Upgrade Pt.1
upgrade pt.1
pro hero! midoriya izuku x fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — most of izu's arm has been amputated, hurt comfort, swearing, 4k words, resources used linked at the end, non-mha characters are made-up
pt.2, pt.3, epilogue
You were stirring tofu curry in your kitchen. It’s delicious scent curling up your nostrils, tendrils seeking your body and your home. The television was playing in the back. Sliced spring onions freshly chopped on the wooden chopping board next to the stove. You were humming softly to yourself your favourite song.
Today was the day that your pookie bear, Izuku, was coming back from his month long mission. It had been a gruelling four weeks of rushed phone calls.
Quick “How’s your day been? and even quicker “I love you’s”. You missed his nerdy talk about all the latest heroes new moves and how much he still admires All Might, his cuddles and warm hands on your tummy when it was that time of the month.
You missed how he would always try to pick you up from work, clad in a face mask and Dynamight’s new merch. You missed making dinner together. You missed waking up together whenever you two slept together (cause separate beds in relationships is superior convince me otherwise).
He had been on an undercover mission to bring an underground quirk breeding organisation to justice. The fact that those still existed sent shivers down your spine. One time, you had asked him over call what it was like, being so close to all of that.
To which he dodged with, “It’s what heroes are expected to deal with, so don’t worry about it honey.” You probably shouldn’t have asked as all mission information is classified until the news gets their grimy hands on it. But, it still had taken you back that he didn’t want to talk about it.
But, you know that when he gets home, he’ll be tired but he’ll want to talk. And you’ll sit there, looking up to him, reminded of how strong he is and of how hard he works to protect you, to protect all of Japan. Speaking of which, he should be home by now.
Plucking you from your daze is the reporter’s voice shouting into her mic, “Breaking News!” You turn around, seeing her standing in front of Central Hospital on the small television screen.
“Japan’s Number One Pro Hero ‘Deku’ severely injured during quirk breeding rescue mission.” Your mind goes blank. You rush over to the TV, grabbing the remote, turning the volume up, and plonking down on the tan sofa.
You watch as footage comes on screen, showing Deku, outside of what looks to be an on-fire night club, surrounded by several villains in coordinated suits. Dynamight’s explosions can be heard in the back muffling the screams of girls chained and barely clothed who are being taken out of the building, covered in soot and coughing, by Shoto and Ingenium.
You watch intently as the villains lung at your hero. He dodges, expertly, using the intricacies of One For All to knock them unconscious. As gentlemanly as ever, even when he fights.
But it’s not enough. You continue watching, enraptured by the fight, as the reporter continues, “Pro Hero ‘Deku’, along with other heroes like Japan’s Number Two ‘Dynamight’, Number Three ‘Shoto’, and ‘Ingenuim’ have been on an undercover mission investigating quirk breeding auctions in downtown Tokyo’s underground night clubs for the past month. Tonight, things went awry as Dynamight engages, fed up with the secrecy of the mission, dragging the pro heroes into an intense fight with the villains orchestrating this conspiracy.”
“Of course it’s fucking Dynamight,” you mumble under your breath.
Deku’s now taking five villains at once when the left side of the building collapses due to the flames. It had been the entrance, where Shoto and Ingenium had been hauling out what you assume to be the victims of this scheme.
Shoto hands the young girl in his arms to one the firefighters at scene before turning around and yelling to Deku, “There’s still one more left in the building.”
Your hands have begun to shake. The suspense is wracking your nervous system.
“Deku attempts to dash back into the building when the villains he was just fighting jump onto him—”
They drag him to the ground, delivering some serious blows to his torso. The left side of the building further crumbles in on itself.
“Approaching Deku is another villain known to authorities as ‘Bon Appétit’. Quirk is knife.” Bon Appétit’s arms are comprised of different knives and swords, jutting out, sharp and glinting evilly. You cringe and yelp as the villain thrusts the blades into Deku’s left arm.
“Reeling from this blow, Deku uses One For All at what sources suspect to be full capacity, to fend off the villains and rescue the victim inside. Emerging—” The video pauses on a shot of him, girl on his back, left arm bloodied and dangling limply. From what you can see from the awful lighting, shaky cameraman, and torn shreds of Deku’s suit, his flesh is torn and skin (beneath the blood) has gone purple. No! “Deku’s left arm appears to be severely injured.”
The broadcast cuts back to the reporter outside of Central Hospital. There are a flurry of reporters and police surrounding the entrance to the hospital. She stands with her back to them and continues, “Pro Hero Deku was taken to Central Hospital to be treated shortly after 7pm. Our cameras caught—”
A video of an ambulance pulling up to the entrance plays on screen. Once it’s stopped, Deku is ushered out, flanked by paramedics. Dynamight steps out after him, shouting a string of censored curses and insults after broccoli boy in front—
“footage of Pro Hero ‘Deku’ being escorted by ambulance here with Dynamight and Shoto following suit. Love and support is being poured out by fans to Deku and his family tonight for his swift recovery. Hirota Miu, TBS Television.”
You sit there, hunched over, elbows on knees, shell-shocked. You don’t know how much time passes after the broadcast before you hear your phone ringing. You grab it from the low coffee table in front of you, clicking the green phone icon and bringing it to your ear reflexively.
“Miss [l/n], this is Dr Kita from Central Hospital. Deku gave us your details as his emergency contact.” You blink… and blink again. What? “Deku’s been seriously injured in his recent fight. He’s being prepared for emergency surgery on his left arm right now. You’re welcome to come in and visit once he’s out. The procedure should take 60 to 90 minutes. Just come to the front desk and give your information to the receptionists, and they’ll direct you.”
You stare out the window, looking at all the lights sparkling from above and below your apartment. How could everything seem so peaceful right now when your partner, your hero, was going in for emergency surgery?
“Yes I’ll, um, I’ll be right there. Um…”
“Is there anything else, Miss [l/n]?” You stayed quiet for a few seconds, trying to think of what to say.
“No, sorry. I’ll be right there.”
“See you soon then, Miss [l/n].”
You move routinely, going to your bedroom to put on a bra before lacing up some sneakers, throwing on one of Izuku’s hoodies over your t-shirt and mini shorts, and grabbing your bag. You leave your apartment hastily and practically run to the station, taking it to the one closest to Central Hospital.
There are no words to describe how you feel. Your heart is pounding hard in your chest, and not from the exercise. Your skin is crawling with anxiety. Your shirt clings to the sweat dripping down your back, and every so often you wipe your sweat-laced palms on your shorts.
Your thoughts consist of “Is he okay?”, “Why is he going into emergency surgery?”, “That idiot, I told him never to use One For All at 100% because it could lead to some serious damage! He knows that. Why would he risk it?! The blow from that villain was bad enough, why did he have to…?”, and the like. One thought triggers the next, an endless cycle until Central Hospital is towering above your small figure.
You keep it calm and steady as you walk into the lobby. The receptionist greets you and tell her your name and why you’re here. She nods knowingly, not bothering to confirm details and telling you to take the elevator to level 3.
You follow her directions, down the hall and to the left. You’re met with dull blue double doors. The sign above reading ‘Recovery Room’. You push it open, involuntarily inviting numerous stares from doctors, nurses, and recovering patients who are conscious.
A tall, lanky man comes over to you, dressed in slacks and white lab coat. He has a clip board in hand. “I’m Dr Kita. You must be Miss [l/n]. We spoke on the phone.” You nod, trying to gulp down your nerves.
“Mr Midoriya’s surgery will be finished in about,” Dr Kita looks down at his silver watch, “an hour. You’re free to walk around, get some snacks or something. Visiting hours end at 8pm, but I’ll make an exception for you.” He smiles gently at you. You nod and thank him before looking away from him, thinking about how you were going to kill time.
You felt sick to your stomach, knowing that your boyfriend was undergoing surgery at the moment. What else could you possibly think about but that?
“Actually, Dr Kita, I’d like to just wait here.” You look back up at him. He has jet black hair tied neatly into a low bun. His rectangle glasses slip ever-so-slightly down his nose, behind which sleek brown eyes stare at you with a look of understanding.
“You can’t wait in the recovery room but you can wait outside. We’ll call you in once Mr Midoriya’s is out of surgery.”
Your response is a whisper, “Oh… okay.” You look down to your feet, shoulders slumping. Quickly, you pick yourself back up, raising your head back up and asking, “So, I’ll just wait in the corridor?”
Dr Kita nods and says, “That’s fine.”
You turn to leave before realising that you hadn’t even been told what surgery Izuku was undergoing. You turn back around, noticing that Dr Kita hadn’t moved an inch. “What’s his surgery for?”
Long, slender fingers push the glasses back up his hooked nose. He sighs, “Unfortunately, Mr Midoriya’s left arm has suffered trauma beyond repair. The decision was made to amputate part of his arm.” Your mouth falls open. Amputate. His. Left. Arm?
“And who made that decision?” Dr Kita shifts under your piercing gaze. You make a mental note to apologise later for staring daggers into him.
“The trauma surgeon did. He’s in there right now performing the procedure on Mr Midoriya. I understand that this may come as a shock, but he explained to me that it was necessary and urgent to amputate Mr Midoriya’s left arm as the tissues in his forearm and hand were damaged severely. Mr Midoriya was losing too much blood and some bones in the forearm had been shattered. There is too much damage and danger to simply reset the bones and stitch him up. The surgeon’s doing what he can to salvage what’s left of Mr Midoriya’s arm.”
Are you actually hearing this right now? Is this real? Are you actually in the hospital right now, hearing a doctor tell you that Izu-chan’s arm is to be amputated? Did you turn off the curry before leaving? Fuck.
“Do you mean that the whole arm won’t be amputated?” You ask.
“It’s possible that the whole left arm won’t be amputated. The main damage was done at the forearm and elbow.” Dr Kita’s tone was fairly dead-pan. But you’re not thinking about how many patients he must of seen in similar or worse situations, or the worst situations. All you’re thinking about is your boyfriend who might be losing most of his arm right now.
You gulp and say, “I see… Thank you for clarifying. I’ll, um, I’ll go wait outside now.” Dr Kita nods in acknowledgement before you spin on your heel and take your leave.
For the next hour, you pace back and forth, up and down the hallways of level 3. You check your phone every five minutes, making sure that you have enough time for another lap of the level. After one painstaking, anxiety-inducing, palm-sweaty hour, you’re standing outside of the recovery room, waiting to be called in.
You’ve been thinking it over… just how will it be, Izuku without his left arm. He’ll be devastated. He confided in you soon after you two first started dating that one of his biggest fears was pushing his body beyond its’ limits. He wanted to protect people, to be an incredible hero, and he would do anything to achieve that. He was afraid that one day, he would go too far and he wouldn’t be able to come back from that. And then, he wouldn’t be able to protect people anymore. How would he react, knowing that part of that fear had become reality? What would this mean for his hero career? For your relationship?
Even as this new reality dawned on you, not once did you even consider leaving him. How could you? He was the man that you were so deeply in love with. You two were discussing marriage just before he left for that mission. Oh, why did he have to go on that mission?!
He means so much to you. He’s been there for you at some of your hardest times, like when you first moved to Japan to pursue a career at the front of biomedical engineering. Or when the public had found out about you two and had bullied you relentlessly for your quirk due to it’s similarities to All For One’s. It was all the tabloids could talk about for the entire week, before Izuku had released a statement under his agency, clarifying the differences between your quirks and re-affirming his love and trust in you.
He had been the reason that your life in Japan had become so much more inclusive, joyful, and prosperous. Hell, he had even taught you Japanese at the beginning of your relationship, and continues to help you whenever there’s an expression or word that you don’t understand.
That All Might otaku has been there for you through everything. If that had been you. If you had lost your arm. He wouldn’t even consider the possibility of breaking up with you. How could you?
“Miss [l/n].” You’re brought out of your thoughts, seeing one of the nurses peaking out from behind the recovery room doors. It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for. “He’s out.”
You rush over to her, entering when she pushes the door open for you and thanking her. And then, you spot ruffled deep green curls crowding a peaceful looking face. He’s still asleep. You let out a breath.
You follow the nurse over to the side of his bed, where you notice some other doctors in slacks. Dr Kita comes over almost immediately after you do. You’re by Izuku’s side, watching him. Speechless. About half of his left upper arm remains, wrapped beneath bandages with a stocking and drainage tubes attached. You can feel the tears starting come on. You tilt your head back, blinking rapidly. Not now! Not yet.
You look back down. The medical staff are talking in medical gibberish, so you focus on your pookie. It’s not that you can’t understand medical jargon. Being a biomedical engineer, you often work with such terminology. You’d just rather not right now. Not when Izu looks like an angel that’s fallen from the heavens as he sleeps. He’s got little cuts on his face that have been cleaned and had betadine dabbed onto them. His other arm has a cannula in it. It too is scarred and has other minor cuts that have also been cleaned up.
You sit on the side of his bed, waiting patiently for him to wake up. After a few minutes, his eyelids begin to flutter and soon, he opens his beautiful green eyes. You draw in a breath, taking in the dazed look on his face as he looks around and starts to move his head from side to side.
“Mr Midoriya,” Dr Kita says. His voice is calm and steady. It stops you from leaning over to cup Izu’s cheeks. For now anyways.
“Mr Midoriya, can you hear me?” Izuku groans in response, he begins lifting his right hand to touch his face when the nurse beside him gently grabs it mid-air and brings it back down the bed.
“Try to not to move too much, Mr Midoriya," Dr Kita says.
“Ugh,” he groans, his voice hoarse. “What happened?” Dr Kita holds up two of his fingers in front of Izuku’s face.
“Mr Midoriya, how many fingers am I holding up?”
Izu grumbles, “Two.”
“Good. How are you feeling? Are you experiencing any dizziness or nausea?” Izuku shuts his eyes, his brows creased. He hums in response, "Both."
You can’t stop yourself from calling his name this time. “Izu-chan.” His eyes open immediately and he looks down at you from the slightly raised bedhead. He squints, murmuring with uncertainty at first, “[Y/n]?”
You bite the side of your lip, shifting closer to him, “Yea.”
“You’re here, babe.” His voice is still raspy.
You hum in agreement, “Of course, I’m here. You okay?”
He chuckles softly, “Mhmm I—”
Fuck. He goes to move his left hand, presumably up to his face again. He usually rubs the back of neck when gets nervous. But no hand moves. Because there’s no hand to move. You watch, lump in your throat, as he winces, letting out a groan of pain. Your eyes move with his, to the empty space that was the rest of his left arm. He looks back up at you, before turning his gaze to the doctors and nurses watching him cautiously.
“I-I don’t… I don’t understand. Am I?” He tries to move his left hand again but lets out another groan. “I-No, this can’t. I—”
“Mr Midoriya,” Dr Kita cuts him off. “Yes, we had to amputate most of your left arm. You had experienced trauma beyond repair to your left forearm and elbow from a combination of severe wounds and the use of One For All at what we suspect to be full capacity. The surgeon decided that this was for the best.”
It’s like you can hear his heart shattering into a million pieces. It shatters alongside your own. The look of pain, of sheer, tortuous, anguish across his face hearing those words, you can’t hold back your tears any longer.
You sniffle quietly as they roll down your cheeks. “Sorry,” you murmur, voice heavy with sadness. You mentally berate yourself for crying, drawing the attention to yourself when it’s not your moment. But, you can’t help it. All you want to do is give your boyfriend cuddles and tell him everything is going to be okay. That you’re going to make it through this together. But all you can do is sit there and start quietly sobbing.
“Honey.” You look up through your tears and fingers trying to wipe them away. He looks like he’s about to start crying too.
Izuku shifts his gaze from you to the doctors. “Can you give us a moment?”
“Mr Midoriya, we need to some che—”
“I’m happy to do whatever checks you want. Please, just give us some space first?”
The doctors look amongst each other, communicating in an unspoken code before taking their leave. You let out a shaky breath, looking at your boyfriend lying beside you.
“Hey," he says, his voice cracking. You both laugh. You lean forward, cupping his cheeks in your hands. His right hand grasps your lower back softly.
“I’m sorry,” you sniffle.
“For what? It’s not your fault.” He looks at you with a gentle gaze, just as gentle as his touch.
“I know but I—” you choke on your sobs.
“Hey, it’s alright.” His hand pressures you to move forward so you can lay on his chest. But you don’t. You look up into those glassy green eyes.
“I can’t," you say, your voice tight. One of your hand goes to his chest. “You’re in pain," you continue, shaking your head.
His brows knit together at this, “I-It doesn’t hurt there.” You pause before you nod knowingly.
You too can’t help but want to be close to him like this. You lay your head on his chest with care, hands close to yourself. His right hand strokes the top of your head, scarred fingers threading through your silky [h/c] locks.
You tilt your head back, looking up at him. “You don’t have to pretend it’s okay. I-I know it’s not okay.” You plant a shaky small kiss on his jaw. His hand cups your shoulder.
“Yea,” his voice trembles. “I…” You can feel his chest vibrate with the emotions rising to the surface. You hear him sniffle, and soon, you two just lay there, crying together. One of the nurses brings over a tissue box which you two drain, wiping tears away and blowing noses. No words can articulate the kind of moment you two share.
It’s only when you two have calmed down that you lift yourself up from his chest. You cup his cheek in your right palm and murmur, “You hungry? D’you want some water?” He shakes his head, sniffling up those last tears. You dab his under eyes with the ruined tissue in your other hand.
“I was m-making—” You stop to inhale and exhale a deep breath before continuing, “tofu curry when they called me.” ‘Your favourite’ you leave unspoken.
“Can you b-bring me some?” He pouts. You nod your head ‘yes’, chuckling softly as you look down, “I will but, I don’t think they’ll let me back in if I leave now. Visiting hours are over.” Izuku nods, gulping down those straggler tears.
“I think I might have left it on, so I’ll bring some tomorrow, okay?” He nods again, bringing his right hand to your cheek, thumb gently caressing the delicate skin below your eyes.
“Mr Midoriya, Miss [l/n]. Do you mind if we continue with the general check-up?” You both look at each other before looking back at Dr Kita.
“Of course,” you reply as you move away from Izuku and stand up next to his bed. “Do I have to go now or?”
Dr Kita looks up from his clipboard, “We’ve given you special clearance for tonight. In future, you’ll have to abide by visiting hours.” He’s moved from the foot of the bed to the left side, a distance away from you.
“Visiting hours are from 10am to 8pm. I would advise leaving soon if you’re catching the train back to your apartment. I’m sure you know that it’s not very safe walking around alone at night.” You hum in response.
You look back at Izuku who shakes his head in agreement. He sniffles, “I-I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” You nod, moving closer and leaning over him, placing a small kiss on his lips. Your first in a month. It’s brief but sweet. Just enough to keep you going until tomorrow.
“Stay strong for me, okay?” You say. Izuku smiles back at you.
You pull back and turn towards Dr Kita, “Thank you for all of your help, doctor. I’ll be back here tomorrow. Should I just ask at reception?”
He hums in response and says, "See you tomorrow, Miss [l/n].” You walk past Dr Kita, turning around once your approaching the doors, locking eyes with your Izu before leaving the recovery room.
The trip home is filled with replays of all that had just happened. When you got back, you found that luckily, you had in fact turned the curry off. You turn it back on, following the recipe in your mind to finish it off. Dinner, packing leftovers, dishes, all go by mindlessly. You’re still stuck in a daze by the time you sit in your plush chair in the corner of your room, pulling at your journal. It’s time to talk about it.
these are the links that I used to write this story:
https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/10iiud/amputees_of_reddit_what_was_it_like_to_lose_a/
https://www.quora.com/What-is-it-like-to-lose-a-limb-in-an-accident-and-how-did-you-handle-the-emergency
https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/psychology/cyborg#:~:text=Initially%2C%20a%20cyborg%20was%20described,to%20compensate%20for%20some%20disabilities
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyborg_(DC_Comics)#:~:text=transform%20the%20city.-,Powers%20and%20abilities,speed%2C%20stamina%2C%20and%20flight
https://www.fairviewrehab.com/nursing-care/care-after-amputation/
https://www.cancercouncil.com.au/cancer-information/cancer-treatment/surgery/recovery/hospital-recovery-room/
https://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/definition-amputation
https://my-hero-academia-fanon.fandom.com/wiki/Cybernetic_Arms
https://newsinhealth.nih.gov/2018/08/bionic-movements#:~:text=The%20bionic%20hand%20sends%20signals,hand%20is%20closing%20or%20opening
More Posts from Stargirlygirl and Others
okay this has probably been headcanoned before but I bet shinsou is kinky asf. anything and everything, he's into it. probably keeps a box of sex toys at your place so he do whatever he wants to you however he wants that day. paddles, blindfolds, rope, butt plugs with tails, man has probably got half a sex store in that box just for you.
loves seeing you dressed up in lingerie, especially purple. will definitely spank you if you misbehave. will take you on any surface; bench-top, sink, shower walls, couch, table, floor, vanity, fucking ceiling if he could.
he's giving switch, in my opinion. like, mostly dom but also sub when he wants you to be on top and show him how much you missed him wink wink. definitely a rope bunny and a rigger.
hear me out... he eats up pet play. just a lil like, if you were at a party and got dared to act like a cat, he would go for that so hard. he would pull you onto his lap and tell you to give him kisses. he would find it really cute if you were meowing at him and he would keep calling you kitten until your dare finished. bonus points if you're wearing a collar and cat ears.
he likes making you cry, he likes it when you wake up to him inside of you, he likes marking you up, maybe even taking photos and videos of you when you let him. one thing he's always nervous about though is using his quirk on you when it comes to your intimacy. he's used it a couple times on you, commanding you to suck his cock or to play with yourself. but, he's always worried that he might take things too far and make you do something that you would never consent to.
make it up to you
newlywed!denki kaminari x fem!reader ⋆｡°✩ — nsfw, non-penetrative sex, body worship, thigh riding, gentle femdom + mommy kink, angst, 3.7k words
a/n: if you like newlywed!denki (as much as i do) then you might like this
Your keys jangle as you slip the right one into the lock of your apartment. Twisting your hand to the side, you nudge open the door. Inside, it’s warm from the rays of your sunshine boy and the heater.
But you’re not smiling all giggly as he bounds over to you. You purse your lips together as he throws his arms around you and hugs you tightly, enveloping you in his heat. Your hands press firmly against his clothed chest as you inhale his refreshing scent. You try to push him back, but he groans and tightens his hold on you.
“Denki,” you sigh. You push him back more forcefully this time, and he lets you go. Stepping back, he meets your gaze tentatively as he chews his bottom lip.
He chuckles nervously as he rubs his neck, “Heyyy baby, how are you? How was work?” You raise your brow at him as he curls in on himself under the intensity of your stare. He clears his throat awkwardly, flicking his eyes down to his house slippers.
You scold him, “Don’t give me that, Denki Kaminari. Not after the stunt you pulled this morning. Or should I say last night?” He winces hearing your words (especially his full government name), but you don’t care. You walk past him to your bedroom and set down your bag before throwing open the doors of your wardrobe.
As you take off your blazer, you hear him say, “I was drunk, baby. I didn’t mean it!” You scoff as you throw your blazer on a coat hanger and roughly hang it on the valet rod.
You turn around and yell at him, “You threw up in my car, Denki! And you didn’t even clean it or tell me?!” You’re huffing as you burn daggers into him with your stare. He hovers in the doorway, pouting in the cutest way. The sight ramps up your anger to level 100.
“For fuck’s sake, Denki, that’s the last time I let you use my car for boys’ night. For real, like, you couldn’t throw up before you left? Or at least put the window down and hurl outside my car?” You sigh as you turn back around and fumble with the buttons of your blouse.
You continue reprimanding him, “Seriously, Denki, you’re not some frat boy anymore. I thought that marriage would help you realise that.” You can hear his heart creaking beneath the weight of your argument. All is quiet as you strip off your blouse and bra and throw on a tank top before unzipping your pants. Your husband watches you pull them off your legs with sorrow and regret in his golden eyes.
He mutters, “’M sorry, honey.” He trudges to you slowly, stopping just behind you while you’re tying a bow on your lounge shorts. You slam the doors of your wardrobe shut and start walking to the vanity, but he grabs your wrist and tugs you close to him.
You grumble, “Fuck off.” He shakes his head as he pulls you into another cuddle.
“I’m serious, Denki. Fuck off!” You squirm in his arms, trying to shove him off you, to no avail. You mentally curse that stupid gym membership you got him for his birthday last year.
He murmurs in your ear, “’M really sorry, mommy. I—”
“Don’t you fucking start. Can you just be serious for once?” You grunt. He shakes his head as his palms slide up and down your back.
He mumbles, “I am being serious.” Your sombre boy shifts to rest his forehead against yours, his palms cupping your tense jaw.
He says earnestly, “I’m trying, mama. I am! I’m trying to be a good husband, and I’m sorry that I keep fucking up. I don’t mean to! You know that. I just… I love you. I love you so much and—”
“Denki,” you say, cutting him off. You sigh, “I know you’re trying, but… Denki.” You tilt your head back and gaze at him. He wishes you wouldn’t look at him like that. With all this tightness between your teeth, that furrow in your brow, and hardness in your eyes. He’d do anything to make them go away.
“Please, let me make it up to you. I’ll-I’ll make you feel good, mama! Even better than I usually do, I promise!” He exclaims.
You shake your head and sigh, “Sex doesn’t fix everything, Denki. You’re gonna have to do more than that to account for your poor behaviour.”
He stares at you like you just grew a second head, repeating your words beneath his breath, “Doesn’t fix everything?” He stutters, “Th-then I’ll… I’ll do the dishes. Yea, every day, baby, for the next week.”
You roll your eyes and say, “That’s not good enough.” You wrap your hands around his wrists and pull his warm hands off your jaw. You step around him, pull out the chair to the vanity, and plop down in it. You grit your teeth as you take your hair out of an updo.
Your husband walks over to you and palms the top of your plush chair. He watches you watch yourself in the mirror, braiding your locks.
He says lowly, “I’ll do whatever you want, mommy. Anything to make it up to you. I’ll let you dress me up in a maid costume as I deep clean your car. And I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom for as long as you want. I’ll stay sober; no boys’ night for a while. I-I’ll even wear a condom for you. Anything, baby, just please, give me another chance.” By the end, he’s pouting and staring at you with pleading eyes.
You chuckle as you tie off your braid. “Really? You’ll even wear a condom, huh? Want me to forgive you that badly?” He nods, gnawing at his full lower lip.
He hums and says, “If that’s what you want, mama, then yes, I will.” You suppress your laugh as you nod. You gaze at his reflection in the mirror for a little while, thinking over what kind of punishment seems fit for how much he’s upset you these past few weeks (newlywed life, amirite?).
At last, you say, grinning, “Alright, I’ll take you up on wearing a maid outfit as you clean my car. And I want you to give the alcohol a rest. You can do as you please; see your friends, don’t see them, just stop drinking every week, yea? And I don’t want to see a single one of your filthy ass socks lying around this house, do I make myself clear?”
He nods, “Crystal.” His lean arms snake around your chest as he leans down. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling the sweetness of your perfume. You thread your hand through his silky locks, massaging his scalp as he softly kisses your skin. You hum at the sensation while his arms tighten that little bit more around you.
His lips are so delicate as they trail across your flesh, from your ear lobe to your jaw, and then down your neck to your collarbones. You hiss quietly as he nips at your skin. The sound sends tension rippling throughout his body, and he stops immediately. He kisses the little red spot and mutters an apology against it. You tug at his roots as you tilt your head down. His golden eyes swirl with concern as they stare into yours. You close the distance between you, planting a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.
He shakes his head and whines, “Let me, mama. I need to show you how much I love you.” You chuckle quietly as you nod. He pulls back and stands up before turning your chair around to face him.
Palming the armrests, he leans down again and gently kisses along your cheekbones. Your husband then kisses your eyelids, your jaw, temples, and brows. He kisses down your nose before capturing your lips with his. You sigh into him, allowing yourself to relax beneath his touch.
His hands cup your cheeks once more, the pad of his thumbs stroking your cheeks lightly. You revel in the roughness of his skin against yours, which is much smoother. His hands travel down your neck and squeeze your shoulders while his tongue slides across your bottom lip. You moan, and his tongue slips into your mouth. He explores it slowly, tasting your teeth and the thickness of your cheeks. You grip onto his shirt, drawing him closer to you. His kisses trail from your lips, across your cheek to your hairline.
He whispers into your ear, “Want me to take you to bed, honey?” You hum as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. One of his arms holds your back while the other loops around your knees. He carries you to the plush bed in the centre of the room and sets you down carefully. You sigh as he bunches the fabric of your tank top in his fists. He pulls it off and throws it to the side.
Next, he fingers your waistband and makes the mistake of trying to tug your shorts off without loosening the bow. You laugh at him, stroking the hair back from his eyes as he pouts and undoes the sturdy little knot. He takes off your shorts successfully and caresses your thighs before pulling off your panties, too.
Denki fixes the pillows, so you have more back support when lying beneath him. He starts at your shoulder and kisses down the curves of your muscles. He licks across the bend of your elbow, golden eyes watching your every stuttered intake of breath. He continues down your arm and takes the time to pepper your fingers with kisses, even sucking on your fingertips. You shiver as his tongue laps at your nail bed. You mewl as he works his way back up your arm and moves across to the other.
You’ve never done anything like this before. Even when you and Denki have tender sex, he’s never taken the time to appreciate your body like this. Sure, he knows your folds like the back of his hand, but every inch of your skin? He’s sure about to learn.
You moan as he sucks on your inner arm. He pulls off your reddening flesh, nipping at the spot before kissing up the rest of your arm and beginning his descent to your breasts. He shows them the utmost care. Not a single bite, he kisses them so delicately. He’s obsessed with how soft they are. He sucks on your nipples gently, rolling his tongue over the sensitive peaks before sucking and then licking again.
When he pulls off them, the cold air sets your skin alight, making your hot flesh burn icily. You whine as his tongue slides over your ribcage before peppering soft kisses on the ridges. Your fingers twirl his locks and pull on them as he licks up your tummy from your navel. You coo his name as your back arches. He shushes you, reassuring you that he’s gonna take good care of you before staining your waist and hips with his lips.
Down the contours of your calves and ankles, he showers you with affection. You sigh as he drags his lower lip across your flushed skin, kissing your inner knee and thighs. When his hair tickles your cunt, you take a sharp breath in and steady yourself. Your arousal is gushing from your sopping hole, your clit so swollen and red it’s begging for attention. Sensing your need, he kisses up your folds but never dips into them.
You whine as he stares at you, slowly rolling you onto your stomach. He climbs back up your body, his heat melting into your skin. His skilful fingers undo your braid and brush your hair to the side while his lips work down your shoulder blades and spine.
In the same painstaking way, he memorises every part of you. More often than not, he’s simply caressing you. He’s in awe of your soft, supple flesh. Of the beauty of his wife.
The feeling of his lips against your ass cheeks makes you gasp. They’re so delicate. Denki can’t stop himself from taking a bite of your buns. You cry out as his teeth bite down on the tender flesh. He pulls off, leaving a beautiful mark before nipping along the curve of your ass more gently.
He mumbles into the fat, “So perfect.” You chuckle, feeling an intimate connection between your ass and your husband.
You breathe out, “I thought you liked my tits better, baby.” You cry out as he smacks your ass cheek, revelling in the sight of it rippling and reddening beneath his hand.
He mutters, kissing the spot better, “I like both, mama.” You moan pathetically as he grips your inner thighs and spreads your legs nice n’ wide. He gazes at your cunt for far longer than necessary, licking his lips and trying not to drool at the sight of your dripping pussy.
He whines, “You’re so wet for me, mommy.” You moan as you try to shift your hips back, but his strong grip stops you. His hand slides down the back of your thigh and bends your knee, pushing it forward so that you’re deliciously exposed to him. He shifts so that his chest is against your back, long, wet digits sliding through your folds from your hole to your clit. His other hand is wrapped around your chest as you mewl, back arching most stunningly.
His fingertips circle your clit, making your hips buck. But he keeps changing the pace. You grab his fingers and pull them off your clit as you twist to gaze at him. His golden eyes are wide, and his brows are raised.
He blinks, stunned, before pouting, “W-what’s wrong, mama? Didn’t that feel good?” You hum as you grab his forearm and bring it over your hips, angling his hand between your thighs. You guide his fingers through your folds before rubbing your clit with them, showing him exactly how you want it.
One thing about your husband is that he’s a fast learner concerning intimacy. He craves to please you in every single way possible and has no issue taking commands. At first, you were nervous about telling him how you want things. But now, you live for it.
“Just like that, baby. Right there,” you coo. He groans in your ear, pressing his body against yours harder as he keeps a steady pace on your clit. You can feel his erection through his sweatpants. You moan as you press your hips into his, feeling his bulge right between your ass cheeks.
He grunts, “Mama.” His finger slips into your hole, stretching you out. You moan as you stare at his hand on your pussy, more slick drooling in his palm.
“Take it off, baby. I wanna feel you, too,” you whine. He fingers you slowly, curling his finger so it presses into your gummy walls just right. Your husband mumbles, curses and praises against your ear while feeling the pre-cum oozing from his cock, making a mess in his trunks.
You grind on him, desperate to feel him. He chuckles lowly as he slides his fingers out. They’re coated in your juices, dripping down his wrist as he holds his hand to the light.
“Fuck, mama,” he murmurs, admiring just how wet his wife is for him. He kisses you on the cheek before getting up briefly and stripping off his clothes at the speed of light. Once he’s as bare as you are, he kneels on the bed and hovers at your side. You cup his face with your hand and bring his lips down to yours. You two kiss passionately as his hand slips between your folds once more.
You let go of his cheek, your tongues and shared breaths connecting you two sufficiently. Your hand slides down his body and wraps around his cock. You thumb his slit and spread his pre-cum down his shaft. You jerk him off just the way he likes while he alternates between rubbing your clit and fingering you.
As you draw back from your soul-exchanging kiss, you’re both panting heavily. You rest your foreheads against one another, basking in each other’s presence and pleasure. You moan loudly as he slides a second finger inside you. You whimper his name as his fingertips press hard against that perfect spot. Your grip on his length tightens as you jerk him off faster. He whines in your ear, letting you hear how good you’re making him feel. His sounds make even more slick dribble from your sopping cunt.
Your thighs tense around his hand as he rubs your clit fast, your head spinning from the knot building in your stomach. You nudge his cheek with your nose before kissing him sloppily. His saliva spills down your chin as he slides his hand up your tummy to grab one of your tits. You sigh at the moment of relief.
He murmurs on your lips, “One sec, mama.” You hum, annoyed, as he draws back from you. As he gets off the bed, you grab his forearm. Your brow is creased as you stare at him with big eyes and pouty lips.
You whine, “Where’re you going?”
He chuckles softly, “’M getting the lube, honey.” You chew on your lower lip as his arm slips from your hold. You lie back against the pillows, watching as he grabs the bottle of lube from the cabinet. He climbs back onto the bed, sitting up and resting against the pillows with his legs outstretched. He motions for you to straddle him with his glistening fingers (y’all know what I’m talking about😏). You grab his shoulders for support as you lift your leg and throw it over his, but he grabs your hips and manoeuvres you so that you’re hovering over one of his toned thighs. You gaze at him with confusion in your furrowed brows and tight jaw.
He whispers, “Just trust me, mommy.” You hum as he squirts the clear liquid onto his hands. After rubbing them together, he paints your slicked-up pussy and inner thighs with the lube. Much to your surprise, he then rubs the lube on his thigh, just beneath your frame.
You whine as you watch him, “Baby, what’re you doing?” He shakes his head and throws the bottle to the edge of the bed before grasping your hips and lowering you onto his thigh. You gasp as your skin makes contact. It’s heavenly. And so fucking wet. You mewl his name as he rocks you back and forth on his tense muscles. You stare into his half-lidded golden eyes with your wide ones. You grab his upper arms as you start riding his thigh on your own.
Soon enough, you’re hunched over, your head resting on his shoulder as you alternate between bouncing on and riding his thigh. Your breaths are stuttered, and your skin is coated in sweat. His fingertips dig into the delicate flesh of your hips as your pace becomes sloppier. You tilt your head back, moaning loudly from how hard his muscles are against your soft, puffy clit. You chant his name, quietly revering the man that is your husband as you near your orgasm.
He groans, “Fuck, mommy. You’re riding me so good. Knew you’d like this.” You moan particularly loudly as he starts bouncing you on his thigh even harder than before.
“Look at those tits… and that ass. I swear you have a level 1000 gyatt back th—
“Shut up,” you breathe out as your hand covers his mouth. He licks your palm, causing you to recoil in disgust. He chuckles as you stare at him scoldingly.
He whispers, “Love you, mama.” You hum and kiss him, whimpering against his lips that you love him too; the sound of your slapping skin is the only interruption. When you pull back, he can’t stop staring at you. He’s got hearts in his eyes, obsessed with how sublime you look right now, how you’re all hot and sweaty and whining for your husband.
The fact that he can make you feel this good— that he even has the privilege to do so… He gulps, reminded of just how precious you are to him.
He grunts, “You gonna cum for me, mama?” You nod, biting your swollen lip hard. Little whines escape your throat as your body starts to tremble; your orgasm crashes down on you. You shout as you cum, moaning and swearing loud enough to be heard from down the hall of your apartment complex. His name is on your lips like a prayer as you shake, hot release gushing from your syrup folds onto his equally syrupy thigh. He keeps bouncing you until you’re begging him to stop; your clit is far too sensitive now.
You slump against him, holding him lazily while he rubs your back soothingly. Denki groans, feeling your cum splattered across his skin. Your chest rises and falls with his as you pant, trying to calm down from your high. Minutes pass as he reassures you how well you did. You tilt your head back and place a sleepy kiss on his jaw.
You murmur against the bone, “That felt so good, baby. So, so good.” He hums, the vibration in his throat helping you relax. You sigh as you rest your head on his shoulder.
He chuckles, “You really liked that, huh?” You nod as you gently kiss his neck. He mutters as he pats your back, “Why don’t we take a little break, honey? D’you want some water?” You pull back and stare at him in disbelief.
You mumble, “The fuck you mean ‘little break’? We’re not done yet?” He shakes his head, laughing at how adorable you look when you’re mad.
“Just getting started,” he says, grinning. He leans down and kisses your salty forehead before murmuring against it, “’M gonna make you cum so many times tonight, baby, you’ll still be feeling my tongue all over your pussy tomorrow.”
And oh, does he deliver on that promise…
okay so i'm not a lads acc but holy truck this was a masterpiece. everything like the dialogue was written so well. the characterisation, the tension, the imagery. all of the interactions felt so natural and dynamic.
need this on my page so i can re-read it a bajillion times!
petty | sylus
synopsis : You thought a harmless prank—some red dye, a little glitter—would be funny. But Sylus, your cold, calculating boyfriend, doesn’t get mad. He gets petty. Now your closet’s organized by emotional damage, your coffee machine brews herbal tea, and your Evol is locked by a containment cuff—right after he kissed you breathless and chained you to a console like it was foreplay. Meanwhile, Luke’s set the kitchen on fire, Kieran’s crying over decaf, and Sylus just smiles like he’s already won. Which okay, he already did.
content : fluff, chaos, N109 Zone au, just sylus being petty af, imagine: rom-com and slapstick comedy
writer’s note : i had this sitting in my drafts for so long LOL
You have no idea how you ended up here.
It was just a silly prank. One you decided—no, more like bullied—into pulling on Sylus.
Luke had that look in his eye, Kieran had that grin, and between the two of them, you’d made a series of very poor decisions.
It started out harmless.
Overheating the dryer until his clothes shrunk just enough to make him glare at his reflection in irritation.
Switching out his toothpaste with mint chip ice cream—cold, foamy, oddly sweet.
Juvenile, yes, but survivable.
But then Luke, bored of mild chaos, decided to up the ante.
Red dye. In Sylus’ face wash.
You should’ve stopped him.
You really should’ve.
Now you’re backed up against the cold steel wall of the corridor outside your shared quarters.
Sylus stands in front of you, arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. His body radiates heat like he’s just stepped out of hell itself.
And his face?
Still damp.
Streaked red.
A slow, uneven flush blooming down his jaw and neck like a war paint disaster.
You press your lips together to stifle the laugh climbing your throat.
Not because you’re afraid—well, okay, maybe a little—but because if you so much as snort, you know he’ll make you regret it.
He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you.
That unreadable, razor-edged stare.
Like he’s measuring the weight of your existence against the trouble you’re worth.
“Sylus,” you start, trying for innocent. “It was—”
“A prank,” he finishes for you, voice low, smooth. The kind of calm that usually precedes mass destruction. “I gathered.”
You open your mouth again, but the words die as he leans in closer, the tips of his silver hair grazing your forehead. His breath ghosts against your cheek.
“You find this funny?” he murmurs, voice like smoke and ice. “My face. My dignity.”
You hold your breath, eyes flicking up to meet his.
“I mean,” you squeak, “you do pull off crimson rather well…”
He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile.
He just tilts his head slightly, gaze trailing down to your lips.
“I see,” he says.
You swallow.
“Sylus?”
He shifts forward, just enough that your bodies nearly touch, and then—click.
You glance down. He’s handcuffed your wrist to the pipe behind you.
One-handed. Effortless.
“What—wait, Sylus!”
He steps back, unhurried, brushing red-streaked water off his jaw with the back of his hand. He looks so composed now, it’s almost unfair.
“I’ll be in the lab,” he says casually, already turning away. “Don’t worry. Luke and Kieran are next. But you…”
He pauses at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder, “You can stay there and think about what you’ve done.”
“Sylus.”
“I’ll come back when I’ve decided how to retaliate.”
Your jaw drops. “You’re not serious—!”
He disappears around the corner, his footsteps fading.
You stare after him, wrist tugging against the cuff. “You petty, beautiful menace!”
And somewhere down the hall, you swear you hear him laugh.
You struggle against the pipe for a solid five minutes.
Nothing.
Sylus had apparently decided that if he was going to cuff you, it would be with reinforced titanium-grade handcuffs.
Because of course he would.
You’re still trying to twist your wrist free when two familiar figures round the corner, arguing loudly.
“—I told you he’d murder us, Kieran.”
“No, you said he’d probably murder us. I figured we had a 20% survival rate if we ran fast enough—oh.”
They freeze when they see you.
You, handcuffed to a wall like some criminally adorable hostage. Hair slightly tousled.
A vein twitching in your temple.
Luke whistles low. “Damn. He actually cuffed you?”
“What was your first clue, Sherlock?” you snap, yanking on the cuff. “The literal metal restraint on my wrist or the rage in my eyes?”
Kieran winces. “Hey, hey, don’t be mad at us—we didn’t put the dye in the face wash.”
“You told Luke to do it!”
Luke, affronted, points at Kieran. “You told me you cleared it with her!”
“I said it would be funny! That’s not the same thing!”
You groan and let your head thump back against the wall. “I’m going to kill both of you. Slowly. With a spoon.”
Luke bites back a grin. “I don’t think Sylus is done with you yet.”
“Un-cuff me before I scream loud enough to summon the Onychinus agents.”
Kieran rummages through his pockets. “You think he left a key?”
“Oh yeah,” you deadpan. “I’m sure Sylus, the most paranoid man alive, just happened to leave a key to his special-grade cuffs on me.”
Luke pulls something out of his jacket and grins. “Good thing I have my trusty lockpick set.”
You squint at him. “Why do you have that?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
Kieran leans in beside him, watching like this is a group project. “Careful, if you scratch her wrist again she’s going to throw you into traffic.”
“I will throw you into traffic,” you mutter.
“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Kieran beams.
“Touch me and I’ll break your fingers.”
Luke finally clicks the lock open with a satisfying snap. Your wrist comes free, and you stretch it, rubbing the sore spot with a glare that could melt steel.
“Thanks,” you say flatly. “Now run.”
“Run?” Luke blinks.
“Yes. Run. Before he comes back.”
The overhead lights flicker.
The three of you freeze.
“…That’s him, isn’t it?” Kieran whispers.
You look up slowly, the temperature in the corridor dropping by a few ominous degrees.
“I think he’s coming to check if I’ve learned my lesson,” you murmur.
Luke’s already halfway down the hall. “NOPE. I’M OUT—”
Kieran grabs your hand and drags you after him. “We live in fear now. This is our life.”
Behind you, the sound of measured footsteps echoes through the corridor.
And somewhere between breathless laughter and panic, you realise, this isn’t over.
Not even close.
You bolt through the corridor with Luke and Kieran like you’re fleeing an exploding reactor.
“He’s definitely tracking us,” you gasp.
“He has cameras everywhere!” Kieran hisses. “We’re screwed!”
You dive into the living quarters and slam the door shut behind you. Luke immediately ducks behind the couch. Kieran throws himself dramatically into the pantry.
You stand there for a beat, hands on your hips.
“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been involved in.”
“You’re welcome,” Luke’s muffled voice replies from under a throw blanket that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide his legs.
You sigh, yank open a cabinet, and cram yourself inside.
There’s a broom, a vacuum hose, and a suspicious packet of cookies you’re pretty sure expired last year.
“Kieran,” you call through the cabinet slats. “Are you eating?”
“…No,” he says with his mouth full.
“I swear to every celestial body—”
Footsteps. Slow. Measured.
Near.
All three of you freeze like a trio of amateur criminals hiding from a prison warden.
The door creaks open.
You hold your breath.
Nothing.
No words. No movement.
Just the sound of the wind outside the window and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.
“I know you’re hiding,” Sylus calls out. Calm. Even. Like he’s enjoying this.
Luke lets out a soft, wheezing squeak from under the blanket.
You slap your palm over your mouth.
Kieran drops a packet of crackers and panics. “Shit, he’s bluffing! He’s bluffing!”
You burst out of the cabinet. “He’s NOT bluffing!”
All three of you scramble again, crashing into each other like some bootleg spy movie.
Kieran ends up tangled in curtain strings, Luke slams into a chair, and you leap over the kitchen counter and miss, landing with a loud thud.
You’re wheezing on the floor when Sylus walks in.
Unbothered. Unhurried.
Looking like an avenging angel with red-streaked remnants still faintly staining his jawline.
He folds his arms and surveys the disaster with something suspiciously close to amusement.
He walks past Kieran, still suspended in the curtains like a very dumb chandelier.
Past Luke, now pretending to be unconscious on the floor.
Past you.
He doesn’t say a word.
Not a glare. Not a threat. Not even a smirk.
Just a quiet, “Clean up after yourselves,” as he heads into his study.
The door shuts with a soft click.
“…That’s so much worse than yelling,” you whisper.
Kieran groans. “He’s plotting. He’s going to take us out one by one.”
Luke peeks from behind the couch. “He knows we’re scared. That’s why he’s letting us marinate.”
“I hate both of you so much right now,” you mutter, collapsing into the nearest armchair.
Kieran flops beside you and steals the remote. “We should lie low. Maybe bake him something.”
“Cookies fix everything,” Luke nods solemnly.
You glare at them both. “If I die, I’m haunting you in shifts.”
—•
It takes you two hours to gather the courage.
Two hours of Luke stress-eating cereal straight from the box while Kieran googled “how to tell if your boyfriend is planning your murder.”
Two hours of internal debates and spiraling scenarios, most of which ended with your disappearance and Sylus calmly denying any knowledge of your existence.
So now you’re standing in front of his office door like you’ve come to face a firing squad.
You raise your hand, hesitate, lower it again.
Then knock. Once. Softly.
“Come in,” comes his voice, smooth as always.
You open the door slowly. He’s seated behind his desk, glasses on, sleeves rolled up, looking for all the world like a man deep in some technical report.
But you know better.
His eyes flick up to you—and stay there.
“I brought tea,” you say weakly, holding up the mug like a peace offering. Or a shield. “And… a cookie. But Luke sat on it.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches you, unreadable.
You inch forward, placing the mug on the corner of his desk. “Look, I didn’t know about the dye. I mean I did, but I didn’t think he’d actually—okay, no, that’s a lie. I thought it would be funny.”
Silence.
“I was wrong.”
Still nothing.
You shift awkwardly, gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
Finally, he sets his pen down and leans back slightly, eyes still fixed on you.
Then, just when the tension starts to crack your spine.
A small smile.
A smile.
Sharp. Amused.
Dangerous.
“It’s okay,” he says.
You blink. “It… is?”
He nods. “Of course.”
Too easy. Way too easy.
You narrow your eyes. “You’re not mad?”
“Not at all.”
“Really?”
“Mm.”
You inch back a step. “Why does that sound like a trap?”
His smile widens—just a fraction. “I said it’s okay. That’s all.”
You stare at him. He stares right back, like he can hear every thought racing through your brain. Like he’s already playing the long game and you just stepped into it without even knowing.
“Right,” you mutter. “Okay. Cool. Um. I’ll go now.”
You turn on your heel and walk—more like run—out of the room.
The moment the door shuts behind you, you press your back against it, eyes wide.
“He’s going to destroy me.”
And from behind the door, faint and unmistakably amused, comes the sound of Sylus quietly sipping his tea.
You return to the living quarters with the kind of haunted expression usually reserved for horror movie survivors.
Luke looks up from the couch, one leg slung over the backrest like a human pretzel.
Kieran’s on the floor with a blanket cape, eating cereal with a fork.
“Are we dead?” Kieran asks between mouthfuls.
“Not yet,” you mutter.
Luke raises an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“He smiled at me.”
Both twins flinch.
“Was it… the smile?” Luke asks, lowering his voice.
“The ‘I know exactly where your corpse would never be found’ smile?” Kieran whispers.
You throw yourself onto the couch and groan into a pillow. “No. It was worse. It was the ‘It’s okay’ smile.”
Luke gasps dramatically. “No. He went full passive-aggressive Zen reaper?”
“He said it like it was fine. Like I’m fine. Like life is fine. Nothing is fine.”
Kieran crawls up beside you. “That’s psychological warfare. He’s gonna lull you into a false sense of security. Then, boom—next week your toothbrush explodes.”
“I wouldn’t even be mad,” you say into the pillow. “I’d respect the commitment.”
Luke drops beside you, flinging a cushion over your back like a blanket. “You know what this means, right?”
“That I need to sleep with one eye open?”
“No,” he says solemnly. “It means we go deeper.”
You lift your head slowly. “What?”
“He’s playing mind games. So we play worse mind games.”
“I’m sorry, did you hit your head on the stupid stick this morning?”
Kieran grins. “He’s got fear. But we have unpredictable chaos. Sylus doesn’t know how to handle us when we’re not even handling ourselves.”
“Oh, he knows. He just hasn’t decided which part of the house he’ll burn down first.”
Luke leans in. “Okay, hear me out. What if… next prank, we frame someone else?”
“Kieran,” you snap, “Luke is spiraling again.”
Kieran slurps his cereal louder. “Let him spiral. I want to see where it goes.”
You sit up, rubbing your temples. “You two are the reason I’m probably going to end up in some Sylus-designed containment cube labeled ‘Idiot No. 3.’”
Luke perks up. “That means he already made one for you.”
You chuck a pillow at his face. “I hate you.”
Kieran laughs so hard he chokes on his cereal.
And somewhere in the walls—behind silent security panels—you know Sylus is watching.
Letting you run your mouths.
Letting you think you’re safe.
Which is so much worse.
—•
Dinner is suspiciously… normal.
Too normal.
The lighting is warm. The dining room pristine.
The food? Already served and plated like a five-star meal—elegant, balanced, perfectly portioned.
Which is already unsettling, because Sylus doesn’t cook. He commands kitchens into order.
But tonight, he did everything himself.
You sit stiffly at the table, trying not to choke on the silence.
Kieran sits across from you, eyes darting from his fork to Sylus like he’s waiting for the plate to detonate. Luke hasn’t even touched his food.
Which says a lot, because Luke once ate nachos that had been on fire.
Sylus, meanwhile, is the picture of grace.
Calm, composed, every movement deliberate as he cuts into his food with a quiet snick of silverware.
“How’s the meal?” he asks lightly.
You all jump a little.
“It’s great!” Kieran blurts. “So great. Best thing I’ve ever had. Better than oxygen.”
You nudge your plate with the fork. “Um. What exactly is this?”
Sylus smiles—just enough to show it’s a trap. “Roasted pepper-glazed poultry with herb foam.”
“…Foam?” Luke whispers. “Like… bubbles?”
Sylus turns to him. “Yes. But gourmet.”
Luke nods solemnly. “Tastes expensive.”
You take a careful bite. It tastes incredible, which only makes things worse.
Sylus never does anything without intent. You feel like each bite is a move in a game you didn’t know you were playing.
“Is that saffron?” Kieran asks.
Sylus doesn’t look up. “Would I use saffron so early in the week?”
Kieran panics. “No! Obviously not. What a stupid question. Forget I said it. I never even heard of saffron.”
You sip your water. Pause. Sip again.
“Why does the water taste like mint?”
Luke sniffs his glass. “Mine tastes like fear.”
Sylus hums. “I thought I’d try infusing it. Cleansing properties. Refreshing.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re being nice.”
He looks at you. “Am I not allowed to be?”
“Not like this. You’re being suspiciously serene.”
Luke whispers to Kieran, “He’s baking the tension. Like a soufflé of dread.”
Kieran whispers back, “I’m scared to chew too loudly.”
Sylus finishes his plate, sets his utensils down with the softest clink, and dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t worry. I’m not angry.”
You all freeze.
“I already told you,” he says, folding his hands neatly, “It’s okay.”
You grip the edge of the table.
“No, see, when you say that, it sounds okay, but it feels like I’m about to get smothered in my sleep with a silk pillow.”
Sylus smiles, serene as a saint. “You wound me.”
“Oh my god,” Kieran mutters. “He wants us to feel safe.”
“That’s when he’ll strike,” Luke hisses.
Sylus stands, slow and elegant. “I’ve had a long day. You three can clean up.”
And with that, he walks off—leisurely, utterly calm—leaving behind his perfectly empty plate and three very nervous idiots still staring at their forks like they might be poisoned.
“I think he put lavender in the bread,” Luke says hollowly.
“That’s a threat,” Kieran nods.
You don’t speak. You just slowly lower your fork onto your plate and say, voice soft with realisation.
“We’re already losing.”
—•
It starts the next morning.
Small things.
You wake up and stumble bleary-eyed into the bathroom, only to find your toothbrush… gone. In its place is a child’s pink glittery toothbrush with a tiny bow on the handle and a smug little unicorn printed across it.
You stare at it.
It stares back.
“…Sylus.”
You brush anyway. Because fear is temporary, but oral hygiene is forever.
Down the hall, you hear a scream. Luke.
You race to his room, bursting in just in time to see him holding up a shirt—his favorite shirt—now three sizes too small and bright neon orange.
“He sabotaged the laundry!” Luke wails. “It looks like a highlighter threw up on it!”
Kieran stumbles in a moment later, face pale. “Okay. You know the coffee machine?”
You all pause.
“…What about it?” you ask warily.
“I pressed ‘brew’ and it played classical music. Loudly. Very loudly. And then dispensed chamomile tea.”
Luke gasps. “Decaf?”
Kieran nods. “Herbal.”
You all stand there in silence, the full horror of that registering.
“Okay,” you say slowly, “He’s escalating. This is psychological warfare disguised as hospitality.”
Luke grabs your shoulders. “We have to go off-grid.”
You shake him off. “We live in his grid. He built the grid.”
Kieran paces. “Okay. Okay. So he’s playing the long game. Fine. We stay strong. We don’t break.”
You return to your room to get dressed, trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy.
Your closet is empty.
No. Not empty.
Reorganized.
Everything is sorted by color, occasion, emotional state, and the lunar cycle.
There are even handwritten labels.
LUNAR-ALIGNED NIGHTWEAR.
MILDLY ANNOYED LOUNGE SETS.
IF YOU MUST INTERACT WITH PEOPLE.
You stare.
It’s… kind of impressive.
Still terrifying.
Later that day, your comm device pings with a message.
Hope the toothbrush is to your liking. Unicorns are symbols of purity. Thought it was fitting. —S.
You don’t respond. You can’t.
You sit there in silence, chewing your unsatisfying herbal tea and wondering how one man could be so elegant and so unhinged at the same time.
Back in the kitchen, Luke is attempting to pick the lock on the pantry door—now password protected and voice activated.
Kieran sits on the floor, whispering sweetly to the coffee machine in the hopes it will forgive him.
And all the while, somewhere deep in his office, Sylus watches the surveillance feed with a slight, satisfied smile.
Checkmate? Not yet.
But the pieces were moving.
And he was always ten steps ahead.
—•
It’s late.
Too late for anyone else to be awake. The halls are quiet, dimly lit, the kind of silence that feels intentional.
You creep into the kitchen, determined to retrieve your emergency stash of chocolate hidden behind the vitamin supplements Sylus refuses to acknowledge.
You’ve earned this.
After a day of psychological warfare and sentient appliances, you deserve sugar and solitude.
But the moment you open the cabinet, you hear it.
“Looking for something?”
You jump, nearly drop the jar, and spin around.
Sylus leans casually against the doorframe. Half in shadow. White shirt slightly unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled. Watching you like you’re the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.
You swallow. “Just… needed a snack.”
He hums, low and thoughtful, stepping into the room. “You always get hungry when you’re anxious.”
“I’m not anxious.”
“Of course you’re not.”
He steps closer. Not fast. Not threatening.
Just… there.
Slowly closing the distance until he’s in your space. His eyes flick down to the jar in your hands, then back to you.
“You’ve been quiet today,” he murmurs.
You shrug, heart in your throat. “You’ve been… rearranging my life like an episode of The Big Bang Theory.”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
“You should be grateful. I improved your morning routine, your closet, and your toothpaste. Not many people get this level of attention from me.”
“You replaced my shampoo with glitter gel.”
“I thought you liked shimmer.”
You glare. “Okay, what is this? Revenge lite? Psychological torment with a smile?”
He tilts his head, eyes glittering with that infuriating calm. “Do you think I’d waste my time with petty revenge?”
You hesitate. “…Yes?”
He chuckles. “Fair.”
He leans in just slightly—close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the way his gaze flickers to your lips and back with deliberate slowness.
“But here’s the thing,” he says softly. “I’m not doing this because I’m angry.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then what is this?”
His voice drops lower, velvet and ice. “This is a warning.”
You blink. “A warning?”
He raises a brow. “You see, I’m not interested in getting even. I’m not even interested in winning.”
He leans in fully now, mouth near your ear, voice like silk dragged over steel.
“I’m interested in reminding you… that you don’t play games with someone who invented the board.”
Your breath catches.
Then he steps back. Casual.
Smiling.
Completely composed, like he didn’t just dismantle your spine with a whisper.
“Goodnight,” he says smoothly, already turning to leave.
“Sylus—”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes cool, mouth curved in that infuriatingly perfect smirk.
“Sleep well, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”
And then he’s gone, leaving you in the kitchen, heart pounding, chocolate jar forgotten in your hands.
You stare at the door, then mutter to yourself:
“Okay. Yep. We’re all going to die.”
—•
You don’t sleep.
Not really.
Not after that.
You toss. Turn.
Stare at the ceiling.
Replay his words on a loop in your mind.
You don’t play games with someone who invented the board.
You shouldn’t be thinking about the way he said it. Or the way he’d leaned in—close enough to smell your shampoo, the glitter one, traitorous and lemon-sweet.
Or how his voice had dipped low like he wanted to taste the words.
But you are.
And it’s driving you insane.
You last until just before sunrise.
Then you march down the hall in bare feet and defiance, fully intending to demand an end to this madness.
Maybe yell. Maybe shake him.
Definitely not… whatever this fluttering in your chest is.
You stop outside his office.
The door is open.
He’s seated at the far end, back to you, reading something on a tablet. He doesn’t look up when you enter, but he says, “You’re up early.”
Your jaw tightens. “You planned that.”
“I plan everything.”
You walk in, arms crossed. “The glitter. The water. The closet. The toothbrush. You knew it would get in my head.”
He finally turns in his chair, tablet abandoned. “And yet… you came to me.”
You stare at him.
He stares back.
It’s silent.
That heavy, brittle kind of silence where something has to break.
“You’re impossible,” you say quietly.
He tilts his head. “You’re the one who dyed my face red.”
You blink. “That wasn’t me! That was Luke!”
“But you knew.” He stands now, slow and deliberate, each step toward you heavier than the last. “And you laughed.”
“That was after the shock wore off.”
He stops in front of you, so close your breath hitches.
“You like testing me,” he says, almost gently.
Your voice is soft. “You like watching me squirm.”
His lips curve. “Only when you’re cornered.”
Your heart kicks up. “You don’t scare me.”
“No?” he murmurs, leaning in. “Then why do you look like you’re about to run?”
“I’m not—”
He reaches out—slow, precise—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your skin like a dare.
You forget how to breathe.
“You know what the real game is?” he says, voice low enough to curl around your spine. “It’s not about revenge. Not anymore.”
You stare at him, pulse racing.
“It’s about seeing how long we can keep pretending this tension is just about pranks.”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out.
He leans in closer, mouth inches from yours. “So go ahead,” he whispers. “Run. Or…”
His breath brushes your skin.
“…stop pretending.”
And in that moment, the air between you threatens to collapse entirely.
Your heart is hammering.
You can hear it—feel it—each thud echoing through your ribs like a countdown.
But nothing moves. Not him. Not you.
Just that impossible closeness and the weight of everything left unsaid pressing in like gravity.
Sylus doesn’t touch you again.
He doesn’t need to.
He’s right there, his presence overwhelming in its stillness, in the way his eyes never leave yours. Not even to blink.
Not even for air. It’s like he’s daring you to look away first.
But you don’t.
You can’t.
The tension is a live wire between you, buzzing, pulsing, dangerously taut.
You could lean in.
He could close the distance. Just one breath more.
One slip.
One break in control.
And everything would unravel.
But neither of you moves.
Because this isn’t about the kiss.
It’s about the pause before it.
The ache of proximity. The heat of restraint.
The mutual, wordless recognition that something’s changed, tilted—irrevocably—but no one wants to name it yet.
His voice, when it comes, is almost a whisper. “Still not scared?”
You swallow, your voice quieter still. “Should I be?”
He leans in just enough for your foreheads to almost touch. “Terrified.”
And there it is again—that exquisite push and pull. That dangerous promise wrapped in affection, mischief, and a power you’ll never quite untangle.
You feel the breath leave your lungs. “Then why haven’t you done anything?”
Sylus doesn’t smile this time. Not quite.
Instead, his gaze drops—briefly—to your lips, then lingers there.
“Because I like this,” he says.
You blink. “What?”
“This moment,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “Where you’re still trying to pretend you have the upper hand.”
Your pulse stutters.
“And when I finally take it from you,” he continues, “you’ll know it wasn’t by force.”
His eyes lift back to yours—slowly, intently.
“It’ll be because you gave it.”
Your breath hitches.
And still, he doesn’t move.
Not forward. Not back. Just there.
Waiting.
Like he can stay in this moment forever, balanced at the edge of something dangerous and devastating.
Just to watch you fall first.
He’s still watching you.
Still waiting.
Like he’s reading your every thought, every twitch of hesitation, every part of you that wants to lean in and the part that still clings to the illusion of control.
You don’t speak.
You just look at him.
And that’s all it takes.
Because Sylus moves with the precision of someone who’s already planned this moment ten steps ahead.
One hand rises—fingers brushing your jaw, your cheek, slow as silk.
The other curls gently around your waist, pulling you forward, not forcefully, but with the promise of no escape.
You barely get the chance to gasp before his mouth captures yours.
It’s not a gentle kiss.
It’s deliberate. Consuming.
Like he’s reminding you exactly who you’ve been playing games with.
There’s heat, yes, but more than that—there’s command.
The way his lips move against yours, the way his hand tilts your chin just so, the way your breath disappears entirely beneath his—all of it says, you’ve lost.
And god, you let him.
Your hands curl into his shirt, trying to hold on—anchor yourself.
But he deepens the kiss and everything tilts with it.
The pressure of his body, the taste of him, the sound you make without meaning to—it all blends together in something dangerous.
And then, you feel it.
A faint, thrumming pulse in the air.
A crackle of invisible tension winding around your wrists.
You pull back just barely, lips parted, dizzy. “What—”
Too late.
Energy winds up your arms like silken thread—cool, weightless, until it suddenly binds.
A shimmer of red-black tendrils coils around your wrists, tugging them behind your back, smooth as liquid steel.
Your breath catches. “Sylus—?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
He rests his forehead against yours, breathing steady, unbothered. “You like playing with fire,” he murmurs, voice low and calm. “But you forget—I am the fire.”
With a flick of his fingers, the energy coils tighten. Your arms are pulled behind you, secured to the low railing of the console desk behind you—elegant, efficient, inescapable.
Then, as if that weren’t enough—he slides a metal cuff into place around your right wrist.
You freeze the second it locks.
You know that cuff.
Dull black, sleek. Lined with tech that silences Evol abilities like a mute button pressed against your skin.
It hums to life with a faint click.
And suddenly, you’re still.
Held.
Caged.
Disarmed.
Your eyes widen. “That’s—”
“—the containment cuff from Tartarus, yes,” he finishes, calmly brushing your hair from your face. “You didn’t think I’d forget to prepare for retaliation, did you?”
You stare at him. “You kissed me just to—?”
He tilts your chin up again, eyes sharp, amused, infuriatingly tender.
“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he says. “Cuffing you was just… a bonus.”
Your mouth opens in protest, but he leans in again, this time slower, deliberate, brushing his lips over yours like a threat.
“Now,” he whispers, “let’s see how long you can behave… without your tricks.”
Then he steps back, leaving you bound to the desk, breathless and flushed, completely and utterly at his mercy.
And he smiles.
Not the cold, amused smile from before.
Something darker. Possessive. Knowing.
“You started this,” he says, voice velvet. “Now you get to see how I finish it.”
You tug against the energy binding your wrists. It doesn’t budge.
The cuff hums faintly at your pulse point, Evol completely silenced.
He stands before you, not gloating—no, that would be too easy.
Too human. He just watches.
Calm. Composed.
Like a man who could undo you in a thousand ways and hasn’t even begun.
“Comfortable?” he asks, voice like poured velvet.
You narrow your eyes. “This is so far beyond revenge.”
“Is it?” he muses, brushing a thumb under your chin. “You did challenge me. Repeatedly. In public. With unicorns.”
You glare. “You’re enjoying this.”
He leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “Immensely.”
And then—crash.
Followed by a shout.
And another crash.
You both freeze.
Sylus exhales, long-suffering, and turns his head just as the door to the control room swings wide open.
Luke bursts in, holding a smoking toaster. “Okay! Who set the oven to incinerate? I was making waffles—”
He stops.
Stares.
Kieran skids in behind him, carrying a fire extinguisher. “We may or may not have caused a minor electrical—”
Also stops.
Stares.
The three of you hold in silence.
You, flushed, cuffed, and restrained against the desk.
Sylus, standing in front of you with the casual elegance of a villain who’s definitely in charge.
Luke, blinking rapidly.
Kieran, slowly lowering the extinguisher.
“Oh my god,” Luke whispers. “Did we walk in on a—”
“It’s not what it looks like,” you bark.
Kieran’s already backing out. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”
Sylus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. He just looks over his shoulder at them and says, calm as ever.
“Leave. Before I make it permanent.”
Luke raises both hands, stepping back. “Okay! Yep. Carry on. Nothing to see. Just… us. Not here.”
Kieran salutes. “We were never here.”
They vanish.
The door slams.
You exhale through your nose. “I hate them.”
“You encouraged them,” Sylus replies.
“I was peer pressured!”
He hums, reaching for your jaw again, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You always have an excuse.”
“I wasn’t the one who turned revenge into a bondage scene—”
He cuts you off with a low chuckle. “Are you uncomfortable?”
You open your mouth.
Then close it.
Then hiss, “…Yes. In the worst way.”
“Good,” he murmurs, brushing his lips barely—barely—against yours. “Sit in that discomfort. Feel it.”
He steps back again, and your body instinctively leans forward—straining just slightly against the binds.
His smile turns wicked. “That’s one.”
You blink. “One what?”
“One slip.”
You frown. “What is this, a score counter—?”
“Two.”
You shut your mouth. Scowl.
He watches you with open amusement now. “You’re very expressive when you’re trying not to be.”
“Sylus.”
He leans down, gaze inches from yours, voice soft.
“Be good, and I’ll let you go.”
You don’t respond.
His eyes glitter. “Or don’t. I’m patient.”
And he turns to leave. Leaves you there—bound, breathless, and burning.
“Oh my god!” you shout after him. “You’re the worst!”
From down the hall, Luke’s voice echoes faintly, “Is it safe to make waffles again?”
You scream, “NO!”
And Sylus’s laugh—low, dangerous, victorious—follows you like a storm rolling in.
i feel like shoto would be that one kid who's allergic to everything. like that one kid who refuses to eat your bday cupcakes cause he's gluten-free, lactose intolerant, egg-free, peanut-free, wool chafes his skin, and only drinks milk warm.
and shoot me but i think he's got a bit of tism. like a little bit or am i misreading him? obvs like not picking up on social cues n his need for structure and routines. idk not really a hot take but a take.
˗ˏˋ rules and things to know ˎˊ˗
it's simple really, please don't be rude
what posts you can expect: one-shots and stories with a few chapters, headcanons and drabbles, some nsfw (please don't interact if under 18) ⟶ curious about smau and other aus
fandoms: just bnha right now but if there's anything i want to write for, i'll add it here
what i don't want on my blog: any discrimination (racism, sexism, religious, age, etc), misogyny, bullying or harassment of me or in the comment section, anything that hurts anyone else
how often i post: whenever inspired tbh. i always try to edit a few days before posting so i won't be posting daily. maybe once or twice a week depending on what i've got going on
other things to note: i may or may not respond to your requests (sorry!!); i usually write female y/n but i'm exploring gender-neutral as well
their omega
alpha! bakugou, kirishima, denki, sero x omega!fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, 4M1F, reader is not from japan, smau + fic
summary: you are an omega who has been kidnapped for underground auctions. while investigating these auctions, a drunken denki buys you. but you don't end up with one new alpha. you end up with four.
a/n: based on this poll; thank you to everyone who voted! i hope this doesn't disappoint
★ = nsfw
moodboard
chapter one: good purchase
chapter two: touching grass
chapter three: shopping!
chapter four: stray kitty
chapter five: WHO TOLD THE COMMISSION?!?!?!!
chapter six: turmoil
chapter seven: how the tables have turned
★ chapter eight: bathroom shenanigans
★ chapter nine: ruined leggings
chapter ten: birthday boy
★ chapter eleven: i wanna build a nest, suki!
epilogue
their omega
જ⁀➴ chapter nine: ruined leggings
alpha! bakugou, kirishima, denki, sero x omega!fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — nsfw, handjob + blowjob, kinda femdom, kiri's rutting, bit of a blood kink, emphasis on consent and boundaries, smau + fic, 4.2k words
m.list
a/n: texts to eiji from your pov + '🌽⭐️s' gc from denki's pov + on my femdom campaign + no, omega's aren't like snakes + reader mentions stress around maintaining her appearance
fic underneath smau
also i give zero fucks about how humungous his cock is like… idfc if it’s the girth of a soda can and the length of a truck. i don’t need it that big and i don’t think that's a topic i’ll really be discussing unless the fic is specifically focused on size kink. average cocks are okay ladies and twinks and everyone in-between!
You’re at the grocery store in the snack aisle. Eijiro pushes the shopping cart as all real men do. He stands behind you as you look at all the snacks on the shelf.
You turn to gaze at him and say, “There’s so many. Which ones do you wanna get?”
“Get whichever you like, baby,” he says as he smiles at you gently. You nod and turn back around, focusing on your snack selection. Somehow, the household has already finished the bajillion boxes of pocky Hanta bought for you during his rut. So, you grab a couple of boxes of your favourite flavours and some others you know the boys like. You walk down the aisle, searching for anything familiar.
Eijiro watches as you pick up a bag of rice crackers and turn them over. He finds your curiosity heart-warming. It makes him relax, and he gets lost in his admiration of you.
And, of course, his rut is not making it any better. He wants to wrap you up in his arms, hold you tight, and not let you go until everything returns to normal. He’s so absorbed in his thoughts he doesn’t realise you’re calling out to him until you rest a hand on his shoulder.
“Eiji,” you pout. “Everything okay?” He stares at you dumbly, seeming to wake up from his daze.
He nods frantically and stutters, “Y-yea yea baby, I’m fine. Is that all you want?” You hum in response and walk down the aisle. His red eyes latch onto the holy sight of your rounded buns in those leggings. It makes him gulp nervously. He tries to tear his gaze away, but he can’t. Not when you’re walking so far in front of him, looking so delicious.
When you get to the checkout, you start piling the snacks onto the conveyor belt. As you bend over to reach your pocky, Eijiro looks down. He swears he doesn’t mean to! But good lords, does he need to get out of this grocery store and get you out of those leggings.
You put your pocky on the belt as it moves and greet the shop assistant. You look back at your alpha as he stiffly pays for the snacks and grabs the bags, not letting you carry a single one, of course.
On the ride home, he’s very quiet. Once you pull up to your home, you notice how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel from his white knuckles. He turns off the engine and just before he gets out, you place a hand on his bicep.
“Eijiro,” you say gently. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you feeling alright?” He glares at the dashboard with a tense jaw. He’s clenching it so hard you can see the veins popping out. You lean over to place your other hand on his cheek but he grabs your wrist mid-air.
He turns his head rigidly and says through tight teeth, “Please, y/n. I’m fine.” You whine at his harsh-sounding words. You nod and draw your hands back, getting out of the car. The boot pops open and you walk to the back of the car. You lift one of the shopping bags out but Eijiro’s already beside you, prying it from your hands.
“Go inside,” he says coldly. Much more coldly than he intended to. You hum-whine in response and let go of the bag. You power walk up the driveway, eager to give him some space. As you step inside, you kick off your sneakers and run up to the entrance hall. You head to the bathroom and freshen yourself up before going to the kitchen.
Entering, you see Eijiro putting the snacks away. You come behind him and help him unpack the snacks. He gazes at you with a creased brow and tight jaw every so often. Because, unfortunately for him, you’re still in your activewear. It only takes dropping a box of choco pies and you bending over temptingly to pick them up, which drives him over the edge. He snatches the box from your hands and throws it off to the side.
You squeal as he grabs your hips and pulls you into him, smashing his lips on yours. You cup his cheeks and arch your back as his thick, muscular arm encircles your waist. His other hand captures the squishy flesh of your ass. You moan into his lips as he presses his body firmly to yours, his erection flush against your lower tummy.
His sharp teeth graze your bottom lip and gently nip at it, causing you to moan louder. You melt into his hold as his tongue pries your mouth open and takes ownership of it. You move to his rhythm, however he wants it.
The way he dominates you… you know that he’ll keep you safe and make you feel good. Your fingers slip into his gelled-up hair and mess up the locks at the back of his neck. You mewl his name into his lips as both of his hands squeeze your ass.
You’re breathless by the time he pulls away. Spit connects your lips, making your alpha grin as the little strings snap. You look up at him with big eyes as you pant. He licks his lips and gently kisses you from the corner of your mouth to your hairline.
He whispers, “Sorry, baby. I just—”
You cut him off with a hum. “No,” you breathe out. “It’s okay. I understand.” You smile as you brush your nose against his ear lovingly.
He chuckles low in your ear, “No, baby. I don’t think you understand.”
You hum and challenge him, “What don’t I understand?” You pull back so that you can see his face. With his eyes on you, you look down, gesturing to the bulge pressing into you.
He clears his throat and says, “What you don’t understand is that you shouldn’t wear these tight fuckin’ leggings when I’m rutting. I’m like a fuckin’ predator, right now.”
You giggle, “Tell me something I don’t know.” You tilt your head to the side sweetly, encouraging him to go on. Eijiro looks away from you and takes a deep breath. As his kind eyes settle on yours again, he leans down and presses his lips back on yours.
This time, you kiss tamely. His large hands have finally moved on from your ass cheeks (for now); one now cups the back of your neck while the other rests between your shoulder blades. You moan as he has another soft nibble on your lower lip. The feeling of his sharp teeth biting down into your flesh like that unleashes something primitive within you. A desire that could be yours, or exist solely because you’re an omega.
As the flesh rebounds from his nip, you pull away. Lips ghosting his, you whisper, “Please, do that again.” No further instruction is needed as Eijiro kisses you and bites your lower lip once more. This time, he bites a little bit harder. At the pressure, you moan and grip onto his locks, pulling his head back slightly.
With a groan, he pulls back. His strong hands trail down to your hips and grip them tightly. He draws you impossibly closer so that your forehead rests against the crook of his neck. He lightly kisses the shell of your ear before nibbling down on it. The sensations have you mewling in his hold as his teeth pull on your earlobe before letting it go.
He whispers, “Need you so fuckin’ bad, babygirl.” You hum below his ear. He continues with desperation lacing his voice, “Can I?”
“Can you what?” You mumble into his skin. He sighs and squeezes your hips extra tight. You squeal at the tightness of his grip, calling his name. He lets go and gently rubs your sides up and down.
“Can I have you? Right here, right now?” He asks low as he sways your hips. You don’t respond for a little. As you think, you rest the side of your head down while your hands release his hair and wrap around his shoulders. You can hear the thumping of his heartbeat and feel the eternal heat of his body. You sigh into his embrace, moulding further to his solid frame.
At last, you say quietly, “It depends on what you want. And besides, we’re in the kitchen. Anyone could walk in right now.”
Eijiro chuckles, “They won’t. Well—” He shrugs. “Maybe Denki will. But the others will be repelled, trust me.” You laugh and lift your head off his pec.
“So,” you say as you raise an eyebrow. “What do you want from me?” He grumbles at your words and shakes his head.
He says low, “It’s not a transaction, sweetheart—”
You hum and chime in, “Of course not! I just mean, what would you like to do together?” He groans and thumbs the delicate skin over your cheekbone. He leans down and kisses the spot softly like you’re made of porcelain.
He draws back and says, “Honestly, I wanna bend you over that bench and have my way with you.” He nods to the side, signalling to the kitchen bench. You hum in response.
You take a deep breath in and say, “I don’t really feel like doing that right now.” And it’s true. With how worked up Denki had you just a few days ago, you were not ready for a part two to that. And definitely not one that involved penetrative sex.
Eijiro tries to hide his disappointment, but you feel the slump of his shoulders and see the velvety pink coating his cheeks. You cup his cheeks and pull his forehead down to yours. You close your eyes and enjoy having him close for a moment before breaking the silence, “But I’m happy to do other things like pleasure you.” He hums low.
“And I want you to mark me if you want to?” You say smiling. Your alpha pulls back and nods.
He kisses your forehead and sighs into your skin, “’Course I want to, babe. Is it really okay though, if we just focus on me?” You hum and nod. You smile wide and press a soft kiss to his lips.
You whisper sweetly, “I’d like nothing more.” Your alpha draws you into a passionate kiss. Your hands roam each other’s bodies as he pushes you back against the kitchen bench. You moan into his mouth as his tongue swirls around yours.
Soon, his lips are trailing down your jaw and neck. You bite the side of your lip as he nibbles on your soft skin. It drives you insane with how good it feels. Who knew you’d enjoy his sharp teeth marking you up like this? Your hands grip his shoulders as he sucks a particularly brutal hickey among the constellations left by your whimpering blond. You sigh with pleasure.
Eijiro’s lips brush over your freshly healed mark, and you moan. He drags his tongue across your neck just above the scar, making you squeal excitedly. He nips at the side, relishing in the sound of your pleasure.
Finally, he bites down to mark you. The squelching sound of his razor-sharp teeth piercing your skin has you screaming out in pain. And then, you moan in ecstasy. Your blood overflows and drips down his chin as he quickly pulls away. Your alpha licks his lips quickly before licking your bleeding wound. You chew on your bottom lip as you attempt to stay quiet.
Every lap of that metallic-tasting substance has you gazing at the heavens above. You’re so close. Just one more and you’ll be mated to all of your alphas.
Once your blood begins to clot, Eijiro stops licking and sucking on your mark. He gazes into your eyes and cups your cheeks, whispering to you how well you’re doing right now. You giggle and wipe off the streaks of blood staining his chin and neck.
“Here,” he grunts. He pulls off his shirt and wipes your hands with it (he’s such a fucking gentleman arf arf arf). Tossing it to the side, he asks, “You alright, sweetheart?” You hum and nod as a grin stretches across your lips. You press your forehead to his and you two take a moment to breathe.
His chest heaves with yours as he wraps his arms tight around you and pulls you into his embrace. All is quiet while you bask in each other’s presence.
You hum happily and gaze up at your mate. He grins down at you, and you lean up for a short kiss. You can taste your blood lingering on his lips. But rather than killing the mood, it only adds to it. Tasting the iron, you moan and swoon into him.
He kisses you in a way that’s so consuming and deep yet so tame; lips and tongue intertwine but don’t force. It’s a mutual kind of kiss where both of you are as hungry yet calm as each other. You both know that you have as long as you’d like to explore one another.
You gently push him back by his chest and say, “It’s my turn, okay?” He caresses your cheek while his brows slightly furrow.
“You sure you’re alright? You okay with doing this?” You nod enthusiastically and place the most tender little kiss on the tip of his nose.
You giggle, “Just relax. I know what I’m doing.” With his hands on your hips, he shifts your bodies so that he’s leaning against the kitchen bench. You smirk and stroke his chest and abs up and down.
You meet his eyes as you say, “Did I ever tell you how much I love your home gym?” He chuckles and kisses your cheek.
“Oh yea?” He mutters into your skin. You laugh and lean into him for a moment before drawing back. You stretch up and kiss his sharp jaw, your lips setting his skin on fire. He groans as you kiss down his Adam’s apple and suck on the tip of his collarbone. The little choked-up noises he makes for you make you grin all cocky.
You suck on the spot right below his ear, making him moan. Your hands glide down his firm abs one last time before you grip the waistband of his sweats. He grunts pathetically as you bite his neck harshly while your hand dips and grabs his stiff cock through his briefs.
You moan against his neck as you feel just how fucking hard and leaky his cock is for you right now. You’re embarrassed to admit it, but you love having these very attractive men whining like whores just for you (or is that just me😁).
You slide your hand up and down Eijiro’s length while you continue sucking hickeys all over him. Once you’re content with how purple his neck and shoulders are going to be tomorrow, you get down on your knees. You pull down his sweatpants and squeal as you see his bulge through those dreadful briefs. But you wanna keep them on for now.
Sucking in your bottom lip, you trace the outline of his heavy cock with your fingertips. He whimpers like the little slut he is as you apply pressure to his tip. You continue stroking him through his briefs until he bucks his hips into your hands, desperate for more friction. You remove your hands from him and pull off his your hoodie. You gaze up at him as you unclasp the hooks of your sports bra and slide it down your arms, releasing your breasts.
Your mate groans as you take off his boxers and throw them in a heap with your other clothes. You moan as you gaze at his dripping cock. He’s leaking so much pre-cum, and his head is so red and angry-looking. And his balls look so heavy. You cup them in one hand while your other hand grabs his tip. You squeeze the head of his cock as you lean in and suck on one of his balls.
Seeing you on your knees like this for him has Eijiro groaning and subconsciously clenching the edge of the kitchen bench. You take his other ball in your mouth before pulling back and spitting on his cock.
Grinning, you mix the pre-cum and spit and spread it down his shaft. Once you’re satisfied, you start jerking him off with both hands. Such rouses a delightful array of sounds from your mate.
You look up at him as you say, “Do you like that, baby? Want me to go faster?” He groans and bites his lip as his crimson eyes gaze into yours.
“F-feels so good, princess. Just k-keep doing that for me,” he grunts. You hum in response and continue your pace.
If you’re being honest, the sight of his weeping cock and the sounds of his pants and groans make your panties pool with slick. Right now, his pleasure is everything to you. You’d do anything to keep him moaning and spilling pre-cum. As long as he likes this and feels good, that’s all that matters to you. You do wish though, that you had taken your leggings off before you started jerking him off, as your hands are far too sticky right now to touch anything but your alpha’s cock.
You shift up on your knees and bring his cock to your mouth.
As soon as your lips are wrapped around his leaky tip, Eijiro rasps, “Fuck! Baby, fuck!” Your mouth is so fucking hot and wet it makes his eyes roll back. You suck on the tip before sliding down his shaft.
You take as much of him into your mouth as you can (which admittedly isn’t as much as you thought it would be) before pulling back. With both of your hands wrapped around his base, you bob your head up and down on his cock.
Your mate moans loudly, feeling your searing tongue pressing hard on his underside. The stimulation makes his knees feel weak. But he’s a man, and after resting back on the bench for a minute or two, he stands unsupported on his two feet.
His hands thread into your hair while he praises you, “Such a good fucking girl for me, baby. Taking me so well.” You moan on his cock. The vibrations from your mouth trigger a fresh batch of pre-cum to spill down your throat. Being the good girl that you are, you suck even harder on his cock and gulp down his pre-cum.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “Tryna milk me, aren't cha?” You moan even more around his length, desperate to make him drip even more. He curses as even more of the salty cream spreads across your tastebuds.
You keep sucking him for a couple of minutes before he grunts out, “Fuck, baby! Stop! Stop!” Confused, you immediately stop and pull off his cock. You crane your head up and gaze into his lust-hazy eyes.
You tilt your head to the side and ask, “What’s wrong, Eiji? Did it not feel good or—”
“No,” he cuts you off. You stay quiet as he takes a few deep breaths. As he does, you notice that you’re panting too. You take the time to calm down with him.
“No, baby, you’re perfect. You’re so perfect,” he sighs and smiles down at you. You nod, and he continues, “Just wanna try something else. That okay?” You hum in response.
Eijiro grabs his shaft and motions with his finger for you to come closer. You obey and he slides the tip back between your lips. You suck on it hard and he moans. One hand tangles in your locks and pulls you off his cock.
“Just let me, yea?” He grunts. You hum and take his head back in your mouth. He lets go of his base and curls his other fingers into your hair. Holding your head, he slowly bucks his hips, fucking his cock into your mouth. He pushes in until his balls hit your spit-soaked chin. You choke on his length and gasp, causing him to draw himself out completely.
“You okay, bub?” He says, concerned. His brow is creased as he stares at you with wide eyes. You nod, and he pushes all of your hair back before bringing his hips closer to your face. You grab his cock and guide it into your mouth. This time, he eases most of it into your mouth before drawing back out. And then pushing back in.
Your mate builds up a steady rhythm of fucking your pretty mouth with his cock. You rest your hands on his thighs and focus on breathing through your nose so you don’t choke.
When Eiji’s eyes aren’t on your pouty lips wrapped around his shaft, or rolling to the back of his skull, he’s gazing into your doe eyes. They look so big and innocent, deliciously contrasting the rather unholy things you’re doing to each other right now.
His hips rut faster as he feels that tight coiling in his stomach. He pants and groans as he hits the back of your throat over and over again with the tip of his cock. You moan around him as he keeps fucking your mouth.
Suddenly, he pushes your head down until your nose tickles his neatly trimmed pubes. You choke on his cock, but he pushes his length in slightly more. Your eyes water as you stare up at him, watching his sharp teeth grit. He then fucks your throat with quick, rough, and small thrusts. Your fingers press into his toned thighs as you gag on his cock.
He grunts out between thrusts, “Yea, fuck-baby that’s it. Good girl. Just a little more f’me, yea? Almost there, pretty girl.” You whine on his cock as tears drip down your cheeks.
Eijiro pulls out slightly as his knot swells. At once, you feel his hot seed shoot down the back of your throat. Your squeal is muffled as you pull off his cock and jerk him with your hand.
His cum spills down your chin and chest, and you cover your mouth with your other hand as you cough from the thick cream coating your throat. He groans your name loudly as he watches his cum drip down your beautiful tits and tummy.
By the time you’re jerking those last little dribbles of blazing white seed, you’re absolutely covered in it. Luckily, you’ve stopped coughing and now, you’re just crying a little. With a whine, you stand up.
Your alpha pulls you into his arms. He rubs your back with his wide hands and brings your face to nuzzle into his neck. You hold each other as you both calm down. He gently cups your cheeks and pulls your head back so he can look at you.
He thumbs your under-eyes, wiping away your tears. He then wipes the seed from your lips and chin with his fingers. You laugh sweetly as he looks down at his fingers. You lean forward and brush your nose against his.
“So messy, aren’t you?” You tease him. He chuckles and kisses you tenderly. You moan into his lips and move your hands to his chest, feeling the sticky mess of his cum covering the both of you.
He can taste himself all over your lips and tongue. The saltiness makes him groan. He nips your lower lip just the way you like it, making you mewl.
He draws away and nuzzles your neck, asking softly, “Let me clean you up?” You giggle and rest your head back on his shoulder.
You hum and say, “Okayyyyy. But no fooling around in the shower. Denki’s already tired me out for the next month.”
He chuckles low and grumbles, “Fucker.” He grabs you beneath your knees and carries you across his body.
As he walks to the bathroom, you ask, “But what about the kitchen? I think we made a mess there too.”
Eijiro hums, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, princess. I’ll clean it up after I put you to bed. You must be exhausted.” You nod, noticing how easily he carries you with one hand while he slides the bathroom door open.
You mumble into his warm, tanned skin, “I am. That’s so embarrassing.” He sets you down in the shower and turns on the water.
Shaking his head, your mate says, “No, it’s not. You have to handle all of us. It’s not a surprise you’d be tired.”
You hum, “But I’ve barely done anything.” He steps forward and gestures to your leggings. You bite your lip as you look down, seeing how ruined they are from his cum.
You nod and say, “Yea, go ahead.” Eijiro steps close to you and crouches down, shimmying your leggings down.
As he does, he says, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not used to this yet.” You hum in response while your hands thread through his wet, red-leaking locks.
“Hey Eiji,” you say quietly. He hums as you step out of your leggings. “You owe me a new pair. You know that, right?” He throws them out of the shower in the corner of the bathroom. He then wraps his strong arms around you and draws you under the water with him.
He chuckles above your ear, “Sure do.”
taglist - @qyuin @nervoussangel @xxdiaqiaoxx @misscaller06 @kksmush @cielito--lindo @kennygou @tnywabbit @ita606 @sweet-apple-acres
I may ot may not have found the ruby ring to your long term katsuki bf proposal fic from under th same pin-
https://pin.it/6r1cVxtQZ
https://pin.it/1fzs5FdKV
https://pin.it/3FmgWmA9Z
actually screamed at the second image omg they're so pretty!!!!! i wish i saw those sooner!
i had this one in mind as well when i wrote the fic, super similar to the ones you linked above.
after he proposed, you became a stay-at-home fiancé. and now, you’re getting into your ✨baking era✨.
you’ve been waiting for the bananas to get just ripe enough to make banana bread. the other day, when your beloved reached for one of those golden arches, you panicked and yelled at him to put it down.
shoto's beautiful eyes went so wide and his jaw slack as he took in the wild sight you were. he merely chuckled and placed the banana back in the fruit bowl as you ran over to him from your spot on the couch, apologising for raising your voice and reassuring him that his abstinence was for the good of your future baked treat.
you remember his sacrifice as you pour wholemeal flour into a large bowl and mix it with cinnamon and baking powder. you had a cute little apron on; the one you sewed from the vintage fabric shoto bought you for your birthday.
you hum softly as you mash the bananas in a separate bowl before adding the whisked eggs and vanilla extract. you’re determined to make him the best banana bread ever!
the sweet aroma fills the apartment as you rest your feet on the coffee table, allowing your creation to come to life in the oven. you check the time and sigh with relief as you calculate that you’ve still got an hour before shoto finishes patrol and retires to his agency to finish the banana bread.
once it’s golden brown, you take it out of the oven. you squeal in delight, seeing the swirly pattern you made with cinnamon and walnuts perfected. you let the banana bread cool for a good half an hour before taking it out of the pan, cutting it into thick slices, and popping a few in a container. you make sure to pack some butter, almond butter (his fav), and honey before leaving the apartment.
after getting off the train, you walk to his agency. you greet the receptionist who informs you that your hero just got back. with a ‘thank you!’, you take the elevator to the top floor.
you gently knock on his office door and push it open as you hear him call out from inside. he gazes at you with tender, mismatched eyes as you enter, shaking the banana bread container from side to side with excitement.
you chirp, “i made you some banana bread, honey!” he hums as you walk further into the room. he’s got papers stacked in the corner of his desk and a mellow smile on his full lips as always. you pull up a chair and sit across from him, popping open the lid and letting the smell curl deliciously in the cold air. you fish around in your bag for the paper plates, cutlery, and toppings you brought. after setting them down in the middle of his wooden desk, you scoop him out a slice.
he mutters, “looks good, darling.”
you gaze at him, quirking a brow as you grin, “yea?” he hums and thanks you quietly as you push the plate toward him. he happily listens to you yap away as he spreads almond butter on his slice.
seeing you struggle to spread the butter across your slice, he gently takes the little container from your hands and heats it in his palm before buttering it for you. your heart melts as the butter does into the baked good while you watch him swipe the knife on the crust, getting all of that sweet-saltiness onto your treat.
you two eat quietly, just basking in each other’s presence. shoto breaks the silence with a quiet moan followed by, “this is really nice, babe. still warm.” you nod enthusiastically, overjoyed to hear his praise.
you giggle, “i made it just for you.” he looks at you, eyes full of love and cheekies full of yummy goodness. following a gulp, he licks his pink lips and thumbs the corner of yours, claiming you were a bit messy (you were, really). your heart spikes as he brings his pale thumb back to his lips, sucking off the disobedient butter.
it pains you to leave him, all glowy in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, left to his mountain of reports and paperwork. but, he promises you that he’ll be home soon enough. after all, he can’t keep his hands off his beautiful fiancé for long.
bless me father for i have sinned😏 this fic was far too scrumptious i can't recommend it enough!
✞ Forgive me For I have Sinned ✞
✞ Pairings: Priest Gojo x Fem Reader
✞ Word count - 5.7k
✞ Content/Warnings- You keep having dreams about Father Gojo, and he decides to try to save your slutty soul <3 NSFW, sacrilegious, confessional fucking, rosaries as bondage, lots of filling you w/love and light, oral (both receiving) fingering, explicit church sex, reader is a lil bimbo and innocent fr, Gojo has a HELL of a God complex (canon tbh) overall kinky asf
A/N- Booking the tix to hell-who's coming with!? I based off this drabble of mine: Priest! Gojo (you can read it first if you want!) Reader and Gojo are in their mid 20s. Enjoy!
It was hot outside, a scorching summer day, the type that made you want to jump in an icy cool lake naked, but in the sanctuary of this pristine church which is kept rather cool, you still have a drip of sweat beading down your collarbone. You’re wearing a pretty red summer dress, your little hat right next to you in the pew, as you watch him with avid attention.
Father Satoru Gojo.
The entire church is in love with him, enamored by him, there are admiring whispers even amongst the most vigilant catholics, the ones who would judge you for coming not in your Sunday best. They hid it well enough, acting as if they only cared so much because his sermons were so powerful, because he was so young and profound already.
But you know better, and they know better deep down, that Father Gojo was just gorgeous, a face chiseled to perfection, tall and broad shouldered, swoon worthy by all accounts. His husky voice and insane presence that shines brilliantly like a million diamonds certainly helps, but his face itself is so pretty it’s angelic.
When he looks at you with those brilliant blue eyes, swirling like a moody storm, all glittery behind those snowy white lashes? Well you feel…
You’re going to hell.
Last night you’d had this insane dream of him, where he has asked you to serve him on your knees, just as he would offer that eucharist and wine to you, but instead it’s his cum you’re swallowing. And you’re a good, God fearing girl, so, you certainly should not do or think of such things! And worst of all, with your priest, Father Gojo. He has vows too, yet you’d committed much sin already.
Just last night you’d awakened throbbing, having dreamt of pleasuring him, on your knees before him, and you’d been soaking wet and dripping down your shorts, even the sheet had a wet spot. You’d rubbed your swollen little clit in circles, gasping and arching your back, feeling fevered as you committed such sins, as picturing Father Gojo had you climaxing all over your own fingers.
You’d been so ashamed this morning! You’d splashed cold water on your face, staring at yourself in your mirror, shivering as the cool water dripped down your skin, knowing you should stay home, find some new church. You are full of impure thoughts and sin, and it’s all because of him, how could you confide in him that you feel this way, think this way?
What would he do if he knew? Cast you out or…
Stop it.
But as you’re crossing your legs, shifting your hips, you see Satoru Gojo’s full, pouty lips part, his eyes directly on you. You pause then, eyes wide, you must be imagining it, your sin surely is carrying over too far… but you test it, crossing your legs once more, and sure enough, his eyes follow your legs up, between your thighs, surely seeing your panties.
That gives you a fucking thrill you can’t describe, as does him licking his thumb, going to another page as he continues his sermon, women all over are fanning themselves, enamored by him. But perhaps none so much as you, picturing what’s under that cassock, under those white robes he wears, what that long, lithe body would feel like against yours.
You imagine your dream vividly later when he’s giving you the eucharist, placing the biscuit on your tongue as you hold your mouth open on your knees, then you see it, the hunger mirrored in his eyes. You tremble when he brushes a thumb over your lower lip, and your eyes drift to his lap, where you clearly see he’s hard. You gulp it down, looking up at him and taking the wine now.
Father Gojo looks down at you, white hair falling over a brow, finding your beautiful eyes are affecting him as much as your stance on your knees, his thumb finds your chin now, imagining shoving his cock between perfect lips. Surely, you are here to tempt him, to ruin him, you are sin itself, haunting his dreams, making him hard in the middle of church, right in his own service.
You look at it then, his cock under the cassock that’s becoming too tight, before licking your lip, eyes back up to his hungrily. You look like such a good girl, but your eyes tell another story, a story of wanting to get fucked hard, to be filled by him, wanting to have his cum all over your pretty face. He imagines that as the wine drips down your lips now.
Fuck he’s going to hell if he stays around you, surely even he has rules to uphold even if he certainly is God’s chosen. But… perhaps since he is God's chosen, it’s his duty to help a little sinful girl like you. And as you rise, holding his hand, and your breasts brush against his chest, you’re far too close, he vividly pictures yanking them out of that dress, tempting him to no end.
Of course you ask for confessional, and he’s dying at the thought of being so close to you, when all he thinks of is how good you look, how good you smell, and he is left to wonder, do you taste that good? Your pretty neck, your delicate collarbone, your pussy? Surely he should not think such things, but as he looks at you through the lattice of the confessional separating you both, he cannot stop his mind.
“Father Gojo… I fear my confession is most wicked.” Comes your breathy little voice, only serving to make Father Gojo’s thick length harden, picturing what your little moans must sound like when properly fucked.
“Go on, my pr- my child, you may tell me anything.” He says, coughing a bit, because he’d rather call you a pretty little slut, and he has no clue why the devil likes to try him so hard. It’s all your fault, truly. Pretty little thing.
“Okay… but…” You take a breath. “I have dreams of someone fucking me, someone I should not.” You say nervously, and watch him shift in his seat, you can smell his cologne so much in here, making you thirst more for him.
“It’s natural to have thoughts, my child.”
“No, Father Gojo… I’m playing with myself, thinking of him. Of… sucking him, or of him laying on top of me.” You hear Father Gojo making a choking sound, and you panic. “I’m so sorry! I…”
“Ahem, no, no… continue.” Father Gojo’s cock is straining, he can already feel precum sticking to his tip, picuring you touching your pussy, he bets it’s so pretty, bet it tastes so-
Sinful girl, aren’t you?
Surely that’s all this is, not… him wanting to sin! Father Satoru Gojo certainly is perfect, he’s God’s perfect creature, so if he wants this, it must be on you. Sin in a perfect little body with a perfect little face, and a voice that drives him to utter distraction. Surely, Father Gojo must try to save you.
“Father, I cannot stop thinking of him, he’s in all my dreams. What should my penance be, how many hail marys?”
Father Gojo has to stroke himself to adjust his huge, throbbing cock now, as he watches you through the lattice, biting your full lower lip, your head falling back, hair cascading. Hair he wants to pull as he fucks you from behind, making you arch your back to take more of his cock.
“I have to ask how you’re doing it… so that I can tell you your penance, so that I may try to save you.” He says, husky now, and you whimper softly, shifting on the bench, your pussy throbbing around nothing, picturing his cock filling you.
“How I do it, Father Gojo?”
“Yes, it’s… important to confess.”
“Well, I take my fingers, and I find my pussy with them, I roll them around my clit over and over, I get so wet that they slip- Father are you okay?” Satoru can’t stand it, he’s stroking his bare cock under his robes, resting his head against the wall, struggling not to cry out as he’s pumping.
“Ahem… indeed I am. So you finger your little pussy then?” At his words you’re a blushing mess, breaths coming more rapidly, your hands gripping the bench, dying for friction as you’re soaking your panties.
“Y-yes.”
“Do you slip your fingers in?”
“I… no! Um… no.”
“And you cum?”
“I… yes. I do cum. Imagining him.” You’re watching those robes rise and fall, then you know it, Father Gojo is stroking his cock right next to you.
“I see… I think I can help alleviate some of this, perhaps give you some guidance so that you do not afflict yourself so.” You want to touch yourself now, when you hear those breathy pants, your fingers clinging to the lattice.
“Yes, father, I need your guidance.” Cock, fingers, mouth… fuck you’re a full sinner, aren’t you!?
“Then come here, let us have our first attempt at saving you.”
Now you’re standing in front of him in the itty bitty room, face to face with Satoru Gojo, your Priest, and fuck if your nipples don’t tighten up, if your tummy isn’t clenching with desire. You’re nervously fiddling with your hands as he leans back, spreading his long legs as wide as they can in the tight quarters, his glittering blue eyes dilated as he licks his lips, making them glossy.
“You must show me how, and do not fret, sweet girl, it’s through god’s will of course, through me.” Father Gojo says, your breaths come faster as you slip up your sundress, and his eyes hungrily drink the sight of your bare thighs in. He leans forward, sliding those panties down, eyeing your glistening cunt now, his breath almost hitting it, making you jerk.
“Father… I cannot show you…”
“You can, I am here to help, have no fear.” He notices you’ve drenched your panties, a wet spot formed, sticky little strands of your arousal apparent as he pulls them down, hands touching the smooth skin of your thighs.
You put your hand on your pussy now, the other nervously holding up your dress, and you run your fingers in circles on your clit, crying out softly, as he lets out a low, guttural moan. You’re getting wetter as you play, as his large, sexy hands clench, the veins popping up out of the thin skin, and you’re trembling, imagining his long fingers working you instead.
Satoru is close to cumming as he watches your pretty face, your brows drawing together, your lips parted, eyes so dilated your pupils are taking over, just a thin ring of your iris left. Your lashes are lowered, and his hand stops yours now, as it’s playing with your soppy little cunt, you tremble before him.
“I see, I must help you, guide you. To get this… affliction taken care of. Yes?” You nod eagerly, then Father Gojo pulls you to his lap, and you’re straddling him, your hands sliding up to feel his strong shoulders under his robe, and he is touching your pussy instead, making you whimper. “Need me to save you, pretty little sinner?”
“Please save me. Please. Ah!” Satoru sinks two long fingers deep inside your eager little entrance, you gasp at it as he slips into your gummy walls, drippy and so tight. He’s paused, moaning and looking right into your eyes, you drown in his blue gaze, as your cunt drools down his hand. “Father Gojo… please…”
“Begging for it, are you? So tight, it’s so… have you had anything inside this perfect little pussy?” He huffs, feeling how you’re squeezing his fingers, then he hits some spot that makes you see stars, pumping up and down over and over. You cling to him, eyes fluttering shut. “Answer me, be a good girl for once, would you?”
Good girl for once.
There’s no hope for you.
“Nothing… no one… just you, Father Gojo. Mmm!” You’re covering your mouth as he keeps pumping, and he moans, dreaming of breaking you in all the ways he could, taking your innocence for himself. It’s surely what god is wanting, and who is he but god’s disciple himself? He thrusts those fingers knuckles deep, watching you fall apart over him.
“There, you’re loving this, fingers stretching your pussy, don’t you?” You nod weakly, gushing down his hand, you can hear the squishing wetness of your pussy as he now slides a thumb, rolling it over your clit.
“F-father Gojo!”
“Sinful girl.” He huffs, as you’ve buried your face against his neck, rocking against his hand, those long fingers fucking you so good it’s painful, moaning.
“Mmm! Father Gojo, I will… be good… for you…”
“Will you?” You nod weakly, as Satoru rolls your clit expertly, and you feel the pressure building, you’re panting, ready to combust. “I feel it, you’re so close, aren’t you?”
You’re nodding, hips grinding, now you’re soaking his robes, he’s picturing sliding his cock inside you, breaking you, until your sins are cleansed, and you’re picturing him taking you, defiling you in every way your hectic mind can picture. Both of you are about to cum, you’re not even touching Satoru though, you want to, fuck you want to.
“Close, m’close… p-please…” You’re begging for release, seeing stars as he works your now sloppy cunt.
“I've got you, you can let go, you're safe with me, let me see your sins so I can cleanse them.” He urges you on, bringing you higher and higher with those long, slick fingers.
“Father, it's... I'm gonna... mmm!” You're so close, soaking the sleeve of his robe now. And he's so ready to slide into your eager cunt, looking up at you behind snowy lashes.
“Show me how you sin, let me watch you cum, so I can... help you.” He whispers, and you fall apart then, pulsing around his fingers, and he groans as he watches you, pressing up so deep. You’re gushing so much arousal, he can smell your sweet scent, as you scream out into your little hand, shaking.
Satoru is now sliding his fingers out, you whine, wanting more, especially when he is sucking your juices off his fingers, making you gasp. His cheeks hollow, his eyes fluttering shut as he tastes you, your mouth drops open, breaths making you quicken, your heart pounding in your ears as you try to come down.
Your thighs are trembling over him, entire body lit up from cumming so hard, his snowy lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, before fluttering up, looking at you, your arousal coating his lips. “Oh my God.”
More sinning.
“You’re not being a very good girl.” He admonishes, but then his lips quirk up. “But, you taste too sweet to be bad. Or perhaps you yourself are sin.” Father Gojo whispers to you now, and you’re leaning closer, rolling your hips, making him groan, his hands gripping your little waist as your heat brushes against his cock. “Has it alleviated some of your… need, my child?”
He’s smirking at you, in a way no priest should! You sigh then, shaking your head. “No, Father, it’s only made it worse! You must help me more, I’m afraid now I’m thinking of sinning even more, and who I’ve been dreaming of.” You say then, it’s a whisper, as the room is hot from your breaths, smelling like sweet arousal.
Satoru blinks then, thin white brows going together, jaw clenching. “You’re thinking of fucking your own priest? That is a sin.”
“I know! It’s a terrible affliction. Oh Father, I’m going to hell.” You whisper, blinking back tears, still reeling from the aftershocks of cumming. Satoru arches his hips now, brushing his cock against your pussy, and you nearly scream out, head falling back, exposing your throat to him, and he pictures his hand wrapping a rosary around your neck, pulling tight.
You’ve dreamt of him too!? Surely this must be a sign.
A temptation.
But does he want to fight it? Your taste is all over his mouth now, as he feels your sexy little body against him, his hands brushing against your breasts, watching your nipples perk up. You look at him with intoxicated eyes, lips parted, your tiny hands clinging to his robes as you grind again, and he shudders at how fucking good it feels, your heat on him.
“I see… Well you must come to me tomorrow, and we will have to try harder, to save your soul.” He says huskily, you nod eagerly, as he helps you off him, his cock close to cumming, already twitching, he slides your soaked, ruined panties into his robes, you surely do not need them anymore.
“What if I have another dream father!”
“Do not touch yourself, I will help you when you come in, that’s so we can try to save you, yes?” You nod then, leaning close to his lips.
“Father, is it a sin to kiss your lips?”
“Not if you feel a calling, surely God wishes you to.” He murmurs, and you peck a sweet kiss on his lips, tasting yourself on him, before forcing yourself out of the cramped quarters, body on fire, leaving Satoru to finish stroking his cock, cumming as he shoves your panties against his face.
******
You’re dreaming of him again, of Father Gojo, this time his snowy white hair is brushing against your thighs, his tongue is lapping up all the dripping wetness, his big hands pressing into the plush of your thighs. You wake up throbbing, crying out, seeing how wet you are, as the ceiling fan whirls, failing to cool your overheated flesh. Father Gojo’s fingers made it worse, your affliction!
The next day you’re painfully turned on, pussy aching for more, you followed his instructions and did not touch yourself, instead you forced yourself to go back to sleep, now you’re in the nearly empty church, knocking at the door of Father Gojo’s office. You hear his deep voice speak.
“Come in.” You nervously walk in, you are wearing a shorter blue sundress today, and no panties. You know Father Gojo will see how sinful you are, but when you see his perfect face, and him wearing a thinner, lighter white robe, your pussy is already making your thighs sticky. “My child, lock that door, so we can have privacy… we would not want your confessions judged.”
“Yes, thank you Father.” You lock the door with a click, stepping to him, your heels clicking on the wooden floor of his room. He’s sitting in his chair, fingers steepled, studying your body carefully.
“Do you have any updates on your affliction, pretty girl?”
“Pretty girl…” You’re blushing worse now.
“I feel I must call you what the lord is telling me. Is that alright with you?” You nod nervously, standing before him, the desk separating you. “So how were your dreams last night?”
“They were of you again, Father Gojo. I’m so sorry!”
You cover your face in embarrassment, hearing the soft thumps of his shoes as he comes to you, taking you by your wrists, big hands enveloping the delicate wrists entirely. Your head tilts back to look at him, he’s so tall and big… you’re drinking in the sight of him, his black rosaries hanging across his broad chest.
“You must tell me these dreams, so I may help you. Perhaps they’re some sign that we must see.”
“You… you were licking me, between my thighs.” His nostrils flare slightly, those swirling blue eyes thirsty as he studies you, your thighs shift, his hands still tight on your wrists.
“Your slutty little pussy, I was licking it?” Your pussy is clenching, tummy coiling, at his nasty, sinful words, from such a pure man. You nod then. “I see, there’s no choice, we must see what enacting your dreams does. To try to save you.”
“Y-yes, father, I think so too.” You whisper, hands sliding up and down his chest, watching his Adam's apple bob under that white collar. “Does it ever get uncomfortable, Father Gojo?”
“At times. Take it off for me.” He turns and you undo the collar, when he turns back you see it, his strong neck, the muscles corded, you bite your lower lip, earning him pulling it from your teeth. “This dream, describe it, so I can help you.”
You’re a flustered mess, especially after his fingers yesterday, and all the dreams you’ve been having. You take several breaths now. “You were licking me.”
“More descriptive.” He murmurs now, sitting you up on his desk, shocking you, then he slides up your skirt and smirks, wicked priest that he is, blue eyes darting back up to yours. “No panties, your soul is so slutty.”
“I… well… Father Gojo!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit with his thumb, watching you writhe on his desk now, as he sits back in his black chair, scooting up, his breath right against you.
“You wanted this, to be bare in front of me, didn’t you pretty little sinner?”
“Y-yes, I told you, I’m going to hell, mmm!”
He’s kissing your thighs, your hands enwrap in his silky white hair now, his breaths higher and higher, eying your perfect, glistening pussy. He’s dying to feel you dripping down his tongue, dying to drink your sweet nectar flowing when he’s opening up the lips of your pussy, and you’re making those pretty sounds, you’re so pathetic already, he thinks.
“No, I will save you, don’t you believe in me, pretty? I alone speak for God, I’m the honored one.” His words along with his eyes, those glittery blue storms that see right through you, as if they know your every sin, wreck you now. He surely must be the honored one.
“You’ll save me, I know you will.” You whisper, caressing his cheek now, and he moans softly, just urging you on more.
“That’s a good girl. Now tell me, what did I do in this dream?”
“You licked me, here.” You touch your slit, and he slides his tongue up it now, making you gasp, his tongue is so hot and wet, you’re gushing just from that. Satoru moans, kissing right over your clit before swiping his tongue again. “Father!”
“Shh, lest they hear your sinful mouth.” He whispers, and you clench your teeth, nodding as you watch him, he is placing your feet on either arm of his chair. “And you did not play with yourself?”
“I swear I did not, Father Gojo! I listened. Please…” You arch your hips up, full pussy in his face, and Satoru begins to devour you now, spreading your lips and flicking his tongue on your little swollen clit over and over. You have to slap a hand over your mouth, his rosary is cool against your inner thigh as he works your pussy, just like your dream.
Satoru’s tongue is wicked, for such a holy man you think, and it does the most wicked things to you, no dream could prepare you, even his fingers had not. He sucks your clit into his hot open mouth, moaning as your juices coat his tongue, looking up at you as you cling to his hair with one hand, the other muffling your cry as you feel yourself begin to cum.
Soon you are cumming right on Father Gojo’s face, your thighs shaking on either side of his head, pussy pulsing around nothing, and he’s drinking you up, so lewd in the quiet church office. You’re jerking now, as he leans up, half his pretty face shining with your slick, making you flush at how much there was. Your hand eases down, now just gasping for breath as you look at him.
“And now, my child, how is this affliction?” He whispers, leaning up and laying atop you, pressing you into the wooden desk. You lean up, kissing him once more, earning his moan, tasting yourself all over him, he grabs you by the throat then, long fingers wrapping as he pulls back. “How hard do I have to work to save your slutty little soul, hmm?”
“I’m sorry, Father Gojo. It was so amazing… but I just want more, I fear I’m having more lustful thoughts of you now.” Your hand slides down now, cupping him where he’s thick and hard, and he squeezes your throat harder now, his thumb on your racing pulse.
“And what else is in that little brain of yours? What lewd fantasies of your priest, hmm?”
“Sucking your cock, that’s what.” He groans now, pulling you down and putting you to your knees. You look up eagerly, now Satoru is undressing, and you finally get glimpses of his body, of hard muscles and planes as he’s taking off his robes, now opening his pants for you, revealing a huge, thick cock. You gulp as you drink in the sight of it.
“And do you know what to do, how to serve me, my child?” He asks, you shake your head. “Yet you’ve dreamt it?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then it’s surely meant to be, hmm? First, slide down your top.” You do as he says, and he moans as he sits back in his chair, gripping your bare breasts. “My God, you’re made to ruin me. Come here, open your mouth.”
You do as he says, and Father Gojo now guides you by your hair, hair he wraps around his fist, guiding you down on his cock. His curved pink tip is leaking white pearly substance, which you tongue out, earning his grown, his head falling back. You suck him eagerly, swirling your tongue, as his eyes watch you, lidded and dazed, tasting his saltiness and sweetness eagerly.
“You’re far too good at this, are you sure you haven’t been sucking cock, like a sinful brat?” You pull back with a pop, saliva dripping down your lips.
“No, I only want to serve you, Father.”
“Mmm, you’re so precious.” He whispers, before shoving your mouth back on him, and you’re bobbing up and down as he pulls your hair, using it to glide you up and down his length. Your eyes water, your nose starts running as his cock is choking you, your pussy throbbing even more. “Fuck…”
“Father, did you cuss?” You ask, pulling back, with a shy little grin, earning Father Gojo’s smirk.
“I’m allowed to, it’s all God’s words. Now are you finally satisfied, or do we need to go further? Do I need to break your pretty little pussy?” He murmurs, his words like a drug, running his thumb across your lower lip. You nod then, weakly, and his lips part, eyes studying you. “Then ask me, on your knees so pretty, like you’re praying.” He puts your hands in prayer position, blue eyes lighting up.
“Please, break me, Father Gojo.” He pulls you up now, kissing you deeply, tongues so unpracticed and messy, you’ve never really even kissed, but now you feel him, filling you once more with those two fingers as he bends low.
“Turn around and bend over, sweet sinner.” You turn, and now Father Gojo has slid your dress down, leaving you in just your heels, his big hands gliding down every line and curve of your bare body. “I said bend over.”
He smacks you sharply on your backside, making you gasp then whine out, as he presses your upper back between your shoulder blades, your face against his desk. He then takes your hands, putting them behind your back and wrapping them with his black beaded rosary. You whine out at the sensation, he pulls it so tightly it’s digging in, shoving the cross in your palms.
“Hold on to that cross while I fuck your innocent little pussy. Feel it against your skin as I do.” He says, whispering in your ear. You nod, feeling the sharp cool silver digging in, as the beads dig into your bound wrists. “Good girl, spread those thighs.”
You do as he says, and then his tip is in, stretching you, and you’re shivering, breaths coming faster and faster. Satoru shoves his cock inside you, tearing at your little barrier. You cry out at the pain, and he pauses for a moment, moaning, letting you adjust. “H-hurts…”
“Just a moment of pain to fill you with my light.” He murmurs, sinking deeper, and your walls are fluttering around his cock, earning his groan. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you? Did you want me to take it, your innocence?”
“I’ve w-wanted you, so long… played with… a long ah- time.” He moans now, sliding back out and in, you’re so wet and ready the pain eases quickly, as he takes you from behind now, pulling on your neck, pressing your bound hands firmer against your back, whispering in your ear.
“You sinned so long, playing with this pussy thinking of me?” You nod weakly, hiccuping on a cry as he’s pumping now, taking you over, stretching your tight cunt out so much, your skin burns, but you crave it.
You’re going to hell, surely.
But it seems worth it to be stretched by his cock so well.
“Y-yes… a long time. S-sorry Father…”
“Just Satoru when you cum all over my cock, hmm?” You nod weakly, then he fucks you harder now, thighs smacking your skin, his pelvis smacking your now sore ass cheeks, balls smacking your clit. “Ah, and you’re close already and your first time? You were made for this, weren’t you?”
“Yes, yes, yes, Satoru!” You scream out so loud he’s palming your mouth with his huge hand, taking over your face, shoving his cock in and rolling his hips, making you climax so hard you cannot see. You weakly drool out of your lips onto his hand, as he feels your velvety walls fluttering around him.
You are made for this, for his cock, to take him. Your sweet virgin pussy is getting so filled by Father Gojo’s huge cock, but you’re already taking him so well. Father Gojo knows then that your dreams and his must be for a better purpose, to fuck you and fill you with all of his light, surely. You’re taking him more and more, cumming so hard your cunt is drooling everywhere.
He lets your face go, looking at your fucked out expression, your mouth is wide open, that drool dangling out the corner, your eyes are rolled back, lashes fluttering, your ass arching up for more. You’re such a sinful creature, but he knows your innocence was made for just him, clearly. You would not have anyone else, he would surely see to it.
It’s God's calling.
You’re pounded and stuffed by his huge cock, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, ass jiggling with the force, then Satoru pulls your chin to face him, he’s so fuzzy, you keep shutting your eyes.
“Look at me, my child, now.” He whispers, and you open your eyes, staring into his weakly as his thrusts slow.
“Y-yes, Satoru…” He moans at the use of his name from your pretty lips.
“I’m saving you, through… mmm… God’s wisdom.”
“Thank you, thank you!” You’re trembling, he’s rolling his hips and that tip is dragging on your spot, you struggle to focus on his pretty face, the sun from the blinds filtering in behind his head, and then he looks like an angel. The cross is digging in so much your hand is bleeding just a bit, but you truly couldn’t care, his cock feels too good inside you.
“Do you want me to… fill you…” He’s crying out then, grabbing you so tightly you can’t breathe. “With God’s love… and light?”
“Please, fill me Father- ah!” Satoru starts pumping faster and faster, yanking on your rosary so hard it breaks as he begins to cum, the beads flinging and clattering all over the wooden floor, the cross still digging into your broken palm.
“Going to put… so much… light in you… fill you-” He moans loudly then, and you feel hot liquid pumping inside, bringing you to cum with him, as it coats your walls, hot and sticky. “Feel it? Feel me filling you with it?”
“I do! I do… Father Gojo… feel it.” You whine out, rolling your hips to milk him for every bit of his hot white ropes.
“Oh… Mmm…” He’s pumping more cum inside you now, but you’re so wet and still convulsing, so it’s dripping down his cock with your arousal. Satoru exhales, pulling out and then wiping you up, turning you gently, gulping as he kisses you once more. “You were sent here to destroy me.”
“Father, I’m afraid… I only want to do it more.” You whisper, he groans, cupping your face, as you bring up your hand to him, where the cross has left red marks on your palm, he traces it, the perfect symbol of the cross, with little blood drops streaking. You wince in pain.
“I see, it’s a sign we must continue.” He says, and you nod eagerly, as he holds your hand in his.
“We must, Father Gojo.”
*****
The next Sunday, you’re sitting in the very front for the sermon, watching as Father Gojo is licking a thumb and turning a page, his blue eyes darting to your thighs, today you’re wearing a pink summer dress. Father Gojo has stolen a pair of your panties, he thinks you don’t notice, but you do, so you decide not to wear any again, opening your legs for a moment.
Father Gojo gets a glimpse of your bare, glistening pussy right in that church, making his cock hard in front of a room full of hundreds of his followers. Luckily the brown stand in front of him covers up such evidence, as he looks over at your face when you cross your sexy legs, you smile up at him, blinking innocently.
But you’re not innocent, not anymore, are you? No, you’re the worst sinner he’s tried to save, and he thinks he’ll have to work harder to save you. And when you’re riding his cock in the confessional later that evening, and he’s biting on your breasts, you’re riding him so well, moans muffled in the tiny room, he’s not sure he can save you truly, you’re too full of sin.
Father Gojo enjoys your slutty soul and your soaking wet pussy on him far, far too much, especially filling you with his cum light.
Serving Father Gojo is perfectly fine, it's God's will after all 🙏 Nanami and Geto drabbles coming some time too <3 Reblog if you're a sinner <3
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60569476
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