrific torture!” he pulls away, slamming a hand against his chest with a low giggle — it lands on his sternum with a muffled slap, right where his thudding heart is. “How ever will I survive that?”
“I believe your fate is inevitable, so you better just accept it.”
“How unfortunate,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, and you gasp, allowing him to lay his cheek against your chest. “Can’t wait to end up in that bath with you,” he whispers, and you hitch in breath, your shaky hands stop massaging his scalp.
“Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?” you tease light-heartedly, feeling his grip tighten around your waist.
“Me.” His response is firm and simple, yet still maddening enough for you to go weak in the knees. Apparently, his nap is being delayed again.
***
Bath with Viktor is a death sentence — a long and squirming one, of countless orgasms and moans loud enough to wake up the whole Piltover. You tried, you really did, to talk him out of it, to make him wait until at least after dinner, but he’s stubborn and knows damn well that you can’t resist him. So all your warnings about how he needs some rest first were muffled mercilessly by his tongue buried deep inside you. At this point, you’re not even sure whether he’s really that into devouring you, or if he’s just trying to prove you wrong, to show you that he’s never tired when it comes to eating you out.
He has you sitting on the edge of the bathtub, legs resting on his covered in crescent nail marks shoulders, and you tug, tug, tug on his hair as he tongue-fucks you through yet another insane release. If only he could smile right now, which was obviously impossible in his position, he would definitely give you the most provoking signature smirk. So you mentally thank his passion for giving head, since it’s the one to blame for his inability to destroy you even more with those grins and his witty dirty-talk right now. He has you right where he wants you: with your thighs wrapped tightly around his head, with your slick getting quite literally everywhere — his tongue, his chin, some on his chest, even. And when you slam your head against the wall, light-headed and breathless, he knows it’s time to do a particularly vicious thing — to suck on your abused clit so hard he might as well just suck the damn soul out of you while he’s at it.
Too much. Overwhelmingly so. And those sweat drops forming on his forehead, and the way he digs his wet fingers into the soft flesh of your legs, and the way he laps up so thoroughly—
“Gonna cum.” You gather the last strengths in your possession to mumble an illegible warning and the skillful bastard between your thighs only picks up pace, leaving you wondering how his tongue is still intact after all that frantic motions inside your cunt. But the technique is rather impressive. You stare at him, wide-eyed and with your lower lip bitten. His sinful gaze meets yours with a guttural rattle when you grip a strand of his dark hair so hard your knuckles turn white. You want to tell him how good his mouth feels, how indescribably hot he looks kneeling in the bathtub, how attractive his skin glistens right now, in the warm water. But the words are unnecessary. Your precious cussing as you come undone on his agile tongue is the best existing compliment to him.
So you deliver. He coaxes the third orgasm out of you. Leaves you throbbing, making one of your shaking legs slip off his slick shoulder into the water with a loud splash. He licks the remnants of you tauntingly slow off his swollen lips, watching your every convulsion closely, and he’s so proud of himself that it almost re-turns you on all over again.
“Look at you.” His sultry whisper reminds you that his ability to be a smartass is back.
“Viktor—“ You suffocate, grabbing his shoulder to hold on for dear life, so you don’t fall out of the tub completely. He chuckles, carefully pulling you back into the water, thoughtful as always, like the gentleman he is. Well, if rearranging your guts with that tortuous tongue and thick cock could be considered something gentlemen do, of course.
He tastes like you now. His tongue is somewhat sour, much puffier in comparison to yours, and it’s not that animate anymore — he pushes it into your mouth rather lazily, evidently worn out by the intercourse.
“I thought the purpose of this bath was to get me cleaned, not dirty,” he whispers with a filthy giggle, wiping your slick off his chin. You roll your eyes, admitting that the single thing stopping you from biting him for that joke is a complete lack of energy. Admitting that he’d just one-upped every single man you've slept with before. Once again.
“Oh, fuck you.” You giggle back, nuzzling into his chest, and it feels so gentle — the lust is gone and the only thing left between you two is pure affection; divine, immaculate, expressed through the softness of your body and the sharpness of his.
“I would be a liar if I said it doesn’t sound tempting, but I don’t believe you’re in a state to do that, my love,” Viktor teases, but you don’t talk back. He left you witless. Too fucked out for your own liking and just perfect for his. “Do you think you can make it to the kitchen?” he asks, pointing at your wobbly legs.
“Yeah.” You hesitate for a second, reluctant to get out of the warm bath. “And you?”
“Oh, I’m not hungry.” Viktor shakes his head, and his response dramatically increases your urge to pinch him. That wasn’t the deal!
“No. Not a chance, you’re not skipping dinner again.”
“But I’ve already had dinner. Well. In a way,” he whispers, as the corners of his mouth curl into another insufferable smirk, and it takes a good ten-second uncomfortable pause for you to understand the pun.
“Eating pussy is not an actual meal,” you frown, pulling away.
“And that’s so unfortunate, don’t you think? At least that way, I’d never skip them…”
A/N: i'm not sure how i feel about this, but it took me longer than it should've, so i'm posting it. ^^
read at your own discretion.
yandere ! SHINSO HITOSHI X READER
“I don’t understand.”
“Look, I know it isn’t exactly fair, but–”
“No. I mean, I don’t understand.” Calloused hands ran through purple locks, pulling, tugging, anything to alleviate the building frustration.
“Years. Years risking my life, years saving lives, years doing everything a hero is supposed to fucking do.” There was a humourless laugh cutting through the words.
This couldn’t be fucking happening. He started pacing, hands unsure, clenching and unclenching their fists, rubbing down his face.
“And where does that get me? Back in elementary school apparently, where everyone’s scared of the freak with the villain’s quirk.” His eyes hardened, flashing with memories he thought he’d long buried, fears he had long killed.
“Stop.” His former mentor’s voice, monotonous as ever, made him pause; he turned to meet his eyes–well eye and eye patch. “Those are the terms, like it or not. And while I, personally, err on the side of not, that won’t get us anywhere.”
“So what? I don’t have any choice? Let the Hero Commission fuck about with my life all they want, or give up my hero license? You can’t be serious.”
The black haired man sighed, “Things are a little different than in my day, kid. Even underground heroes have to appeal to the public now–”
He scoffed, “I’d hardly say I’m the most unlikeable hero. Or did they happen to forget the guy who explodes buildings and yells at reporters like it’s a sport? Oh, but he’s number two, and makes tween girls wet, so fuck me, I guess.”
“You can sit here throwing a pity party for yourself, if that’s what you want. But you have a choice to make: give up the dream you’ve worked so hard to achieve, the dream you’ve bled for, the dream people have died for…” Uncrossing his arms, his mentor pushed off the wall.
“Or,” He headed for the door, hand catching on the frame, “Go to therapy.”
He paused, turning; a sly smile played at his lips, “Who knows, you might actually like it.”
. ♡ .
“Nice to meet you! No…Nice to meet you! Ugh, that’s worse. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
She huffed out a sigh, smoothing over her pencil skirt in the floor length mirror, and shook the nerves from her body. She squared her face into a serious expression, reaching a hand towards her reflection.
“Nice to meet you, Mr…” Her hand hung mid air, eyes searching the ceiling for an answer before she groaned, smacking a hand over her face. “What am I even supposed to call him? His hero name? Or…is that too impersonal?”
She started pacing, “No. You don’t know him, you aren’t friends.” Her hands rubbed at her face, “But this is supposed to be a comfortable environment.”
She didn’t hear the knock at her door as she muttered to herself, “Hero name or real name. Hero name or real name…eenie meenie–”
“Uhh, am I interrupting something?”
She yelped, jumping a bit in her skin, before scrambling to contain herself.
“Ah! Hello!” She cleared her throat in an attempt to rid herself of the squeakiness, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you, Mr–” She tripped over the plush chair in front of her on her way to greet him, only to be caught by toned arms instead of old leather.
He helped her up as she dusted herself off, flustered, and embarrassed. Looking into lilac eyes, she found indifference and annoyance. How should she deal with this?
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. That was incredibly unprofessional.” She sighed, introducing herself, “How would you like me to address you?”
He gave her his name, “I’m not exactly a working hero right now, anyway.” His face twisted in irritation, and she made a mental note, painting a pleasant smile on her lips.
“The Hero Commission informed me of your situation. I promise, spend the next six months with me, and I’ll send you home with a stamp of approval, and then you can get right back to saving lives.” She giggled a bit, reaching a hand to her face like a schoolgirl sharing a secret, “But, between you and me, I think this is complete bullshit.”
His eyes widened a fraction in surprise, softening a bit, and she fist pumped in her mind. Nailed it!
“In any case, we should get started. Sit, please.” She gestured to the couch across from them, and he took a seat. She cleared her throat as she sat herself in her chair, “I assume you know why you’re here with me today?”
He rolled his eyes, “Yeah.”
A beat. Nope, okay, that’s all she was getting right now. Time to change tactics.
“You know, since we’re going to be spending a lot of time together these next few months, it might be best to get to know each other a bit before diving in head first. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”
His eyes scanned her, analyzing, sizing her up, “You look a little young to be a therapist.”
Internally she sighed, she was expecting that one, “I’m twenty-four, so you’re technically correct. However, I assure you, I am more than qualified.”
He scoffed a bit, “What, am I your first client or something?”
“As someone who has worked as a hero since age fifteen, I’m sure you understand that there is no age requirement to start helping people.” She supposed it was her fault for opening this door in the first place.
He huffed, rolling his eyes, “Whatever you say, doc.”
Well, that was annoying. She sighed, No, she could do this.
“Do you know why the Hero Commission sent you to me?”
“Like I said, I–”
“No.” She kept the pleasant smile on her face. No time like the present, she supposed, “I mean, why they sent you to me.”
He was growing agitated, she could tell, “No.”
“Well, I may know a thing or two about having a villainous quirk.”
. ♡ .
So she could read minds. Big deal. He kicked a stray rock along the sidewalk as he walked home. He huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. That was hardly villainous. It’s not like she could do anything with that. He could mind control, for fuck’s sake.
But, he paused, he supposed he could see her point. He’d spent a good part of their hour and a half session on edge, wondering if she had looked into his mind, violated his privacy.
She had given him a sheepish smile, and assured him she wouldn’t use her quirk without his permission. To which he became even more suspicious. If she wasn’t reading his mind, how did she know what he was thinking?
“How do I know what you’re thinking if I’m not reading your mind, right?” She’d giggled. He had had half a mind to walk out right there.
“Believe it or not, you’re an incredibly easy person to read. Your emotions are written all over your face.”
Well, fuck you too, then. No one on the planet had ever told him that. In fact, he took pride in the monotonous, uncaring mask he’d perfected over the years.
“Oh, please don’t take offense,” She fiddled with her fingers before looking back up at him, “it’s…a side effect. Of my quirk. I can’t really turn that part off–the…understanding people part.”
She was an endearing little thing, he’d give her that. “S’fine.” He’d avoided her gaze in part embarrassment, and part annoyance. No. He wasn’t supposed to like her. This whole thing was happening against his will.
He huffed out a sigh, eyes following the setting sun. Six months. Six months, and he’d be free. He could do that. But he’d be damned if he enjoyed it.
. ♡ .
“Bullshit.”
She laughed, almost doubling over when she met his dull eyes, “I’m serious!”
“You’re just trying to one up me right now; there’s no way you got expelled for using your quirk,” He scoffed.
“I did!” She stifled her laughter to explain, “Granted, I’d read the teacher’s mind to get answers to a test, so it wasn’t completely unwarranted.”
He quirked an eyebrow, and she knew she was being judged, “In my defense, I was like twelve, and terrible at algebra.”
He remained unimpressed, “So you cheated,” he crossed his arms, “How did they even know you used it?”
“Well, I have to make eye contact, you know,” He nodded as she explained, “So, it’s not exactly discreet, but–”
“Okay, but if you’re in someone’s mind, how would they know that?”
“Let me finish! So, I’m flipping through Mrs. Kamakura’s mind, and–”
“Flipping?”
“Mhmm! People’s minds are like…storybooks. You get little flashes of images as you–sort of think of it as–as you’re flipping the page,” She paused, “Wait, you don’t get that?”
“What the fuck? No, IMAX, I don’t get that. It’s like…” He trailed off, eyes searching for the explanation, “It’s like once I’ve got them, I’m holding a leash, and wherever I guide, they follow. There’s no image, just a feeling of…control.”
She blinked, and he nearly cursed himself for freaking her out, only to be met with the sound of laughter, “Wait, wait, so–oh my god–that’s like, you gotta know that sounds kinky as fuck, right?”
He felt his face heat, and while he knew he should be disgusted, he let his mind flash with an image: he had to admit, she’d look good like that, at his feet, eyes wide, thighs pressed together in anticipation of what he’d make her do next—thank god she was too much of a goody two shoes to look inside.
He squared his face back to neutral, “I could have your license revoked for that, you know.”
She settled, a warm smile at her lips as she shrugged, “You’re more than welcome to take your complaints up with the Hero Commission, but I can’t guarantee your next therapist will be nearly as fun as me.”
He rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile, “You’re hardly a therapist.”
“Oh my god,” She gasped mockingly, “You are so rude! No wonder you got stuck with me.”
He laughed, and as he caught sight of the twinkle in her eyes, a feeling he couldn’t quite place bubbled in his chest.
. ♡ .
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Look, I know it’s not exactly a pleasant memory, but–”
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.” He crossed his arms, avoiding her gaze.
She sighed out his name, “You’ve been coming to see me for a few weeks now, and we have yet to even talk about the reason you’re here in the first place.” She really did like talking casually with him, but she had a job to do, never mind how he huffed at her like a petulant child.
“You’re the one who said that reason is bullshit, so I don’t know why you’re pressing the issue.”
Yep. She knew that would come back to bite her.
“Just because it’s bullshit doesn’t mean it has no consequences,” She was trying so hard to stay the good guy; she finally felt like he’d started to trust her, “I understand what it’s like to–”
“You don’t understand anything. So you got kicked out of school when you were twelve for cheating on a test,” He scoffed, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have the people you’re trying to help look at you like you’re a—like you’re a fucking monster?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.
“No, you don’t,” His eyebrows knit together in frustration, “I’m out there trying to save the lives of people who hate me while you’re in here making small talk with whoever’s unlucky enough to pass through your door. It’s not the same thing.”
There was a beat of silence, and something twisted in his chest when he caught a glimpse of the kicked puppy look that crossed her face. Before he could apologize she began speaking.
She rolled her lip between her teeth, sighing, “You know, you’re the first hero client I’ve ever had.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished, “I mean, technically, you were right, I haven’t really had clients before, either.”
His brow furrowed in confusion, “Then, what–”
“I told you I was expelled from school when I was twelve, but I never told you that that was the last school I ever went to,” A melancholy look glazed over her eyes, “Somewhere along the line, don’t ask me how, the Hero Commission was informed of my quirk–apparently mind reading is rarer than you think.”
She started to fiddle and pull at her fingers as she avoided his gaze, “I spent the next six years in special schooling, before interrogating captured villains for the Hero Commission,” A humourous laugh left her, “my parents were just so excited at the prospect of their little girl being some type of hero.”
“But, you know,” Her voice started to shake, “When you’re invading someone’s mind, stealing their thoughts, no matter how many bad things they’ve done, no matter how villainous they claim to be,” she swallowed the unshed tears, eyes hardening, “When they fight, and claw, and beg for you to just please, get out of their head, you don’t feel like anyone’s hero.”
He knew the feeling well, and as he listened, he found a sort of familiarity in her words. Had anyone been able to put his thoughts into words before?
She smiled a bitter smile, “So, yeah, I know what it’s like to be looked at like a…fucking monster.”
He swallowed, hating the break in her voice. “I didn’t know that.”
She cleared her throat, “As the years went by, I wasn’t just interrogating villains, I was talking to them, helping them,” Her eyes shifted, “They’re people too, you know. They deserve a chance just like the rest of us–to change.”
That bubbling feeling in his chest started to boil. He decided he kind of liked it. The warmth of it. Of her.
She huffed out another laugh, “So imagine my surprise when the Hero Commission came to me with a new challenge. Not a villain. But a hero. A hero to help.” She finally met his gaze, “You.”
. ♡ .
She tossed a few newspaper articles on the glass table in between them, gesturing for him to sort through them. He rolled his eyes, reluctantly obliging.
“Well?” She asked earnestly.
He quirked a brow, lifting his gaze to meet hers, “Well?”
“How do those articles make you feel?”
He scoffed, “Oh, fuck off.”
She laughed lightly, “I’m serious. Come on, tell me. How do they make you feel?”
“You know, for a fake therapist, you’re awfully stereotypical.”
“Now you fuck off, I’m not a fake therapist,” Her lips pulled into a crooked grin, “You know, if you don’t wanna talk about it, I could always take a peek? Would just take a second.” Her smile turned mischievous.
He hated the way his chest warmed, a smile pulling at his lips, “What, you spill your deep dark secrets to me, and it only takes two months to start threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening you.”
The singsong in her voice made him want to take her over his knee. Brat. Wait. Fuck–he really needed to stop thinking of her like that. But he couldn’t help the way his cheeks heated as he imagined it.
Ass on full display, glowing red. Hands numb as he trapped them in one of his own while she cried. Her hair sticking to her face with the wetness, begging for his forgiveness. He’d give it to her, of course he would. But, he’d tell her, stroking the dome of his canvas, she needed to earn it first.
He shook himself from his thoughts and rolled his eyes playfully, turning back to the articles.
‘UNDERGROUND HEROES: ARE THEY REALLY HERE TO PROTECT YOU?’
and another few with his hero name plastered at the top,
‘MIND CONTROL HERO USES QUIRK ON UNSUSPECTING CIVILIANS’
and
‘HERO OR VILLAIN IN DISGUISE? THE TRUTH ABOUT AN UNDERGROUND HERO.’
“I feel like these are complete bullshit.”
She looked unimpressed, “Bullshit is not a feeling.”
He searched her eyes for mercy, and found none, “Fine,” he groaned, “I feel angry. I feel like no matter what I do, I just can’t fucking win; I’m always the bad guy, like this one–”
He pulled up the second article, “Unsuspecting civilians?” He scoffed, “I was responding to a domestic violence call, sue me for telling a guy to stop beating his wife.”
“And this one,” He pulled out another, “What, villain in disguise? Just cause the paparazzi got a picture of me half awake at four in the goddamn morning, and I had the audacity to look annoyed?”
He went on, listing the problems with each and every one, before sighing. “I just don’t understand. Tabloids print stupid rumours about heroes all the time, but because of my quirk, everyone thinks they somehow must be true?”
He was getting heated, hands becoming animated as he spoke, “What? I make one real mistake, and I’m suddenly like some burnt out celebrity who gets sent to rehab, so that they can get back in society’s good graces. It’s…bullshit.”
“You know,” He laughed a bit in disbelief, “I don’t give a shit if you’re a fake therapist or not, I’m telling you this in confidence, okay?” He looked up at her.
Startled a bit at the abrupt pause, her eyebrows raised, but she nodded quickly in affirmation, gesturing for him to continue.
“It’s almost like they want me to be a villain,” he huffed, hands pulling at his hair, “And…and sometimes…sometimes I feel like…maybe I’d be better off as one.”
His eyes shifted, “No,” searching desperately for the words, “That’s not true,” he sighed, hands rubbing at his face.
“For once,” he lifted his gaze, “Just for once, I’d like to be someone’s hero,” his eyes seemed to burn so intensely into hers that she had to remind herself to breathe.
“I want someone to look at me and think, that’s my hero.”
. ♡ .
She fiddled with her fingers as she stood in front of the boardroom, willing herself not to rock back and forth on her heels. Her eyes scanned the room, searching the faces for any discernible shifts in emotion.
“And you’re positive?” One of the men finally spoke, “It’s only been four months–the agreement was six.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by another, scratchier voice.
“You’re kidding, right?” He scoffed, “four months of chitchat, and you’re ready to send him back into the field?”
Someone else cleared their throat, “I’m inclined to agree–the severity of the situation demands more promising results than simply your word.”
She nodded, and, at the ensuing silence, realized that was her cue, “Ah! Yes, well. I really do think we’ve made progress. Of course, I’m willing to wait two more months, but–”
“But he has some of the best capture numbers on the Hero Billboard,” The man at the head of the table interrupted, “It’s in our best interest to get him back to work as soon as possible. If you’re sure we can assure the public of the anomaly of the matter–”
“She hasn’t even used her quirk,” The man with the scratchy voice interrupted, “At least give us that assurance,” He scoffed, “The man publicly dismembered a villain on national television.”
“With all do respect, sir, he didn’t dismember anyone,” She interjected, letting her annoyance get the better of her for a moment before containing herself, “While I agree the reaction was extreme–”
“And the fact that children watched as a man ripped his own limbs off.” Another scoffed.
She cleared her throat, “Yes, well,” Her eyes shifted, searching for the answer, “Had he done nothing, none of those children would have lived to see another day–lest we forget the damage those limbs were capable of–he’s a hero, at the end of the day,” She was getting heated again, “He did his job; we should all be grateful.”
There was a beat of silence as the words were absorbed, and the man at the head of the table finally spoke, “I trust your judgment,” Her eyes nearly lit up, but then, “But, I also see the appeal of assurance we can give the public. Look into his mind–the knowledge that this won’t happen again, that he isn’t a threat, will ensure we don’t end up right back here in a few months time.”
She deflated, but regained her composure, swallowing the unease building in her chest, “Yes, sir.”
. ♡ .
“No fucking way.”
“Oh, come on! I just wanna know what it feels like. You’re the only person I’ve met with a quirk even similar to mine–”
“I said, No.”
“How ‘bout we make a deal?” She stamped down the building feelings of guilt–this was the only way to help him, really help him.
He turned the words over in his mind, “What deal?”
Stop it. This is for the best. “You use your quirk on me, just like I asked.”
His eyes dulled, “I’m not seeing the deal part of this arrangement.”
“Hear me out,” There was a thrumming of anxiety in her chest, “You use your quirk on me, and to make it fair, I use mine on you. That way we’re both equally culpable.”
There was a beat of silence before he snorted, “Never knew you were such a pervert, doc.”
Her face heated, and she tripped over her words, “That’s not what I mean!” She huffed, collecting herself, “You don’t want to use your quirk on me, and I don’t want to use my quirk on you–this way, we both have to do something we don’t want.”
“Who says I want you in my mind, pervert?” His eyes narrowed playfully.
“Stop calling me that, or I swear I’ll make sure you’re stuck with me ‘till you die.”
“Would that be so terrible?” He surprised himself with the words, but the way her cheeks heated soothed his own embarrassment. Fine, he figured, he’d give her a bone. “Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket, deal.”
“Really?” She nearly sighed from relief, but then he continued.
“But” He told her, “You better stay surface level, I don’t need you seeing all that dark shit in my brain.”
It was her turn to narrow her eyes, scanning him for a moment, before deciding, “...Do you look at foot fetish por–”
“Okay!” He interrupted, flustered, “ Deal’s off.”
“Nooo!” She whined, “I take it back, I was kidding, please.”
She paused a moment, “You know, you shouldn’t be ashamed, everyone has their own ki–”
“I swear to God, I’ll use my quirk on you just to get you to shut the fuck up.”
She hummed, content, “Lovely,” She gestured for him to continue, “take it away.”
He rolled his eyes, “I have to ask you a question, what are you, stupid?”
“Hey–!” And she was gone.
He found himself staring into blank pupils, and missing the color. Though, he couldn’t help the giddiness that bubbled in his chest of having her under his control. Fuck. He knew he shouldn’t have done this. She was wrong–he enjoyed the fantasy of this moment far too much–it was her fault for pressing the issue in the first place.
He shook himself from his thoughts, opting to scan across her body. How easy it would be. He thought. She wouldn’t even remember. He could be buried balls deep inside her, ruin her, and she’d be none the wiser. But, he sighed, he’d really rather her a conscious participant.
He glanced down at the table where a glass of water sat in front of her. She’d be so pissed. But, he’d be able to see her tits through her ruined white blouse without committing a felony. Yeah, that would do just fine.
“Pick up that glass of water.” She obeyed. “Pour it over yourself.” She did. Well, fuck. He knew he’d enjoy the view, but felt embarrassed at the growing tightness in his pants.
I mean, he hadn’t let her go just yet–he could alleviate himself–No. He told himself. He promised he’d behave. He waited a little while for the bulge in his pants to die down before releasing her.
“Wha–” She groaned, but it fell to a whine when she felt the wetness on her chest, “Are you kidding me? You are such an asshole!”
He huffed out a laugh as she lamented the ruined shirt, “Hey, you made your bed–I told you I didn’t want to do it.”
“Fuck you,” she said, stamping, and twisting at the shirt with her hands, “You owe me a new shirt.”
He shrugged, “Your turn, doc,” He paused, would she see those dirty thoughts of his? “Surface level, okay? Surface level.”
She nodded, smiling a bit when he handed her his jacket–-only for her to use it as a towel, wiping at her shirt. He really couldn’t win, could he?
“It’ll be easier to do that if you relax,” She adjusted herself in her seat, meeting his eyes, “That way, no stray thoughts pop up in your brain that you don’t want me to see. Otherwise, I won’t be able to control what I find.”
He wondered if she was aware of his thoughts already, but a look in her eyes, and he found nothing but earnest innocence, trust. He sighed internally, the shit he’d do for her.
“Fire away, doc.”
It was always a bit strange at first. Storybook analogy aside, everyone’s mind formulated its thoughts a bit differently, and each time she’d have to navigate a different type of maze. She made a point to look only for what she came for, no matter how curious she became. But, as she sorted through his mind, she couldn’t find any truly villainous thoughts.
She sighed internally; she was right. The Hero Commission was wrong. And now, she could give him what he’s wanted these past few months, and send him on his way. Though, she found herself a bit disappointed she wouldn’t be seeing him around anymore. No, she shook herself from her thoughts, Don’t be selfish.
Nothing out of the ordinary; she should leave before things became more complicated, and as if the universe could read her mind, she was met with a flood of thoughts.
He watched as she sat across from him, eyes boring into his, mind elsewhere–well mind inside his. Think normal thoughts, he repeated, think normal thoughts. His eyes caught sight of the sheer fabric sticking to her skin, and he felt himself slip.
There was a flash of him bent over a woman on a desk, her desk–was that her? Her wrists caught in a deadlock by his hand as he rammed into her. She was crying out for him, back arched, ass pressing into the hips that slammed against her. Fuck me. His other hand wound around her hair, yanking her head up to look at him. Fuck me! Kissing up her neck, his teeth left bruises in their wake.
Love me. Sweat dripped down from his brow, and he licked up her cheek, biting at her earlobe. Love me! He took her jaw in his fingers, turning her face to kiss her–she was sure that was her now. Spit glossed their lips as he pulled back, rutting into her in a way that had pornographic whines forced from her throat, drool coating her chin, and staining the desk below them. Her face heated, and she scrambled to leave his mind before finding something newer, something more disturbing.
Oh my god, she thought. Was he walking her on a fucking leash? No. Don’t kinkshame. That’s fine–
Yes, Master. The woman, this abomination that was her, purred. Whatever you want, Master.
He watched her face as she knelt below him. Fingers running down between her tresses and pulling, letting her whine, and squeal, choking as he guided her bloated lips up and down and up and down his cock. Come on, He told her, Beg me, a sharp smile, canines dripping, Beg me to let you breathe. Her tears wet the purple tuft at his v-line, lips stained with precum, eyes shiny and wide, looking up at him as she tried not to spasm from the bulge shoved halfway down her throat. Searching for approval.
It’s just a thought he can’t–
They were on a bed. She was crying–his hands around her throat, fingers curled into the collar secured tightly around her neck–as he fucked into her. Her eyes crossed, tongue hanging from her mouth as her tits rocked from the force. Sweat dripped from his abs to where her legs were spread by his hips. He mouthed at her tits, pulling a nipple between his teeth while he took the other breast in his hand, kneading, squeezing. She was squealing. Please, sir. That didn’t sound like her. Can I cum?
Her hands reached up to tug at his locks, but he forced them into the mattress, fingers intertwining with her own. He snorted, You cum when I say you can, pet. She whined as his hips sped their motions, moaning, and turning, trying and failing to pull her hands from beneath his grip.
Please, Master, can I cum Master? I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good, Master. That god forsaken collar tethered her to the bed like a glorified sex doll–little bell jingling each time he thrust into her. He laughed, and she couldn’t help the chill in her bones. Who do you belong to, huh? His breath ragged from exertion, Tell your Master who you belong to.
What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.
She forced herself out of his mind, heart threatening to break out of her chest.
He looked startled as she came to, and she willed her breathing to slow, swallowing the nerves screaming at her inside her mind. She couldn’t read the emotion that crossed his face, but his eyebrows raised as he waited for her to say something.
She let out a shaky breath, forcing out a laugh, “So,” She swallowed, “Kind of disappointed I didn’t find that foot fet–”
He snorted, “Fuck off,” She followed, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
. ♡ .
“So, that’s it?”
“There’s already a message out to the press,” His mentor told him, “You’re off the hook as soon as it airs.”
“But it’s only been four months?” This didn’t make sense, “What happened?”
“Must have made quite the impression on your therapist,” The older man snorted, “She went right to the Hero Commission, gave them a full clean bill of mental health.”
He knew he should be happy, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. “Can I talk to her?”
The man shrugged, “Don’t see why not, though,” A yawn cut through the words, “heard the Commission’s transferring her–something about the branch in America.”
His heart fell through his chest. She was leaving him without so much as a goodbye? Scratch that. She was leaving him.
“I at least owe her my thanks,” He sighed, eyes hardening in determination, “Let me meet with the Commission."
. ♡ .
She was dodging his calls. A part of her felt badly for her trepidation; he was attracted to her, so what? He was an attractive man. Even she had the stray thought now and then. She’d seen so much worse in the minds of villains, some things that still gave her nightmares. He’s a guy; of course he’s gonna be thinking about sex.
But there was a nagging feeling in the back of her head. She’d been in so many minds, his wasn’t any different. Except it was.
“It’s like once I’ve got them, I’m holding a leash, and wherever I guide, they follow. There’s no image, just a feeling of…control.”
Control.
That was it. He’d enjoyed it in his thoughts. She knew it. A palpable feeling in the atmosphere of his mind, drunk on the idea of controlling her.
She’d joked about his kinks, about sex. Maybe a bit unprofessional, in retrospect. But she was trying to lighten the mood. He was her patient, and she was there to help him, to get him to open up. Sue her for trying to be personable.
But it wasn’t just controlling her in the bedroom, where he imagined her beneath him, kneeling at his feet in reverence, like he was–
Like he was her hero. She realized.
“I want someone to look at me and think, that’s my hero.”
That’s what he had said. She thought it endearing at first, convinced he had more than earned his freedom, but…the way he looked at her,
“You better stay surface level, I don’t need you seeing all that dark shit in my brain.”
There was something darker. Something lurking under the surface. She couldn’t quite place it, losing herself in her thoughts. As she racked her brain for the answer, she didn’t hear the knock at the door.
“Am I interrupting something?”
She jumped, yelping as she turned to catch sight of the purple haired man standing too casually, too comfortably, in her doorway.
“Ah! Oh my god,” She cleared her throat of its squeakiness. She didn’t want to seem vulnerable. “You scared me.”
She stood, not so much to greet him, but in an effort to feel more secure. “Can I ask how you got my address?” She forced a laugh to lighten the atmosphere, “What, you stalking me or something?”
He shrugged, pushing the door closed as he made his way over to her, “Perks of being a working hero,” He paused as he neared her, “Thanks to you.”
Yeah. Way to go. She really tried not to back away as a hand came to brush at her hair, but her feet moved on their own. A look of hurt passed lilac eyes before settling on annoyance. Wow. You nailed it. Shut up.
He cleared his throat, “Heard you were leaving,” He studied her as her fingers started pulling at each other. Not a question. Good. Wait–why was she thinking about that?
“Yeah,” She thought she might rip off one of her fingers with the tension, “They’re opening a new rehabilitation program in–”
“You didn’t say goodbye.” He stepped closer. You know him. Stop freaking out.
“Yes, well, I’m s–” She stepped backward.
“You know,” His eyes flickered to where her hands fidgeted, “You do that when you’re nervous.” A step forward.
“I’m not–” Another step backward.
He sighed, “I told you to stay surface level.” His eyes shifted, and he huffed, “If you’d just stayed surface level,” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She forced a laugh, “I don’t know what you’re–”
“Cut that out.”
She sighed, “I’m sorry,” Maybe he was just angry at her for violating his privacy. That must be it. “That was wrong of me. I understand if–”
“Honestly, did me a favor,” He huffed out a laugh. What. “Don’t know if I’d ever have had the guts in the first place,” Oh. Was this a confession?
She breathed out his name, “Everyone has feelings,” This was fine. Deescalation. This would work. “And you can’t control all your thoughts. Maybe we should start over.”
He looked at her a moment, eyes widening a fraction before softening. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Almost out of the woods. “Would’ve hated for it to go the other way.” The other way?
“The other way?” It tumbled from her mouth before she could stop it.
He shook his head, “Nevermind,” He looked around, “I’ll help you unpack.” What?
“Unpack?” She felt like a goddamn parrot at this point.
“Well, yeah,” He said it as if it were obvious, “Can’t start over if you’re halfway across the world.”
He was being purposely obtuse, right? This was a joke?
She laughed, but his face remained neutral. She cleared her throat, Professional. Be Professional. “While I appreciate the humour, there are people who need my help in Am–”
“You know, The Hero Commission are fucking terrified of me,” he said, eyes hardening, as if gathering resolve. Where was this going?
“Should’ve realized sooner,” His eyes were cutting into hers, “They’d do just about anything to keep up their image.” He stepped forward again.
“Do anything to keep from another incident,” Her back hit the wall. This was wrong. Everything was wrong.
“You said it yourself, I’m not a villain,” Something shifted, and she saw a glimpse of the kind man she’d come to know these past months. He was gone the next second, “I’d really hate it if you made me a villain.”
“Listen, I’m not sure what–”
“Let’s make a deal,” He smirked, “You use your quirk on me, and to make it fair, I use mine on you. That way we’re both equally culpable.”
“I don’t want to–”
“You don’t want to use your quirk on me, and I don’t want to use my quirk on you–this way, we both have to do something we don’t want.”
He was using her own goddamn words against her.
“You go first,” He brought his face to her level, hand pressed to the wall above her, “C’mon, fire away, doc.” She whimpered, She tried to rationalize the situation in her mind. She knew this man. Didn’t she?
Stall, and you’ll figure a way out. Maybe she could find something useful in his mind.
She nodded, swallowing. She shook her nerves, feeling drowned by the lilac eyes in front of her. It wasn’t like the last time she’d been inside. Everything he’d been keeping under the surface bubbled up, overwhelming all her senses. It was suffocating. It was fucking terrifying.
She didn’t like this. She didn’t understand this. What the fuck was she seeing?
“Hey,” His other hand took her jaw between his fingers, eyes inside his mind, but ears open, “How does it feel, huh?” His lips were brushing hers.
“How does it feel to be able to see every single thing I’m gonna do to you, and not be able to do a damn thing about it?”
First of all, a relationship with Keigo can go very well or very badly. His life requires a very specific type of person, although he is not one to judge people and prefers to be optimistic when it comes to anything, it must be admitted that a person who is a little more "egoistic" could not stand the schedules, the dangers and harms that come with the hero's work.
In any case, if you are a person who, although you have flaws that might seem out of place with the style of life that has been imposed on Keigo, but you are still a person who is willing to do better, fight and resist for the relationship, believe me that the he will put the same as you and more.
Probably at the beginning there will be many problems, Keigo is not a man used to his life not being just for him, and perhaps you are not used to living with someone like him, but part of a relationship is learning, step by step and with a lot of time, love can change things if you use it well.
Of course, like any person, he has his good things and bad things.
🟥 Red Flags:
• At first he's a very independent and close person: Being independent can be a very good thing and a good sign, but when it comes to Keigo, it is not the same. His independence is too big to be considered a good thing, he has grown up and lived his entire life believing that he is the one against the world and only he has the right to know what is going through his mind, so it wouldn't be the kind of boyfriend who is asking your approval or telling you about his day. But he knows that that is not right, so I firmly believe that he would correct it to the point of telling you his problems.
• He's sarcastic: Come on guys, you could see this coming from the second this hero appeared on the screen and started making the most annoyed faces a face can make. It's not like he does it in a bad way often, but when arguments start he would get on your nerves with his sarcastic comments, probably minimizing the problems or making you look wrong, even stupid in the worst cases.
• You are the priority, but if people need him, he will leave: This is a very extensive topic and contains many reasons. You are the most important thing in his life, if you leave he would be totally devastated and depressed than anyone else could be, but he simply cannot reject the call, if his phone vibrates and they tell him that they need him he will already be acting the hero suit. It's not that he wants to leave you, it's that he can't stay, it's that he has been educated to always leave.
• He is jealous: Normally it is not something that bothers you, it can even be something that the two of you later make fun of in private, but there are some times that if he seems to be intense about it, he is not attracted to the idea of you leave, that you change him or that you abandon him, so although he always tries to keep himself in line, there are few cases in which he goes too far, when he marks someone as his rival he will forever be "the disgusting guy who wants with you", and he could say offensive things about him, start fights so that you stay away from him and even demonstrate his jealousy without any type of shame.
• "Is not that deep": I don't know why, but I'm very sure that Keigo would say this MANY times, like you may have told him that it's something that bothers you, or something that hurt you, or you're just telling him a story, and he responds with the damn "is not that deep." Partly it's because like I said before he won't tell you something just because it happened to him, so he doesn't understand why you're open about it.
OKAY BUT, he has hes beautiful Green Flags and all that, SO let's goOoOooOOoOOOoo
🟩 Green Flags
• He drives you to achieve and fulfill your own goals: He would be a man who not only asks, he also offers, he would never ask you to support him in his goal of a better and more relaxed world for those who are heroes without first supporting you in any goal that you have worn. You need money? He can give it to you, do you need to improve yourself? Ok, here he is to support you, do you just feel tired of trying? Well he will give you a reason to do it again.
• "Let's see each other even if it's just for 5 minutes?": He leads a busy life but he takes you into account in every second of it, it's true that it's hard for him to tell you about it, it's hard for him to open up, but he loves seeing you, even if he doesn't express it correctly, he loves to be there for you even though he may not tell you that he thinks about it, he loves to give you time even if it means more fatigue for his body.
• Stop having attitudes that make you feel bad: Did you read all the previous red flags? WELL HAWKS TROLL YOU BECAUSE HE CHANGE WHAT YOU ASK HIM TO DO, GIRL!!!! He would make an effort because he doesn't take it lightly, it is difficult and takes a lot of time, but he keeps trying.
• "I saw this and I remembered you": I repeat, Keigo takes you into account every second, even if at first he can't express it correctly. But he is a bird, he will bring you any stuffed animal, bracelet, candy, necklace, clothing or toy that he finds in a store and has a detail as beautiful as you.
• Hella touchy: Bro, if you don't consider this a good thing I'm really sorry but what the hell are you doing reading something about Takami Keigo, Get the fuck out of here! He will never have one hand far from you in moments of rest and time as a couple. A simple hand on your thigh while the two of you are eating or while he is finishing work papers, a few light cuddles on your hair while he is falling asleep, a hand on your cheek before kissing you, a hand on your waist to hug you, and if i keep going, I don't finish the list.
Sleepy make outs with Shinsou, where you're both tired after a long day, drowning in each other's comfort as you cuddle in the bed. Your thigh is thrown across his legs lazily, your hand deep in his lavender hair as your lips slowly move in tandem with his. He pushes his mouth further into yours with his eyes closed. His warm hand gives your thigh a gentle squeeze before slipping under your shirt and up your back. Everything is slow. So slow. So delicate. So soft. You guys have all the time in the world.
His lips are on your neck now. He loves the breathy sounds that escape your lips when he licks that sweet spot under your ear. You cradle his face to bring his lips to yours again, and he lets you explore his mouth in a sloppy kiss. He can't help but smirk against your lips when your legs tighten around his. You're both aware there's a sprinkle of lust in the air, but neither do anything about it with how drowsy you two are.
Close doesn't feel close enough when he pulls you into him and nibbles on your lower lip lazily. Your hand is roaming his bare chest, moving onto his arms, toned from hero work. You pull away and kiss the scar on his collarbone, lying your head on the pillow again afterwards. He brushes his nose with yours, eyes heavy with sleep, as he stares at you. He nuzzles into your neck, his eyelashes tickling your skin. You fall asleep to the lub-dub of each other's heartbeats, slowing down after the sleepy make out session.
A/N: i'm not sure how i feel about this, but it took me longer than it should've, so i'm posting it. ^^
read at your own discretion.
yandere ! SHINSO HITOSHI X READER
“I don’t understand.”
“Look, I know it isn’t exactly fair, but–”
“No. I mean, I don’t understand.” Calloused hands ran through purple locks, pulling, tugging, anything to alleviate the building frustration.
“Years. Years risking my life, years saving lives, years doing everything a hero is supposed to fucking do.” There was a humourless laugh cutting through the words.
This couldn’t be fucking happening. He started pacing, hands unsure, clenching and unclenching their fists, rubbing down his face.
“And where does that get me? Back in elementary school apparently, where everyone’s scared of the freak with the villain’s quirk.” His eyes hardened, flashing with memories he thought he’d long buried, fears he had long killed.
“Stop.” His former mentor’s voice, monotonous as ever, made him pause; he turned to meet his eyes–well eye and eye patch. “Those are the terms, like it or not. And while I, personally, err on the side of not, that won’t get us anywhere.”
“So what? I don’t have any choice? Let the Hero Commission fuck about with my life all they want, or give up my hero license? You can’t be serious.”
The black haired man sighed, “Things are a little different than in my day, kid. Even underground heroes have to appeal to the public now–”
He scoffed, “I’d hardly say I’m the most unlikeable hero. Or did they happen to forget the guy who explodes buildings and yells at reporters like it’s a sport? Oh, but he’s number two, and makes tween girls wet, so fuck me, I guess.”
“You can sit here throwing a pity party for yourself, if that’s what you want. But you have a choice to make: give up the dream you’ve worked so hard to achieve, the dream you’ve bled for, the dream people have died for…” Uncrossing his arms, his mentor pushed off the wall.
“Or,” He headed for the door, hand catching on the frame, “Go to therapy.”
He paused, turning; a sly smile played at his lips, “Who knows, you might actually like it.”
. ♡ .
“Nice to meet you! No…Nice to meet you! Ugh, that’s worse. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
She huffed out a sigh, smoothing over her pencil skirt in the floor length mirror, and shook the nerves from her body. She squared her face into a serious expression, reaching a hand towards her reflection.
“Nice to meet you, Mr…” Her hand hung mid air, eyes searching the ceiling for an answer before she groaned, smacking a hand over her face. “What am I even supposed to call him? His hero name? Or…is that too impersonal?”
She started pacing, “No. You don’t know him, you aren’t friends.” Her hands rubbed at her face, “But this is supposed to be a comfortable environment.”
She didn’t hear the knock at her door as she muttered to herself, “Hero name or real name. Hero name or real name…eenie meenie–”
“Uhh, am I interrupting something?”
She yelped, jumping a bit in her skin, before scrambling to contain herself.
“Ah! Hello!” She cleared her throat in an attempt to rid herself of the squeakiness, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you, Mr–” She tripped over the plush chair in front of her on her way to greet him, only to be caught by toned arms instead of old leather.
He helped her up as she dusted herself off, flustered, and embarrassed. Looking into lilac eyes, she found indifference and annoyance. How should she deal with this?
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. That was incredibly unprofessional.” She sighed, introducing herself, “How would you like me to address you?”
He gave her his name, “I’m not exactly a working hero right now, anyway.” His face twisted in irritation, and she made a mental note, painting a pleasant smile on her lips.
“The Hero Commission informed me of your situation. I promise, spend the next six months with me, and I’ll send you home with a stamp of approval, and then you can get right back to saving lives.” She giggled a bit, reaching a hand to her face like a schoolgirl sharing a secret, “But, between you and me, I think this is complete bullshit.”
His eyes widened a fraction in surprise, softening a bit, and she fist pumped in her mind. Nailed it!
“In any case, we should get started. Sit, please.” She gestured to the couch across from them, and he took a seat. She cleared her throat as she sat herself in her chair, “I assume you know why you’re here with me today?”
He rolled his eyes, “Yeah.”
A beat. Nope, okay, that’s all she was getting right now. Time to change tactics.
“You know, since we’re going to be spending a lot of time together these next few months, it might be best to get to know each other a bit before diving in head first. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”
His eyes scanned her, analyzing, sizing her up, “You look a little young to be a therapist.”
Internally she sighed, she was expecting that one, “I’m twenty-four, so you’re technically correct. However, I assure you, I am more than qualified.”
He scoffed a bit, “What, am I your first client or something?”
“As someone who has worked as a hero since age fifteen, I’m sure you understand that there is no age requirement to start helping people.” She supposed it was her fault for opening this door in the first place.
He huffed, rolling his eyes, “Whatever you say, doc.”
Well, that was annoying. She sighed, No, she could do this.
“Do you know why the Hero Commission sent you to me?”
“Like I said, I–”
“No.” She kept the pleasant smile on her face. No time like the present, she supposed, “I mean, why they sent you to me.”
He was growing agitated, she could tell, “No.”
“Well, I may know a thing or two about having a villainous quirk.”
. ♡ .
So she could read minds. Big deal. He kicked a stray rock along the sidewalk as he walked home. He huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. That was hardly villainous. It’s not like she could do anything with that. He could mind control, for fuck’s sake.
But, he paused, he supposed he could see her point. He’d spent a good part of their hour and a half session on edge, wondering if she had looked into his mind, violated his privacy.
She had given him a sheepish smile, and assured him she wouldn’t use her quirk without his permission. To which he became even more suspicious. If she wasn’t reading his mind, how did she know what he was thinking?
“How do I know what you’re thinking if I’m not reading your mind, right?” She’d giggled. He had had half a mind to walk out right there.
“Believe it or not, you’re an incredibly easy person to read. Your emotions are written all over your face.”
Well, fuck you too, then. No one on the planet had ever told him that. In fact, he took pride in the monotonous, uncaring mask he’d perfected over the years.
“Oh, please don’t take offense,” She fiddled with her fingers before looking back up at him, “it’s…a side effect. Of my quirk. I can’t really turn that part off–the…understanding people part.”
She was an endearing little thing, he’d give her that. “S’fine.” He’d avoided her gaze in part embarrassment, and part annoyance. No. He wasn’t supposed to like her. This whole thing was happening against his will.
He huffed out a sigh, eyes following the setting sun. Six months. Six months, and he’d be free. He could do that. But he’d be damned if he enjoyed it.
. ♡ .
“Bullshit.”
She laughed, almost doubling over when she met his dull eyes, “I’m serious!”
“You’re just trying to one up me right now; there’s no way you got expelled for using your quirk,” He scoffed.
“I did!” She stifled her laughter to explain, “Granted, I’d read the teacher’s mind to get answers to a test, so it wasn’t completely unwarranted.”
He quirked an eyebrow, and she knew she was being judged, “In my defense, I was like twelve, and terrible at algebra.”
He remained unimpressed, “So you cheated,” he crossed his arms, “How did they even know you used it?”
“Well, I have to make eye contact, you know,” He nodded as she explained, “So, it’s not exactly discreet, but–”
“Okay, but if you’re in someone’s mind, how would they know that?”
“Let me finish! So, I’m flipping through Mrs. Kamakura’s mind, and–”
“Flipping?”
“Mhmm! People’s minds are like…storybooks. You get little flashes of images as you–sort of think of it as–as you’re flipping the page,” She paused, “Wait, you don’t get that?”
“What the fuck? No, IMAX, I don’t get that. It’s like…” He trailed off, eyes searching for the explanation, “It’s like once I’ve got them, I’m holding a leash, and wherever I guide, they follow. There’s no image, just a feeling of…control.”
She blinked, and he nearly cursed himself for freaking her out, only to be met with the sound of laughter, “Wait, wait, so–oh my god–that’s like, you gotta know that sounds kinky as fuck, right?”
He felt his face heat, and while he knew he should be disgusted, he let his mind flash with an image: he had to admit, she’d look good like that, at his feet, eyes wide, thighs pressed together in anticipation of what he’d make her do next—thank god she was too much of a goody two shoes to look inside.
He squared his face back to neutral, “I could have your license revoked for that, you know.”
She settled, a warm smile at her lips as she shrugged, “You’re more than welcome to take your complaints up with the Hero Commission, but I can’t guarantee your next therapist will be nearly as fun as me.”
He rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile, “You’re hardly a therapist.”
“Oh my god,” She gasped mockingly, “You are so rude! No wonder you got stuck with me.”
He laughed, and as he caught sight of the twinkle in her eyes, a feeling he couldn’t quite place bubbled in his chest.
. ♡ .
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Look, I know it’s not exactly a pleasant memory, but–”
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.” He crossed his arms, avoiding her gaze.
She sighed out his name, “You’ve been coming to see me for a few weeks now, and we have yet to even talk about the reason you’re here in the first place.” She really did like talking casually with him, but she had a job to do, never mind how he huffed at her like a petulant child.
“You’re the one who said that reason is bullshit, so I don’t know why you’re pressing the issue.”
Yep. She knew that would come back to bite her.
“Just because it’s bullshit doesn’t mean it has no consequences,” She was trying so hard to stay the good guy; she finally felt like he’d started to trust her, “I understand what it’s like to–”
“You don’t understand anything. So you got kicked out of school when you were twelve for cheating on a test,” He scoffed, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have the people you’re trying to help look at you like you’re a—like you’re a fucking monster?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.
“No, you don’t,” His eyebrows knit together in frustration, “I’m out there trying to save the lives of people who hate me while you’re in here making small talk with whoever’s unlucky enough to pass through your door. It’s not the same thing.”
There was a beat of silence, and something twisted in his chest when he caught a glimpse of the kicked puppy look that crossed her face. Before he could apologize she began speaking.
She rolled her lip between her teeth, sighing, “You know, you’re the first hero client I’ve ever had.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished, “I mean, technically, you were right, I haven’t really had clients before, either.”
His brow furrowed in confusion, “Then, what–”
“I told you I was expelled from school when I was twelve, but I never told you that that was the last school I ever went to,” A melancholy look glazed over her eyes, “Somewhere along the line, don’t ask me how, the Hero Commission was informed of my quirk–apparently mind reading is rarer than you think.”
She started to fiddle and pull at her fingers as she avoided his gaze, “I spent the next six years in special schooling, before interrogating captured villains for the Hero Commission,” A humourous laugh left her, “my parents were just so excited at the prospect of their little girl being some type of hero.”
“But, you know,” Her voice started to shake, “When you’re invading someone’s mind, stealing their thoughts, no matter how many bad things they’ve done, no matter how villainous they claim to be,” she swallowed the unshed tears, eyes hardening, “When they fight, and claw, and beg for you to just please, get out of their head, you don’t feel like anyone’s hero.”
He knew the feeling well, and as he listened, he found a sort of familiarity in her words. Had anyone been able to put his thoughts into words before?
She smiled a bitter smile, “So, yeah, I know what it’s like to be looked at like a…fucking monster.”
He swallowed, hating the break in her voice. “I didn’t know that.”
She cleared her throat, “As the years went by, I wasn’t just interrogating villains, I was talking to them, helping them,” Her eyes shifted, “They’re people too, you know. They deserve a chance just like the rest of us–to change.”
That bubbling feeling in his chest started to boil. He decided he kind of liked it. The warmth of it. Of her.
She huffed out another laugh, “So imagine my surprise when the Hero Commission came to me with a new challenge. Not a villain. But a hero. A hero to help.” She finally met his gaze, “You.”
. ♡ .
She tossed a few newspaper articles on the glass table in between them, gesturing for him to sort through them. He rolled his eyes, reluctantly obliging.
“Well?” She asked earnestly.
He quirked a brow, lifting his gaze to meet hers, “Well?”
“How do those articles make you feel?”
He scoffed, “Oh, fuck off.”
She laughed lightly, “I’m serious. Come on, tell me. How do they make you feel?”
“You know, for a fake therapist, you’re awfully stereotypical.”
“Now you fuck off, I’m not a fake therapist,” Her lips pulled into a crooked grin, “You know, if you don’t wanna talk about it, I could always take a peek? Would just take a second.” Her smile turned mischievous.
He hated the way his chest warmed, a smile pulling at his lips, “What, you spill your deep dark secrets to me, and it only takes two months to start threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening you.”
The singsong in her voice made him want to take her over his knee. Brat. Wait. Fuck–he really needed to stop thinking of her like that. But he couldn’t help the way his cheeks heated as he imagined it.
Ass on full display, glowing red. Hands numb as he trapped them in one of his own while she cried. Her hair sticking to her face with the wetness, begging for his forgiveness. He’d give it to her, of course he would. But, he’d tell her, stroking the dome of his canvas, she needed to earn it first.
He shook himself from his thoughts and rolled his eyes playfully, turning back to the articles.
‘UNDERGROUND HEROES: ARE THEY REALLY HERE TO PROTECT YOU?’
and another few with his hero name plastered at the top,
‘MIND CONTROL HERO USES QUIRK ON UNSUSPECTING CIVILIANS’
and
‘HERO OR VILLAIN IN DISGUISE? THE TRUTH ABOUT AN UNDERGROUND HERO.’
“I feel like these are complete bullshit.”
She looked unimpressed, “Bullshit is not a feeling.”
He searched her eyes for mercy, and found none, “Fine,” he groaned, “I feel angry. I feel like no matter what I do, I just can’t fucking win; I’m always the bad guy, like this one–”
He pulled up the second article, “Unsuspecting civilians?” He scoffed, “I was responding to a domestic violence call, sue me for telling a guy to stop beating his wife.”
“And this one,” He pulled out another, “What, villain in disguise? Just cause the paparazzi got a picture of me half awake at four in the goddamn morning, and I had the audacity to look annoyed?”
He went on, listing the problems with each and every one, before sighing. “I just don’t understand. Tabloids print stupid rumours about heroes all the time, but because of my quirk, everyone thinks they somehow must be true?”
He was getting heated, hands becoming animated as he spoke, “What? I make one real mistake, and I’m suddenly like some burnt out celebrity who gets sent to rehab, so that they can get back in society’s good graces. It’s…bullshit.”
“You know,” He laughed a bit in disbelief, “I don’t give a shit if you’re a fake therapist or not, I’m telling you this in confidence, okay?” He looked up at her.
Startled a bit at the abrupt pause, her eyebrows raised, but she nodded quickly in affirmation, gesturing for him to continue.
“It’s almost like they want me to be a villain,” he huffed, hands pulling at his hair, “And…and sometimes…sometimes I feel like…maybe I’d be better off as one.”
His eyes shifted, “No,” searching desperately for the words, “That’s not true,” he sighed, hands rubbing at his face.
“For once,” he lifted his gaze, “Just for once, I’d like to be someone’s hero,” his eyes seemed to burn so intensely into hers that she had to remind herself to breathe.
“I want someone to look at me and think, that’s my hero.”
. ♡ .
She fiddled with her fingers as she stood in front of the boardroom, willing herself not to rock back and forth on her heels. Her eyes scanned the room, searching the faces for any discernible shifts in emotion.
“And you’re positive?” One of the men finally spoke, “It’s only been four months–the agreement was six.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by another, scratchier voice.
“You’re kidding, right?” He scoffed, “four months of chitchat, and you’re ready to send him back into the field?”
Someone else cleared their throat, “I’m inclined to agree–the severity of the situation demands more promising results than simply your word.”
She nodded, and, at the ensuing silence, realized that was her cue, “Ah! Yes, well. I really do think we’ve made progress. Of course, I’m willing to wait two more months, but–”
“But he has some of the best capture numbers on the Hero Billboard,” The man at the head of the table interrupted, “It’s in our best interest to get him back to work as soon as possible. If you’re sure we can assure the public of the anomaly of the matter–”
“She hasn’t even used her quirk,” The man with the scratchy voice interrupted, “At least give us that assurance,” He scoffed, “The man publicly dismembered a villain on national television.”
“With all do respect, sir, he didn’t dismember anyone,” She interjected, letting her annoyance get the better of her for a moment before containing herself, “While I agree the reaction was extreme–”
“And the fact that children watched as a man ripped his own limbs off.” Another scoffed.
She cleared her throat, “Yes, well,” Her eyes shifted, searching for the answer, “Had he done nothing, none of those children would have lived to see another day–lest we forget the damage those limbs were capable of–he’s a hero, at the end of the day,” She was getting heated again, “He did his job; we should all be grateful.”
There was a beat of silence as the words were absorbed, and the man at the head of the table finally spoke, “I trust your judgment,” Her eyes nearly lit up, but then, “But, I also see the appeal of assurance we can give the public. Look into his mind–the knowledge that this won’t happen again, that he isn’t a threat, will ensure we don’t end up right back here in a few months time.”
She deflated, but regained her composure, swallowing the unease building in her chest, “Yes, sir.”
. ♡ .
“No fucking way.”
“Oh, come on! I just wanna know what it feels like. You’re the only person I’ve met with a quirk even similar to mine–”
“I said, No.”
“How ‘bout we make a deal?” She stamped down the building feelings of guilt–this was the only way to help him, really help him.
He turned the words over in his mind, “What deal?”
Stop it. This is for the best. “You use your quirk on me, just like I asked.”
His eyes dulled, “I’m not seeing the deal part of this arrangement.”
“Hear me out,” There was a thrumming of anxiety in her chest, “You use your quirk on me, and to make it fair, I use mine on you. That way we’re both equally culpable.”
There was a beat of silence before he snorted, “Never knew you were such a pervert, doc.”
Her face heated, and she tripped over her words, “That’s not what I mean!” She huffed, collecting herself, “You don’t want to use your quirk on me, and I don’t want to use my quirk on you–this way, we both have to do something we don’t want.”
“Who says I want you in my mind, pervert?” His eyes narrowed playfully.
“Stop calling me that, or I swear I’ll make sure you’re stuck with me ‘till you die.”
“Would that be so terrible?” He surprised himself with the words, but the way her cheeks heated soothed his own embarrassment. Fine, he figured, he’d give her a bone. “Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket, deal.”
“Really?” She nearly sighed from relief, but then he continued.
“But” He told her, “You better stay surface level, I don’t need you seeing all that dark shit in my brain.”
It was her turn to narrow her eyes, scanning him for a moment, before deciding, “...Do you look at foot fetish por–”
“Okay!” He interrupted, flustered, “ Deal’s off.”
“Nooo!” She whined, “I take it back, I was kidding, please.”
She paused a moment, “You know, you shouldn’t be ashamed, everyone has their own ki–”
“I swear to God, I’ll use my quirk on you just to get you to shut the fuck up.”
She hummed, content, “Lovely,” She gestured for him to continue, “take it away.”
He rolled his eyes, “I have to ask you a question, what are you, stupid?”
“Hey–!” And she was gone.
He found himself staring into blank pupils, and missing the color. Though, he couldn’t help the giddiness that bubbled in his chest of having her under his control. Fuck. He knew he shouldn’t have done this. She was wrong–he enjoyed the fantasy of this moment far too much–it was her fault for pressing the issue in the first place.
He shook himself from his thoughts, opting to scan across her body. How easy it would be. He thought. She wouldn’t even remember. He could be buried balls deep inside her, ruin her, and she’d be none the wiser. But, he sighed, he’d really rather her a conscious participant.
He glanced down at the table where a glass of water sat in front of her. She’d be so pissed. But, he’d be able to see her tits through her ruined white blouse without committing a felony. Yeah, that would do just fine.
“Pick up that glass of water.” She obeyed. “Pour it over yourself.” She did. Well, fuck. He knew he’d enjoy the view, but felt embarrassed at the growing tightness in his pants.
I mean, he hadn’t let her go just yet–he could alleviate himself–No. He told himself. He promised he’d behave. He waited a little while for the bulge in his pants to die down before releasing her.
“Wha–” She groaned, but it fell to a whine when she felt the wetness on her chest, “Are you kidding me? You are such an asshole!”
He huffed out a laugh as she lamented the ruined shirt, “Hey, you made your bed–I told you I didn’t want to do it.”
“Fuck you,” she said, stamping, and twisting at the shirt with her hands, “You owe me a new shirt.”
He shrugged, “Your turn, doc,” He paused, would she see those dirty thoughts of his? “Surface level, okay? Surface level.”
She nodded, smiling a bit when he handed her his jacket–-only for her to use it as a towel, wiping at her shirt. He really couldn’t win, could he?
“It’ll be easier to do that if you relax,” She adjusted herself in her seat, meeting his eyes, “That way, no stray thoughts pop up in your brain that you don’t want me to see. Otherwise, I won’t be able to control what I find.”
He wondered if she was aware of his thoughts already, but a look in her eyes, and he found nothing but earnest innocence, trust. He sighed internally, the shit he’d do for her.
“Fire away, doc.”
It was always a bit strange at first. Storybook analogy aside, everyone’s mind formulated its thoughts a bit differently, and each time she’d have to navigate a different type of maze. She made a point to look only for what she came for, no matter how curious she became. But, as she sorted through his mind, she couldn’t find any truly villainous thoughts.
She sighed internally; she was right. The Hero Commission was wrong. And now, she could give him what he’s wanted these past few months, and send him on his way. Though, she found herself a bit disappointed she wouldn’t be seeing him around anymore. No, she shook herself from her thoughts, Don’t be selfish.
Nothing out of the ordinary; she should leave before things became more complicated, and as if the universe could read her mind, she was met with a flood of thoughts.
He watched as she sat across from him, eyes boring into his, mind elsewhere–well mind inside his. Think normal thoughts, he repeated, think normal thoughts. His eyes caught sight of the sheer fabric sticking to her skin, and he felt himself slip.
There was a flash of him bent over a woman on a desk, her desk–was that her? Her wrists caught in a deadlock by his hand as he rammed into her. She was crying out for him, back arched, ass pressing into the hips that slammed against her. Fuck me. His other hand wound around her hair, yanking her head up to look at him. Fuck me! Kissing up her neck, his teeth left bruises in their wake.
Love me. Sweat dripped down from his brow, and he licked up her cheek, biting at her earlobe. Love me! He took her jaw in his fingers, turning her face to kiss her–she was sure that was her now. Spit glossed their lips as he pulled back, rutting into her in a way that had pornographic whines forced from her throat, drool coating her chin, and staining the desk below them. Her face heated, and she scrambled to leave his mind before finding something newer, something more disturbing.
Oh my god, she thought. Was he walking her on a fucking leash? No. Don’t kinkshame. That’s fine–
Yes, Master. The woman, this abomination that was her, purred. Whatever you want, Master.
He watched her face as she knelt below him. Fingers running down between her tresses and pulling, letting her whine, and squeal, choking as he guided her bloated lips up and down and up and down his cock. Come on, He told her, Beg me, a sharp smile, canines dripping, Beg me to let you breathe. Her tears wet the purple tuft at his v-line, lips stained with precum, eyes shiny and wide, looking up at him as she tried not to spasm from the bulge shoved halfway down her throat. Searching for approval.
It’s just a thought he can’t–
They were on a bed. She was crying–his hands around her throat, fingers curled into the collar secured tightly around her neck–as he fucked into her. Her eyes crossed, tongue hanging from her mouth as her tits rocked from the force. Sweat dripped from his abs to where her legs were spread by his hips. He mouthed at her tits, pulling a nipple between his teeth while he took the other breast in his hand, kneading, squeezing. She was squealing. Please, sir. That didn’t sound like her. Can I cum?
Her hands reached up to tug at his locks, but he forced them into the mattress, fingers intertwining with her own. He snorted, You cum when I say you can, pet. She whined as his hips sped their motions, moaning, and turning, trying and failing to pull her hands from beneath his grip.
Please, Master, can I cum Master? I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good, Master. That god forsaken collar tethered her to the bed like a glorified sex doll–little bell jingling each time he thrust into her. He laughed, and she couldn’t help the chill in her bones. Who do you belong to, huh? His breath ragged from exertion, Tell your Master who you belong to.
What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.
She forced herself out of his mind, heart threatening to break out of her chest.
He looked startled as she came to, and she willed her breathing to slow, swallowing the nerves screaming at her inside her mind. She couldn’t read the emotion that crossed his face, but his eyebrows raised as he waited for her to say something.
She let out a shaky breath, forcing out a laugh, “So,” She swallowed, “Kind of disappointed I didn’t find that foot fet–”
He snorted, “Fuck off,” She followed, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
. ♡ .
“So, that’s it?”
“There’s already a message out to the press,” His mentor told him, “You’re off the hook as soon as it airs.”
“But it’s only been four months?” This didn’t make sense, “What happened?”
“Must have made quite the impression on your therapist,” The older man snorted, “She went right to the Hero Commission, gave them a full clean bill of mental health.”
He knew he should be happy, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. “Can I talk to her?”
The man shrugged, “Don’t see why not, though,” A yawn cut through the words, “heard the Commission’s transferring her–something about the branch in America.”
His heart fell through his chest. She was leaving him without so much as a goodbye? Scratch that. She was leaving him.
“I at least owe her my thanks,” He sighed, eyes hardening in determination, “Let me meet with the Commission."
. ♡ .
She was dodging his calls. A part of her felt badly for her trepidation; he was attracted to her, so what? He was an attractive man. Even she had the stray thought now and then. She’d seen so much worse in the minds of villains, some things that still gave her nightmares. He’s a guy; of course he’s gonna be thinking about sex.
But there was a nagging feeling in the back of her head. She’d been in so many minds, his wasn’t any different. Except it was.
“It’s like once I’ve got them, I’m holding a leash, and wherever I guide, they follow. There’s no image, just a feeling of…control.”
Control.
That was it. He’d enjoyed it in his thoughts. She knew it. A palpable feeling in the atmosphere of his mind, drunk on the idea of controlling her.
She’d joked about his kinks, about sex. Maybe a bit unprofessional, in retrospect. But she was trying to lighten the mood. He was her patient, and she was there to help him, to get him to open up. Sue her for trying to be personable.
But it wasn’t just controlling her in the bedroom, where he imagined her beneath him, kneeling at his feet in reverence, like he was–
Like he was her hero. She realized.
“I want someone to look at me and think, that’s my hero.”
That’s what he had said. She thought it endearing at first, convinced he had more than earned his freedom, but…the way he looked at her,
“You better stay surface level, I don’t need you seeing all that dark shit in my brain.”
There was something darker. Something lurking under the surface. She couldn’t quite place it, losing herself in her thoughts. As she racked her brain for the answer, she didn’t hear the knock at the door.
“Am I interrupting something?”
She jumped, yelping as she turned to catch sight of the purple haired man standing too casually, too comfortably, in her doorway.
“Ah! Oh my god,” She cleared her throat of its squeakiness. She didn’t want to seem vulnerable. “You scared me.”
She stood, not so much to greet him, but in an effort to feel more secure. “Can I ask how you got my address?” She forced a laugh to lighten the atmosphere, “What, you stalking me or something?”
He shrugged, pushing the door closed as he made his way over to her, “Perks of being a working hero,” He paused as he neared her, “Thanks to you.”
Yeah. Way to go. She really tried not to back away as a hand came to brush at her hair, but her feet moved on their own. A look of hurt passed lilac eyes before settling on annoyance. Wow. You nailed it. Shut up.
He cleared his throat, “Heard you were leaving,” He studied her as her fingers started pulling at each other. Not a question. Good. Wait–why was she thinking about that?
“Yeah,” She thought she might rip off one of her fingers with the tension, “They’re opening a new rehabilitation program in–”
“You didn’t say goodbye.” He stepped closer. You know him. Stop freaking out.
“Yes, well, I’m s–” She stepped backward.
“You know,” His eyes flickered to where her hands fidgeted, “You do that when you’re nervous.” A step forward.
“I’m not–” Another step backward.
He sighed, “I told you to stay surface level.” His eyes shifted, and he huffed, “If you’d just stayed surface level,” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She forced a laugh, “I don’t know what you’re–”
“Cut that out.”
She sighed, “I’m sorry,” Maybe he was just angry at her for violating his privacy. That must be it. “That was wrong of me. I understand if–”
“Honestly, did me a favor,” He huffed out a laugh. What. “Don’t know if I’d ever have had the guts in the first place,” Oh. Was this a confession?
She breathed out his name, “Everyone has feelings,” This was fine. Deescalation. This would work. “And you can’t control all your thoughts. Maybe we should start over.”
He looked at her a moment, eyes widening a fraction before softening. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Almost out of the woods. “Would’ve hated for it to go the other way.” The other way?
“The other way?” It tumbled from her mouth before she could stop it.
He shook his head, “Nevermind,” He looked around, “I’ll help you unpack.” What?
“Unpack?” She felt like a goddamn parrot at this point.
“Well, yeah,” He said it as if it were obvious, “Can’t start over if you’re halfway across the world.”
He was being purposely obtuse, right? This was a joke?
She laughed, but his face remained neutral. She cleared her throat, Professional. Be Professional. “While I appreciate the humour, there are people who need my help in Am–”
“You know, The Hero Commission are fucking terrified of me,” he said, eyes hardening, as if gathering resolve. Where was this going?
“Should’ve realized sooner,” His eyes were cutting into hers, “They’d do just about anything to keep up their image.” He stepped forward again.
“Do anything to keep from another incident,” Her back hit the wall. This was wrong. Everything was wrong.
“You said it yourself, I’m not a villain,” Something shifted, and she saw a glimpse of the kind man she’d come to know these past months. He was gone the next second, “I’d really hate it if you made me a villain.”
“Listen, I’m not sure what–”
“Let’s make a deal,” He smirked, “You use your quirk on me, and to make it fair, I use mine on you. That way we’re both equally culpable.”
“I don’t want to–”
“You don’t want to use your quirk on me, and I don’t want to use my quirk on you–this way, we both have to do something we don’t want.”
He was using her own goddamn words against her.
“You go first,” He brought his face to her level, hand pressed to the wall above her, “C’mon, fire away, doc.” She whimpered, She tried to rationalize the situation in her mind. She knew this man. Didn’t she?
Stall, and you’ll figure a way out. Maybe she could find something useful in his mind.
She nodded, swallowing. She shook her nerves, feeling drowned by the lilac eyes in front of her. It wasn’t like the last time she’d been inside. Everything he’d been keeping under the surface bubbled up, overwhelming all her senses. It was suffocating. It was fucking terrifying.
She didn’t like this. She didn’t understand this. What the fuck was she seeing?
“Hey,” His other hand took her jaw between his fingers, eyes inside his mind, but ears open, “How does it feel, huh?” His lips were brushing hers.
“How does it feel to be able to see every single thing I’m gonna do to you, and not be able to do a damn thing about it?”
imagine running a thirst blog for a pro hero for years and one day you get an anon that’s like ‘he would never fuck you’ and in reply, you post a video with you and your pro hero that you’ve been lewding like a deranged person anonymously and handing him the mic to say “yeah i would actually”
[[soulmate au, gratuitous wing foreplay, Hawks’ wings behaving like actual bird wings, grinding, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, hawks is a huge cry baby fight me about it]]
You’re not a fan of the opening shift. You’re never fully awake until after ten, and even then you’re usually mainlining caffeine until well into the afternoon. As you make the long walk to the corner coffee shop you work at, your brain feels mulled and heavy. Beside that, it’s cold. It’s been snowing steadily since last night, and although it’s a slow, gentle shower, enough has accumulated to make the walk absolutely miserable. You bundled up as much as you could. A sweater, a cardigan, a pair of fleecey mittens, your best parka, thickest scarf. You blame the last for shortening your field of vision. You’re like a horse with blinders on in that thing. That’s why you don’t see the car making an illegal left, heading straight for you.
Content and warnings: hawks x f!reader smut, reader is fembodied, goes by she/her, and is referred to as a woman. yandere hawks, possible dark content. he mind controls you and gets off on it. dom!hawks, sub!reader, teasing. toys, possible semi-public sex (you fuck in his glass office but no one is around), oral (f receiving), creampie, some plot but not really. pet names: hawks calls you dove.
Words: 3475
A/N: this was initially part of my kinktober 2022 but it was late!!
Hawks cannot believe how well his plan went.
After nights of flying to the roof across your apartment, days of dropping his feather in your bag so he could track you, a friend from hero support gave him something special. He gave you, his trusting little secretary, a necklace as a gift, and asked that you never take it off. Though a little confused, you thanked him and complied with no complaint.
He was shocked, filled with the glee that comes from events being followed through perfectly. Because at the back was a clasp the shape of a circle, which connects itself to the bottom of your skull, to the brain stem.
After three days, Keigo sent just one piece of information to your brain. Like good mind control equipment, the thought isn’t loud in your head, but like a suggestion, a subtle change to you and your environment. First, was the sudden growing warmth of your body, which quickly subsided after a few minutes.
After another two days, it was the sensitivity of your breasts. You could feel the material of your bra brushing against your nipples more acutely than usual. A little forward of him, but to your naivety, you shook it off.
After another day, already addicted to your reactions and knowing it’s him that causes it, he causes you to feel slick in the middle of the day. Keigo watches through his glass wall at the way your eyes widen, your thighs pressing together. You grip the table for a moment and take deep breaths, then quickly resume back to your work.
Since then, he activates the device for a few minutes every few hours of your day. It gets more frequent, more intense. You excuse yourself to the bathroom more often to clean yourself up, sometimes touch yourself. You can barely wait to go home, to finally be in the comfort of your bed so that you can take the vibrator out of your drawer. You wake up in the middle of the night, heart beating fast and thighs shut tight.
It’s Keigo who sits in his own home, touching himself and forcing you to feel that arousal, almost as punishment for making him think about you. He imagines your tight skirt, undoing the buttons of your shirt… He fists his cock at 2AM in the morning and thinks, “she should feel it too”.
Finally, he can’t take it. He sits at his desk again in the morning, playing with the device and thinking to himself, “How far can this thing go?”. He plants the suggestion for you to work late tonight, despite how aroused you are. That you suddenly feel you must take care of the work that’s piled up from you leaving early the last few weeks.
He watches you, from his floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Watches as every staff member leaves and bids you goodbye. Watches as your thighs clench and you bite your lip, trying to focus on the screen. You even go to unbutton the top button of your shirt, to relieve yourself from the heat your body is making.
As the lights get darker in the office, leaving just his and yours, he inputs one last suggestion: Ask Hawks for help.
It enters your mind, and he knows immediately what you’re ‘thinking’. For help from him on the situation. The situation that has you having less and less good orgasms. That can’t just be satisfied by your vibrator.
He pretends that he doesn’t see it in the corner of his eye, the way your legs are wobbling as you stand, the way you brace yourself for every possible response he could have, your deep breaths before you open the door.
“H-,” you clear your throat, “Hawks-san-”
“Please, I’ve said before, call me Keigo.” His smile is bright, easy-going. It makes it easier for you to say what you want to say, but doesn’t make it any less nerve-wracking.
“I- um. I know that you’ve told me… to come to you. If I, ah, if I need anything at all? Even if it’s strange?”
He lets you finish your sentence, relishes in the way you struggle to speak, your face flushed with arousal, your embarrassment.
“Of course. I’m here for you, with whatever you need.”
“Well, um…,” you shift your weight either side of your feet. “I’m having… problems.”
“Oh, what sort of problems?” He can hardly contain his smile, resting his chin against his hand.
“It’s… I’m having trouble, ah, feeling good?”
“Feeling good? What do you mean?” His feigned innocence is artful, and for a moment, he considers whether he should’ve been an actor instead.
“Ah, please… Please feel free to say no! I don’t want to feel like I’m pressuring you, or you have to help me.”
He laughs. “I know my boundaries, dove. I won’t just abide by you.” His wink makes you shy.
“I-I’ve been very, a-aroused lately… I don’t know what came over me! It just happened, and I can’t make it go away… And I don’t know what to do.”
Your eyes on the ground make you fail to notice his dark smirk, his all-knowing gaze, and his mind running wild with what he wants to do to you.
“Of course I’ll help you, little dove.” Your head swishes up, eyes bright.
“Really? Thank you, Keigo-san!”
“Just Keigo is fine, darling.” He rolls his chair back, gesturing to you. “Come stand here.”
“H-Here? In the office?”
His head tilts. “Wouldn’t you like your help right now?”
“But… anyone could come in and see.”
“No one’s gonna come to the office at this time,” he chuckles, “who wants to work on a Friday at 10PM?”
You hesitate for a moment, but under the thick fog of your arousal, and the slick you can feel still dripping from your core, you step forward. Letting him eye you up and down, you fiddle your fingers in the silence.
“You’re real pretty. You know that, doll?” He leans back, and your eyes for a moment go to his thick thighs spread across the chair, big hands against his armrest.
Keigo brings his chair right up to you, your body is trapped between his legs, no running from him. He brings his hands to the outside of your legs, just under your skirt.
“You sure you want this?” He asks, and his cologne is intoxicating, his minty breath, you can feel the warmth of his skin against yours. You don’t know why it’s him, but your body aches for him, wants him, needs him.
“Yes, please Keigo, I want this. I want you.”
He smiles wide, lets his hands run up and down your legs. “Good girl.”
He slides your skirt down your body slowly. Your panties are only in view for a moment, before your shirt falls to hide it, but Keigo sees clearly the way it sticks to you, the dampened material making his mouth water. You step out of the skirt that’s pooled to the floor, kicking it to the side.
Your now-bare thighs are for his perusal, warm skin under his calloused hands. He moves his hands up and down, thumbs brushing against your inner thigh so teasingly that almost has you begging.
“Mm, little dove… how long have you been having this problem for? Hmm?” He presses his thumb on the junction of your inner thigh. “You’re soaked.”
He knows. Knows that he’s embarrassing you, that the way your hands play with your buttons and you can’t bare to look at him is because he got you here, wet and waiting for him.
“I-,” you don’t have the words to explain what came over you when you don’t even know. Is it something to do with your period cycle? Just your body demanding things?
You stop thinking as he raises his hands to the top of your shirt, unbuttoning just enough so that only one button holds your sanity, and prevents you from possibly being seen half-naked by someone.
When your head turns back to check, he immediately brings it back forward forcibly. “Shh, dove. No one’s gonna see, yeah? I’ll make sure of it.” His hands bunch your shirt up higher, and he whistles low. “You wear this pretty lingerie for me?”
You gulp, his hands on your skin feel like heaven, his breath over your clothed cunt feels like you’re so close to relief and so far at the same time. “Keigo…” you breath, your hands still gripping the edge of the table tight. He decides to be nice, doesn’t make you say it, and instead presses a kiss against your clothed cunt. He dHe decides
You inhale sharply, you want to touch him, you want to touch him so bad, but he hasn’t said you can, and you don’t know why you know you shouldn’t? Hawks is smiling at the fact that you’re such a good girl for not, that you follow orders so easily. He likes you like this, all obedient, no matter how it happened. He rewards you for it, pulls your panties down and they land on the floor with a plop. He lifts you slightly so you’re sitting on the edge of the table, forces you to spread your legs with his hands.
“What a pretty pussy,” he chuckles low, watching your slick dripping from your pussy to the table and onto the floor. “You’re making a mess.”
“I’m sorry,” you whine, flustered.
He smirks, but doesn’t comment further, diving into your pussy, a loud, broken mouth eliciting from your mouth. And this is what he’s been waiting for, to have you pliant underneath him, begging for his touch and tongue.
You can’t even hold yourself up anymore, back falling slowly onto the expanse of the table, thighs shaking despite it having been only maybe a minute that he’s been between your legs. The pleasure of your wrung-out arousal borders on pain, your core throbbing against his tongue. And he can feel it, feel the way your clit pulses under nis tongue. You’re so wet that the slick he can’t swallow down drips down his chin, down to the floor.
“Keigo! Feels so good, so good,” and he knows, that any stimulation that isn’t from your own hands or toys must feel like heaven right now. That his strong tongue lapping your folds intensively is the product of his own greed for you. His plan worked perfectly. He revels it when your back arches at a swirl he does against your clit, the pants and gasps of your breath fogging up the glass walls.
You get to the edge much quicker than you expect, your thighs tensing, the band inside of you tightening. Your body is hot, hands begging for reprieve against Hawks’ table. All you can think is you should’ve asked him sooner, that you knew he was so willing to help you, so good at it, you would’ve been able to have this daysago. This growing arousal inside of you, your mind going blank as his stubble brushes against your inner thighs, his hair falling against you. Your senses are acute and you wanna cum so bad.
“I-Can I? Can I come? Please, please Keigo, I wanna come, I-,”
“Mm, of course, dove, I’m here to help.” his mouth moves over your cunt, tongue only stopping for the moments he’s speaking. The pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves increases, he coaxes the orgasm out of you, like he knows exactly what you need.
And you cum, you come hard, the intensity wracks your brain and there’s nothing but his tongue against your cunt and the pressure inside of you releasing. Your whole body tenses, a series of sobs and whines coming out of your mouth at the satisfaction.
He watches you, carefully, wants to watch more, but he knows he needs to use this opportunity. When your eyes are still closed from the aftershocks of your orgasm, he quickly inputs another suggestion. That you’re desperate for his cock, that you want nothing but to be filled by him.
After another minute, your thighs relax and your eyes widen. You grab him in a way he doesn’t expect, pulling his pants towards you and feverishly unbuttoning them.
“Whoa, dove,” he presses his hands to your thighs, “we got time, just relax.”
“I-I need it, I need you so bad. Wan’ your cock in me now,” your babbles are plenty and he chuckles, letting you bring your hand inside his pants and watching as you freeze, hand wrapped around his clothed cock.
He’s big, you know it as you squeeze him, you nervously bring your hand against his pubic hair and into his underwear. It’s so big that even after all the prep and how wet you are, in the back of your mind, you’re a little worried about taking it. But you take it out anyways, bending down and bringing your mouth over it.
He moans, deep and dark, and to you, it’s the hottest sound in the world. His hands go to your hair, pressing your mouth down and pulling your haair back up, your tongue lathering over him has him thrusting into your mouth.
You only do so for a few minutes before he’s bringing you up to lie down on the table, spreading your legs around his wide figure.
“Thought you wanted my cock inside of you, dove?” His gold eyes take in your whole body under him, the rise and fall of your chest, your hair a mess behind your head.
“Yeah, K-Keigo, I want… want your cock,” your smile is delirious, and he takes the opportunity to make his visual better, unclasping your bra and pulling it down your chest.
“Keigo, please. ‘Want you now, please just fuck me.” The timid, soft secretary is gone. You no longer care about if people walk in, if anyone sees you. The only thing in your brain is his cock, to have him, to be fucked by him and filled by him.
He made you like this, the thought making him harder as he presses the head of his cock against your cunt, watching the way it opens up for him as he teases you. Your usually-anxious work-filled mind is blank because of the device around your neck, the one that keeps him in control without you knowing about it. And he’s grateful, especially as he slides into you and you moan wantonly under him, that the woman he’s been wanting for months is now wetter than he has ever seen in his life. The woman who he’s seen get flired with by other staff, that he’s watched tighten her thighs underneath her desk, is now begging him for his cock.
“Keigo, mm, so full,” you’re grabbing onto him, on his hands, his arms.
“Your pussy is so good, dove.” It’s thrilling, to hear your boss so vocal. “‘S so tight around me. Suckin’ me in.” His deep voice makes you slick up his cock even more, tightening up around him as he brings a thumb over your nipple.
“Best pussy I’ve ever had. Oh, that’s it. Sing for me as I fuck this cunt.” His cock enters you slowly, his hands over your breasts distracting you from the careful line of pleasure and pain that you balance on. It takes minutes for him to fully sheathe himself inside, the head of him pressing against your cervix makes you see stars. He moans deep, chestreverberating as his balls slap against your ass, fingers gripping your thighs tight.
“’m gonna fuck you like you’ve been begging for, dove. Gonna make sure you can’t live without this cock.” He mumbles it against your neck before he starts to slam into you, your screams echoing against the walls with the slap of skin and sweat.
“What a good fuckin’ cocksleeve, so fucking warm. I should make this cunt milk me every fuckin’ day. Would ya like that, dove?” His cock feels like it’s carving into your pussy, like he’s the last cock that you’ll ever take, like it’s made for him. You can barely respond with a “yes” and “please”, moaning wantonly, head hanging off the other side of the table before he pulls you back towards him. You’re helpless underneath him, your hands flail, grabbing on to both him and the table. Your slick spurts from the impact against your thighs.
“Oh! Keigo, Keigo, it’s so big, so good,” your mind and words jumble together, not sure what you’re thinking and what you’re saying or both. He responds to it, fingers spreading around either side of his cock to gather the wetness, before tapping on your clit. Your body reels towards him, the pleasure both too intense and not enough. The words coming out of your mouth just become a series of “ah-ah” and “please” and “Keigo!”. And listening to your voice just gets him harder, makes his hips smack against your thighs harder. The sick feeling of knowing he created this outcome for himself, that he’s fully in control makes sweat drip down his back.
You don’t know, but he’s waiting for it. Because he knows one of the first commands he’s ever implemented in your little, pliant mind. That your orgasms around his cock are the best you’ll ever have. That nothing will ever compare to it.
He cements his need in your life. Your pussy squeezes around him hard, puts him right on the edge too, but he holds on. Because he wants to feel you.
“Come around me, dove. I know you can do it.” His thumb runs circles around your clit, your slick making it easy and slippery. You feel the way your thighs tighten, your heartbeat rapid in your chest.
You squeeze him for all he’s worth, he moans in tandem with you, gripping you so hard to stop himself from cumming but you don’t seem to notice, head thrown back and in ecstasy, your mouth open in a silent scream. The orgasm wracks through you, from your core to the rest of your body, everything tensing. It’s never been like this before, not with your vibrator or anyone else. It’s like every nerve in your body explodes in pleasure.
It lasts minutes, you don’t move, you don’t even know if you breathe properly. He chuckles above you, slowly continuing to fuck you in and out, his fingers never leaving your clit. Your pussy is a vice around him, making him hiss as he rides out your pleasure, your body jolting under him.
When you come down, the first thing you notice is your hands gripping his arms so tight. Your body finally relaxes, taking deep breaths in. Only your heart rate in your ears slows down very little, which is when you realize he’s still going, fingertips tapping your clit. You try to scream, but it comes out small, a little noise that doesn’t compare to the slap of skin and the dirty noise of your cum moving with his cock. You try to tell him, you try so hard but it just comes out in babbles of nonsense, your arms trying to get his attention with the little energy you have.
The only response you get is him moving his hand from your clit to your thigh, pushing both legs back to either side of your ears. And you don’t know when you’ve been this flexible, but in the malleability of your body and mind, it’s somehow possible.
You didn’t know he was holding back, don’t realize how much he was focusing on your pleasure until he starts fucking you harder and faster than before. Your moans are uncontrollable, your mouth open for any sound. Your mind only knows the feeling of overstimulation, of his cock continuing to press into your raw cunt and cervix. You have no control under him, he presses your legs down until he slides once-twice- into you and then he comes, a beautiful moan coming out of him as he paints your walls white.
He slowly pushes in and out of you until he’s fully spent, aware of the sweat surrounding both of you. He almost collapses on the chair behind him, relaxing and basking in his afterglow.
“That was…” your tongue is dry in your mouth, “amazing.”
“Yeah, dove?” His response is surrounded by deep breaths, his hands going to your pussy and pressing them together and apart until he watches his pearly white cum drip slowly out of you.
“Ohh, fuck,” he almost gets hard again at the sight, but decides he doesn’t want to drain you too much. After all, he’s always got control of you now.
And even if he doesn’t? Well, he’ll find another way.
MY BODY REALLY, REALLY WANNA SIN WITH YOU. . . ! — ( IL DOTTORE. )
#. synopsis! — with your pride wounded after the failure of mission, you're sent to see dottore in his laboratory; not because pierro cares much about your health, but because he knows the very notion of it is humiliating, and that's the point. dottore, however, has other, much more interesting, ideas .
#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , multiple positions , oral sex , blowjob , vaginal sex , dub-con , slight praise , risk of being caught , slight exhibitionism , vaginal fingering , cumming on tits , nipple sucking , medical setting , power imbalance , sub/dom dynamics , cock riding , restriction of movement .
#. word count! — 5.5k .
#. a/n! — i don't respond to comments on my smut works since it just feels kind of awkward and all, but thank you guys for the absolutely bonkers response to my tighnari smut; it's my first post to hit over 5k notes and i gained over 400 followers, so welcome! and thanks so much for the support, i really do appreciate it :)) i hope everyone likes this one too!
Calling Dottore "The Doctor" was a bold move on the part of the Fatui, —so bold that it's ironic. Across Teyvat, doctors take a sacred oath to hold close to their hearts: first do no harm, and as it turns out, Dottore has done more than enough of that for a multiple lifetimes over. Anyone who's spent more than thirty seconds in Snezhnaya knows he is not to be toyed with, and with his high rank among the Harbingers, there are very few people he answers to. Celestia knows most Archons aren't even privy to his respect.
You stand just outside the door of his main laboratory, every part of you praying that he's not actually inside. It's hard to tell when he's in or out. . . It's always been that way. He often fails to answer to others, even when they rank higher, —much to the highest ranking Jester's annoyance. Sanctions do little to keep Dottore in line, as well. He does things his own way, toys with them and then tosses them aside when they're no longer of interest.
You knock your knuckles against the door after taking in a sharp breath, holding it back as you wait for a reply. Inside, a disinterested and irritated voice rings out to you in a one-word answer, short and curt.
"Busy."
Your stomach twists, but thanks to Pierro, you've got nowhere else to turn. This is more about humiliating you for failing your mission rather than nursing any of your minor injuries, and you're well aware of that. . . And it's working; probably a little too aware.
"The Jester sent me," you say, raising your voice in order for him to hear.
Just beyond the door, Dottore knits his brows together in frustration. He drops the chaos core in his hand ungracefully, and it lands on his cluttered desk with a heavy thud. He's sick of you already, and you haven't even opened the door yet. Lazily, he draws his gaze to the entrance and beckons for you.
"Come in," he says, voice dripping with disinterest, "let's make this quick."
It comes as no surprise to either of you that he hasn't a clue who you are. He seldom learns faces, nonetheless names, and typically only cares to memorize his own subordinates that he directly bosses around. Even then, his memorization of their names serves more as a power play than any genuine show of comradery.
You slip inside, refusing to meet his eyes. His mask rests on the corner of his table, dark color and jagged edges in wicked contrast to the sloppily written notes strewn across various pieces of off-white parchment.
"Here," he says, —demands— gesturing for you to take a seat on a low-rise sick bed.
It's hard to tell how many bodies it's housed before in spite of its newer conditions, nonetheless what happened to those bodies. You don't ask, and Dottore doesn't tell.
"Let me guess," he huffs, "you've failed a mission, but your injuries aren't severe. You don't feel ill, you're not bleeding, nothing is broken or fractured, but Pierro sent you my way to humiliate you a bit; to make you feel worse about being a disappointment."
Obviously you could have done without that last part, but you purse your lips together into a tight line and nod your head in confirmation. Dottore clicks his tongue in disapproval. He'd give you an earful about how incompetent you are, but his guess is that you'd heard enough of that from Pierro just before you arrived.
"Where does it hurt?" He questions, though it's painfully clear that he couldn't possibly care any less.
"Nowhere, really," you say in a small voice.
"Then humor me a little, —I've got things to do, but the both of us know Pierro will be demanding your report by nightfall," he states bluntly. "Which reminds me; I'll need your name and affiliation."
"My name's y/n," you say, "and I'm just an agent."
"How long?"
That question isn't particularly important, nor does Dottore really care much about the answer. He's just burning some time and collecting information to slap on your report in order to make it look as authentic as possible. As soon as that's done and over with, he can return to his own endeavors.
"Less than a year," you reply.
"Ah," he mumbles, "fresh meat."
If you weren't feeling like helpless prey before, —you certainly are now. He likes the way fear flashes through your eyes, but loves the way you futilely attempt to keep under wraps.
After scribbling down your information, he moves to stand in front of you. Thanks to the low-level of the bed and your slouched shoulders, you're matched at eye level with his abdomen.
"Tilt your head back," he requests, and because you do happen to value your own life, you do as he says.
His fingertips are cold as they prod at the column of your neck, pressing about and searching for nothing in particular. Dottore must admit though, there's a certain rush of pleasure he derives from knowing that his large hands would likely fit snug around your throat. He can feel everything the moment you swallow nervously.
As he scans you up and down, he thinks to himself that you're quite petty. He's seen plenty of recruits come and go, —but none of them have ever looked quite like you. There's something captivating about the equal balance of defiance and fear that swims behind your irises. He'd even venture to say that you're quite hard-headed in spite of scuttling off from Pierro with your tail between your legs.
"Keep your head tilted and stick your tongue out," he says. "Let me see down your throat."
His bluntness is jarring, but it's not as if you're in any position to refuse. You follow directions, and he leans down, peering into your open mouth as if it's some kind of fine arts exhibit. Your eyes dart around as he presses an index finger against the flat of your tongue; using it as a suppressor.
There's something so erotic about the way it twitches below his digit, and he resists the urge to ask how he tastes to you. Leering down at you like this, he even wonders what you'd do if he were to lean down and spit into your throat. —He doesn't, of course, but. . . He thinks about it.
"Good," he mumbles, slowly sliding his finger away.
He's not sure how to phrase any of it for your report, but chalks it up to clear oral airways.
"Where’d you return from?” He inquires, crossing Sumeru’s desert region off the list of possibilities when he brushes a few pieces of hair from your face and feels no grains of sand laced within it.
“Mondstadt,” you answer gently.
Dottore suspects you’re suppressing a more carnal nature behind this doll-like demeanor, much as all individuals do. Though most normal people are loath to admit it, —it remains true that we all hide monsters behind our masks of humanity.
He leans down, sniffing at you inquisitively and unapologetically like some overgrown dog who hasn’t been trained properly.
“There’s a certain scent to each nation,” he says, mumbling the words right into your ear. “I’ve always found Mondstadt’s to be a little bitter, but I don’t mind it on you.”
Your lips part for a moment, as if ready to meet his statement with thanks, but you quickly decide against it and clamp yourself shut once more. The taste of his finger still lingers on your tongue. There’s something so intriguing about the way your gaze flickers around his own that it makes his insides burn. It’s been quite a while since he’s felt this way. . . Urges like these aren’t something he deals with often, his mind always being found somewhere else. He’s far from your average man, after all, and his mind has always worked in peculiar ways.
A naive little part of you thinks Dottore is simply doing his job, —if being a little crude about it. It’s not like he really signed up to be doing checkups for low-ranking affiliates of the Fatui as the second ranked Harbinger anyway. But you’re by no means stupid, and you know that men like him can be absolute beasts in more ways than one. Just as he smells Mondstadt on your skin and in your hair, you can smell the ravenous monster that lives in his heart, and you’re not sure you’re going to be leaving this room alive.
The half-cleaned pieces of ruin guards that lie on his desk, adding to the mess, are long forgotten now as his nimble fingers dance over the plane of your shoulders. He squeezes once or twice, then asks if he’s hurt you. You don’t say no, but the small shake of your head gives him enough nerve to continue. He thinks to himself that it’s almost a shame for you to be a member of the Fatui when you look and feel like this, as he knows your body is yet to see more devastation in the years to come. But, if he plays his cards right, he might just be able to keep you on a short enough leash to have you crawling back every now and again.
You stay quiet as his hands trail about, —from your shoulders to your arms before prodding at the area just below your neck. He hums to himself, but says nothing until he hits the plush of your breasts through your bra and tattered uniform.
“Do you feel any tenderness here?” He asks, massaging his digits into your soft chest.
“J-Just a little,” you admit.
“A bit then?” he clarifies, one eyebrow raising higher than the other.
You nod.
“Go ahead and remove your coat for me,” he prompts.
He watches as you follow his instructions, biting his tongue to keep from praising your obedience. You shed the outer coat, and Dottore peers at your newly exposed flesh for a bit, watching as you shiver in the chilled air of his lab. He murmurs an apology for the fact that it’s so cold down here, but briefly explains that it’s best to keep his space unwarm in order to preserve his various experiments and otherwise important materials.
“It’s okay,” you shake your head, “I was born in Snezhnaya, —I can handle the cold.”
There’s something so divine about the way you don’t complain; as if holding yourself back on his account. Dottore loves the dipping curves of your breasts, but admittedly isn’t satisfied with seeing little more than cleavage and your general silhouette. That beast inside him yearns for more, and his hands travel around your back accordingly.
“May I?” He asks, fingers pinched around either side of your bra’s clasp.
You know this isn’t normal, but. . . He knows better, doesn’t he? You did admit that your breasts were feeling a bit tender, and he, as your doctor, is checking them fully to ensure your health and wellbeing. He’s older, wiser, has risen through the ranks and earned his high status in a way that you admire, —in a way you can only dream of accomplishing as things stand right now. Dottore is a professional: perhaps not necessarily in medicine, but he certainly knows enough about the human body to be of service.
“Y-Yeah,” you comply, “go ahead.”
He seemed all too ready for your answer to be affirmative, but you have little time to note that given the quickness that follows your confirmation. A little snap rings out from behind you, and one of your bra straps falls just off your shoulder. You slip the garment off, exposing your chest for Dottore to leer at pervertedly. Drool practically pools below his tongue at the sight of your tits bouncing free, so pretty and decadent. He’s all too robust about it, and it leaves you feeling equal parts ashamed and excited. Having devoted your life to the Fatui for the past year or so, it’s been all too long since you’ve had attention of this breed. The circumstances are far from ideal, you suppose, but. . .
“Your body reacts quite fast to stimulation,” he notes, tweaking at your hardened nipples that stiffened and perked at the first touch of cool air.
You whine ever so softly under your breath when he pulls a little too hard.
“No need to stifle anything,” he says. “It’s just us here.”
He pulls his hands away to adjust the height of the bed, —a little trick you didn’t even know to be possible until he actually did it. The movement startles you a bit at first, but he’s quick to soothe you down and tell you to relax.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, though it doesn’t feel very genuine, “I just needed to put you up a little higher to more comfortably check you over.”
The little smirk that pulls at his lips lets you know that’s by no means the truth of the matter, but you say nothing of it.
His hands find their way to your chest again, thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples. He loves the way your lips still purse together, attempting to keep yourself together even while he’s actively tearing you apart at the seams. This is the first time a man has ever paid such attention to the simpler things instead of chasing release between your legs. In spite of his morbid nature and grotesque curiosities, —Dottore has a gentlemanly side; one that likely only appears when he’s keen on spearing a young woman like you on his hard cock until she’s shaking from more than the Snezhnaian cold.
“I’ll need you to be vocal during the next part of this examination,” he notes. “It’s important that I know how your body’s reacting.”
You give a slow nod, to which Dottore cranes his neck down. As one hand continues to tweak with your right nipple, his other cups the left; pushing the breast up to meet his warm, wet mouth. He’s so shameless in the way he slobbers on you, swirling his tongue all around, slicking you up to watch your spit-covered nipple glisten in the starkly white lighting of his lab.
“T-That’s—” you stutter, feeling yourself begin to heat up from the inside.
He pauses, pulling off you with a subtle pop as your flesh slips from in between his lips.
“That’s what?” He inquires, tone deceptively gentle as he pinches your neglected breast.
“Good,” you finish, the word coming out much breathier than intended, “—it feels good.”
Dottore already knew what the answer would be, but hearing you say it aloud offers a completely different thrill. It’s just something about the way you hesitate to give in, but fold beneath him nevertheless. He hums in acknowledgment before moving on to the other side, this time letting his tongue hang out to drool a line of spit across your nipple. It drips and then spreads; forming to the little divots along your body.
He’s barely holding on now, that beast inside him raging; scratching and clawing at the cage inside his chest. If things keep up like this, he knows he won’t be able to subdue himself for much longer. As he laps and sucks at your chest, alternating between both erratically, the cock between his thighs begins to harden, pressing roughly against his pants.
“Let’s see here,” he mumbles against your skin, hands falling away from your upper half to explore the lower.
Those nimble fingers push your legs apart to dance along your inner thighs. He captures your lips in a kiss, relishing in the way you moan into his mouth as he nudges ever so gently against the crotch of your bottoms. The friction alone has you halfway to seeing stars, and any slight sliver of pain from any of your miniscule injuries has completely disappeared by now. In that sense, you suppose his title of Doctor might make some semblance of sense.
“I’m a bit concerned about the area between your thighs,” he says, emphasizing it with a quick, sloppy kiss to your messy lips.
“If you wouldn’t mind, go ahead and undress completely,” Dottore continues, “I’ll be sure to take care of everything.”
Now, you’re certain this is well beyond normal; but the time for such has completely gone out the window. Your instincts have taken over, and you’re no longer thinking straight. Much the same, as much as his relaxed demeanor might fool you, Dottore is no longer thinking with the head on his shoulders. The one between his legs is definitely leading the way with this one.
His fingers trail almost delicately along your inner now-naked inner thighs, inching closer to the sopping heat at the center. Upon reaching the final destination, Dottore slides two long fingers over your glossy folds, dragging them from top to bottom, then back again. All the while, his digits collect a thin layer of your arousal on his skin. Bringing those fingers to his lips, he takes them into his mouth and takes a substantial taste of you.
“You taste so sweet,” he informs you, sliding the same hand between your thighs once more to collect some more wetness for you to swallow down.
Your tongue wraps around his fingers, tasting yourself on him. As you lick him clean, he sets his gaze on the puffy lips of your pretty little pussy; the one begging to be stuffed full of him. When his hand returns, he doesn’t stop at the entrance. Instead, Dottore pushes one finger inside, then another soon after, feeling the way your tight cunt clenches around him. The whimpers you let out drive him absolutely wild, and when paired with the soft squelch of your pussy around his fingers, he’s tempted to pull his cock out and just shove it inside, hammering into you like the world is ending and it’s the last thing he’ll ever have the chance to do.
When your head tilts back, revealing your neck to him, he takes the opportunity to suck at the column, licking a little stripe up and over your exposed throat. He feels the moans you’re attempting to swallow down reverberate against his tongue. He then presses on your shoulders with his free hand, coaxing you to lie back on the admittedly uncomfortable surface he has you resting on.
He curls his fingers now, guiding them in and out and gliding them deep enough to leave your toes curling.
“I’d say that’s a healthy reaction,” he notes, —jokingly.
You can’t say it surprises you that he’s the type.
As the tips of his fingers brush against that sweet bundle of nerves buried deep inside, your back arches up.
“It’s alright,” he assures you with a wicked smile, pressing the flat of his palm to your stomach in order to keep you pinned down. “Try not to move so much. I promise you’re in good hands.”
That’s true in one sense, but completely inaccurate in another. Even so, you’re in no place to argue with the likes of him for several important reasons, so you breathe out a half-heartedly apology that he wordlessly accepts with ease.
The rasp to your voice has him reeling, a moment’s worth of friction away from pumping loads of sticky cum into his pants. He both hates and loves the ability you have to be so innocent, yet so overwhelmingly and unabashedly impish all in the same tattered breath. Your arousal glints along his fingers as you grip at the pathetically thin sheet draped over this equally as pathetic contraption. The smells invading the enclosed laboratory, the squelch of your unfucked pussy desperate for more, and the sight of your lip bitten between your teeth has Dottore’s neglected member twitching desperately in his pants.
He fingers you with a practiced precision that seems tailor made to your body, despite having just met you face to face. Try as you might to keep your reactions to a minimum, worried that someone might well come knocking on the door and hear you crying out in pleasure on the inside. A large enough group for you to be concerned about the possibility heard you get scolded by Pierro, and subsequently sent off to Dottore’s lab, but he’s making it much too difficult to keep yourself contained.
It feels so good, but this. . . This has to be wrong, likely for more reasons than one.
Of course, you wouldn’t know the first thing about any code of ethics that exists amongst the Eleven Harbingers, if one even exists at all, —but you imagine this kind of discretion could risk the both of your futures with the organization. At the very least, you know you’re very replaceable to the Fatui.
“Don’t muffle yourself,” he scolds softly, “it’s important I know what you’re feeling. Do remember, —I’m here to take care of you.”
Your hand falls away from your mouth, lips parting for a broken moan to pass through. He murmurs something about how well you’re doing, and you can’t help but to shiver under the weight of his praise, goosebumps trailing across every inch of your skin from head to toe. The way his praise seems to subdue you leaves him with a rumbling flow of arousal pulsing along his groin. So much so that he just cannot take it anymore.
Although he knows you’re close to cumming, the ache of his cock has become painful, blood flowing directly there no matter how badly he’s attempted to will it to stay up north.
“Here,” he beckons, pulling his pants down just enough for his length to spring free, “let’s check your mouth again.”
With your would-have-been orgasm ruined by the lack of stimulation, you move to your knees, crawling forward like a feline to take him between your lips.
“Wait,” he says suddenly, swatting your trembling hand away, “—just open your mouth and let your tongue hang out.”
You do as directed, only for Dottore to smack the reddened tip of his cock against it, reveling in the sounds it makes. It’s wet and spongy against him, his head tilting back from so little. He tastes of sweat and pre-cum, maybe even the slightest hint of bitterness, but it’s nothing unpleasant. There’s a natural musk to him that you can’t quite explain, but it’s comforting somehow, though you know all too well that you’re by no means safe in his hands or care. It’s one thing to give to and receive pleasure from Dottore, but it’s a completely different monster to trust him with your wellbeing.
You might be a little foolish for having gotten yourself caught up in this mess; but you’re by no means dumb.
“Just suck the tip,” he demands, —but it’s oh so sweet that it almost sounds like a request. Almost.
Your lips form to match the size and shape of him, and he watches with lust swimming deep in his gaze as your puffy mouth works magic around him. His fingers rake their way across your scalp, nails digging in as you swirl your tongue around the crown of his cock. There’s something so ironically angelic about the wide, doe-eyed expression you look up at him with; so trusting and yet completely deceitful. He’s not simple enough to think you’re actually looking for something deep and devoted from him, —but it’s nice nonetheless to feel your moans reverberate through his shaft.
He thinks to himself that obedience is definitely a quality he can put on your little report, but he can only hope he won’t be tasked with explaining the reasoning behind that one.
“Okay,” he groans after a bit, “go ahead.”
You hollow your cheeks and take him into your throat with a surprising amount of ease, as if you know him well enough to have memorized the way he fits inside without testing the waters. You’re just too brave for your own good, he muses. It’s a dangerous game to be playing with the likes of him, but he’s intrigued by it nevertheless.
Dottore moans above you, encouraging you to pleasure him more. This is a transactional deal; after all. One good deed shall be met with one of equal importance. You’re thankful he isn’t the silent type. It’s better when your lover’s groans can ring like music in your ears, coaxing you to press onward even when the ache sets into your jaw and the discomfort really starts to feel like just that.
You adapt all too quickly as he twitches against your tongue. Without missing a beat, you continue on, pressing the leaking tip of him to the roof of your mouth. From below, he looks like something that should be immortalized in a statue in some ancient civilization; —maybe painted by some masterful artist who can capture every delicate curve and every jagged dip on his body.
The way he feeds off your every move like a leech, like some kind of lecherous parasite, send shockwaves of arousal straight to your throbbing sex.
Ruined moans fall from his starved lips, and it’s not long before he tells you to stop, knowing that if he doesn’t, he’s going to be bursting down your throat. Instead, he helps you off the adjustable surface, but quickly pins you face down against the spot where your palms had just been digging in.
“Put your arms together behind your back,” he says sternly, leaning down to whisper in your ear; hard cock pressing to the plush of your ass that’s put on display for himself.
You do as he instructs, letting the side of your face fall to the uncomfortable sickbed as he uses one hand to pin your wrists together, keeping them restrained.
When his fingertips smack against the insides of your thighs, you know to spread your legs further apart, offering him better and easier access to the hole his fingers were stuffed inside of just a short time ago. He loves the way you follow wordless orders like a little servant, catering to his every wish and whim. Even better, you seem to do it without having to be told, —as if you can read his every thought like a guidebook. If he wasn’t worried that you’d lose a great deal of the spunk that makes you so endearing without inherent freedoms, he’d consider keeping you chained down here in this laboratory with him, keeping you there for his every need and desire.
He has a feeling the wait and the chase might be part of the fun, though.
Your pussy welcomes him with excited clenches as he presses in, bottoming out just as quickly. His grip is still rough, pressing hard against the tail end of your spine as he keeps your hands pinned, hoping to hear all the needy, pathetic little noises you’re sure to make as your sopping hole swallows him up. Any semblance of reason or rationale Dottore might have had before is long gone by now, replaced by the burning image of your wet cunt squeezing around his throbbing cock.
The malleable walls of your insides clamp around him, encouraging him to move, to thrust, —and to do it hard and deep just to satisfy the burning desires in your abdomen. He’s buried in your snatch, strong force keeping your hands stationary behind your back as he lowers himself against you, chest brushing against your back. The position is less than comfortable, but he does it for you, just to press a few peppered kisses to your shoulder.
Dottore would swear that his senses are on fire, everything heightened to a new, wondrous degree. He feels like the most successful predator of them all; having caught such delicate prey as his meal. Might as well make it his last, as far as he’s concerned in the moment.
When he breathes out slowly, you feel the exhale ghost against your supple skin. You smell expensive, like some kind of high end perfume that seeps straight from your pores. Dottore fights the urge to bury his teeth in your flesh, knowing it would be such a waste to wound something as precious as you.
The moment he gingerly pulls out only to slam back in has you crying out in surprise, —a cry that goes unheard by the man on top of you. He’s too blissed out to check in on you for the moment, what with the urgent hum of arousal rushing right through his veins. Your folds move with his every thrust, as if they’re doors welcoming him with each inward motion, and Dottore wishes he had something to record the glorious sound of his skin slapping firmly against yours. It’s such a distinct sound, one accompanied by his own absentminded moans and grunts, as well as your consistent whimpers and pleas for more.
When you’d been told to come down here, you hadn’t expected anything of this nature to take place. For all you knew, Dottore was going to slaughter you and leave your body to be covered by snowfall. You’d expected a lot of things, most of them overwhelmingly negative, but him turning you over and plowing into your cunt definitely wasn’t on the shorthand list of possibilities you’d conjured up on your way down.
You can’t say you mind, though. —To be fair, you don’t really have the mind to do so at this point.
Dottore pauses the first time you slur some curse words beneath your breath, his cock stationed so deep inside that it feels like it’s buried in your guts.
“Close?” He questions, to which you give an awkward nod, half your face still pressed into the hard surface of the sickbed.
“One more thing before that,” he notes, pulling out (to your dismay) and yanking you upright. “Let’s check on your mobility.”
He takes your place, sitting down and beckoning you to come and ride him. Though your knees feel weak, as if they might turn to jelly and give in at any moment, you comply for the sake of your own orgasm that’s since been ruined twice now by this godforsaken man. As you slide him inside, your head tilts back, and you whimper over the heat that burns, and burns, and burns so red hot that it might as well be engulfing you from the inside out. You’ve felt fires much like this in the line of work; but never on the inside.
Once more, your cunt is left squelching around Dottore’s thick cock, suckling on his length with every wobbly motion. All the friction has your rather neglected clit pulsing between the lips of your pussy, throbbing with want and desire. Dottore’s hands find themselves all over you; sliding across your shoulders, fingers dancing down your spine, making you shiver in delight. He loved the way you look like this, the way your back arches and the way he can feel you shake and quivery against him in this position.
“I’m so close,” you whimper, to which Dottore smooths his hand over your ass, encouraging you to cum all over his filthy cock.
And then you still, blood running ice cold in your veins. You barely heard the knock at the door over your own racing heartbeat and breathless panting.
“Sir,” a nervous voice calls out, “a meeting’s been called that requires the presence of all eleven Harbingers.”
“Don’t stop,” he whispers harshly in your ear, “I want you cumming all over me before this conversation ends, —do you understand me?”
Albeit taken aback by the command, you’re still in no position to refuse a demand from your superior. So, you simply do as you're told.
“I’m quite busy at the moment,” he says, voice surprisingly calm in spite of the circumstances. “Can it wait at all?”
You’re too bold now, slinking your fingers through his silver hair, tugging at the roots as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He whispers to keep going as the man outside the laboratory continues on.
“I have no details on the matter, I was just told to inform you that your presence is requested immediately,” he says, —which is a more polite way of saying no, it can’t.
The adrenaline mixed with the ecstasy of it all leaves you strung out, and Dottore can feel the way you contract around him, convulsing on his cock as you cum with someone standing just outside the door. He doesn’t even mind the way you’ve bitten his neck in hopes of muffling your own moans.
“I’ll be on my way in just a moment,” he insists. “You’re excused.”
“Yes sir.”
Though he’s visibly agitated by the sudden call to a meeting, he still masturbates himself to his peak, pumping his own cock until he cums all over your tits. And then he fixes himself, adjusting his hair, placing his mask upon his face, and most importantly, pulling his pants back up to hide his length that’s been spun dry. He’s so composed even after all of that, and you’re jealous of that in every sense of the word.
Now, you just hope he’ll put in a good word or two about you to Pierro.
☁️ You remember Satoru was so worried during your pregnancy about how he would cope being a dad and whether the baby would love him, and fast forward nine-months it always warms your heart when you watch him bonding with your daughter and how her tiny face lights up whenever he plays with her. Most people assume he's the "Oh yeah, she's pretty cute until she poops" kind of dad, but he's very attentive even during the late nights. Sometimes you can hear him in the nursery from your bedroom going, "You are just SO ADORABLE I wanna eat you up!" Satoru has so much love for her, and your daughter is pretty much guaranteed to be a daddy's girl.
☁️ You know that saying where watching your husband be a dad makes you fall in love all over again? That's Suguru, and it has made you love him in a whole new way with a brand new perspective on everything. His love for his daughter is never begrudging, he changes diapers without protests and gives warm baths and sweet kisses to her head. There's just so much tenderness and wonder and care when she's cradled in his arms. He makes parenting look easy and even handles all the cooking and cleaning so you can have time to recuperate, but he doesn't neglect you either and spends his time with you and make you feel just as loved if not more with your family of three.
☁️ You never knew someone could look so damn attractive when changing poopy diapers, and Kento is definitely no exception to that. He handles his new responsibilities as a father really well, and can barely pull himself away from the little one. He has so much patience when it comes to caring for his daughter and you can tell that she even adores him with her giggles and smiles. You never realized how much he wanted to have a family until it clicks one day and he overhears you saying to your baby, "I never knew how much I loved your daddy until I saw how much he loved you." He gets a little emotional in the way he comes up from behind you and embraces you, murmuring that he loves you too—both of you so much.
nanami kento is the type of man that buys you lingerie and fucks you in it. he doesn’t take it off of you, no, he will ask you keep it on and fuck you hard in it. he gets off to the idea that his spoiled little baby is wearing something he bought and how you look so fuckable for him and only him. and you can’t convince me otherwise that he spends a good amount of time looking through lingerie stores and goes through stuff he wants to see you in… the price of the lingerie usually goes unnoticed. don’t even get me started on you liking a particular lingerie set, he will buy it. the mere idea that you feel good and look good in a lingerie set you picked out makes him even more turned on. when his face between your thighs, face full of your cunt covered in lace underwear? he could cum right there. when he kneels between your legs, a good view of your whole body under him? he can’t stop thrusting hard inside you. “my pretty girl,” he would mumble out, kissing every part of you. “dolled up and looking so beautiful.” he would praise as you suck him off. “look at you, dear. soaking those panties so nicely.” he would tease, stroking a finger against the soiled fabric. “only ever wet for me and only me, hm?” revels in the fact that he is the only one who gets to see your body pressed down on his bedsheets, wearing the lingerie he bought for you, presenting the prettiest cunt for him.
his favorite part though? him absolutely ruining your pretty body.
A/N: The dialogue line was taken from a smut prompt list but I accidentally copied the link to the wrong one and can’t find the original post >.< In my head Geto is more of a player than Gojo is - and I can’t let go of the idea of Playboy!Geto but also can’t stop thinking about him being absolutely whipped for somebody so innocent (it’s turning my brain into complete mush). Here’s just one of the little scenarios sitting in my head as of now. If you’re interested in requests please check out what I’m accepting by reading the little blurb on my navigation post! xo - (minors and ageless blogs do not interact)
