𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙

"…What?" His tone is slightly clipped as he returns your enthusiasm with his apathy, gaze narrowed behind his specs, a terrifying sight enough to make a grown man piss himself.

And yet, even under his pointed scrutiny, you don't seem to shy away from him. If he was really bothered by your sudden entrance, he would've said something about it or pushed you off by now, something he has yet to do. Therefore, which leads to your ultimate conclusion, he's very curious to hear what bullshit you have to say now!

"Well, my colleagues," you start, your hands finding home in the tufts of his pale hair, a mess that he let nobody touch casually. But, obviously, it's no surprise that you've somehow managed to bypass this absolute law, just like how you'd managed to wrap him around your finger.

"My colleagues are always calling me a gatekeeper! Can you believe it!? My own friends!" In the midst of your little fit, you don't realise you're tugging hard at his roots.

"Gatekeeper..?" He lets out a low grunt of annoyance, but otherwise remains pliant under your ministrations, only raising a sharp brow as your cue to continue.

"Yep!" You nod solemnly before a huge grin slips out against your will, your pretty shade of lipstick catching the light of the setting sun, a sight that has Gojo's eyes glued onto you. "They're always saying my makeup is flawless! That my base is butter smooth, and that it never creases!"

Gojo hums under his breath, a telling sign he's hanging on to every word you're saying with rapt intrigue as he subconsciously presses you closer to his proximity. "And?"

"And!" You stretch with effort, before jutting your bottom lip out with mock sadness, a movement followed intensely by the man before you. "They always ask what I use, but they never believe me when I say it's you who makes it!"

That's right, there was once a time where you'd come home crying to Satoru. Apparently, your favourite lip shade was announced to be discontinued, and because Satoru has never hated anything more than the sight of your tears, he'd promised to create you something that was near identical — so long as you stopped crying.

And what started off as lipstick eventually grew, Satoru was wordlessly began creating all sorts of cosmetic products. You didn't even have to ask, he was always multiple steps ahead of you! Your online shopping carts of products you wanted to try saved on his notes, for him to later create at the lab he was always holed up in.

"What does that matter?" Huffing, he presses his nose into your collarbone, inhaling the scent of your perfume with quiet reverence.

"They keep making requests for themselves!" You let out a soft whine, throwing your head back with exasperation. God, their shamelessness knew no bounds! It was a miracle you hadn't yet lost your mind. "They say that I'm a bad girlfriend for gatekeeping my good boyfriend's makeup line!"

"…." He cringes as you mimic them, your voice taking on an unusual lilt he's not quite used to.

"Tell me, Satoru…" Your words trail off as you purse your lips in ponder. "And answer me honestly, okay?"

"I'll try…" He mumbles too lowly for you to hear, his eyes shutting with slight fear. If he answered wrong by your standards, you might end up putting him through hell like you did those last few times when his answer was not to your satisfaction.

"Am I jealous woman?" You ask with complete seriousness.

"…Huh." He blinks, taken aback by your question.

"For wanting to be the only woman receiving your handmade makeup. Does that make me a bad girlfriend?" Your jaw clenches as you think back to your colleagues multiple comments that have slowly began to grate on your nerves.

"No..?" He frowns, brows creased together like he can't comprehend why the hell that would make you a bad girlfriend. "I, I uh- um, I prefer making it for you only…"

"Aw! You're such a good boyfriend!" You giggle, the noise so sweet it has Gojo's pants tighten. "Going along with all my whims!"

"Uh, it doesn't— it doesn't bother me..." He stammers lightly, ears heating up with fluster as his cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. "I don't mind…"

His response is so adorable, and the way he can no longer meet your eyes from the shyness that overwhelms him has your heart clench with aggression. You don't have it in you to hold back from your urges, so you do as your heart desires. Smother his unguarded face with a flurry of kisses!

The noise of your lips against his face is unbearably loud, and even when Satoru squirms under your hold, you don't bother stopping. Not when you can clearly feel him get very happy beneath you. You trail a bunch of kisses everywhere, his cheeks, nose, forehead and all over— no place is left untouched under your affections, except for one particular spot.

After a couple more lingering smooches, you hover over his untouched lips, before reluctantly pulling away to admire your little masterpiece. The dazed expression he wears on top of the many kiss marks across the expanse of his skin is unfairly cute, he's quite literally melting into a puddle of putty under your touch, the searing heat of your fingers sending him into a blushing mess of stutters and whines.

"Ah! But y'know," your eyes curve with teasing mischief as you tap your finger against your smudged lips, swiping a bit of the product off with wicked intent. "You're actually a very baaad boyfriend, Satoru."

"Huh," he sighs, glasses crooked on his nose as his eyes grow half lidded with bliss. His confusion is palpable, something you don't see very often from your usually smart-mouthed boyfriend, the sort of sight that has you still and admire for a good moment.

"You've still yet to find a way to make my lipstick transfer proof..." You lean closer towards him, slowly dragging your stained finger across his untouched lips, pulling a soft whimper out of him. "Why is that? Am I to assume you actually like all the kisses I leave on your face?"

"That's not— that's not true…"

@saintly11x here u fucking go damn

The realisation has your body still.

Your limbs growing taut as you finally grasped a hold of the horrifying situation.

There's— There's a strange man…!

And he's naked, sleeping in your house, on your bed, in the place of your cute pet bunny like this is completely fine, like this is common occurrence, like everything is normal— when it clearly fucking wasn't!

The only appropriate response is to scream— and you do just that.

The noise of your terror is shrill.

Piercing.

Ear-splitting— straight out of an r-rated horror film.

You kick and thrash and flail all at once, sight growing blurry with adrenaline as your fear quickly became your strength. And whilst you're under the pitiful conception that your efforts have an effect, to the unknown man, your abrupt movements are nothing more than an inconvenience.

You're squirming comes to a short pause when he, the strange man with pale hair — a shade that bares an awful resemblance to your pet's fur — makes a noise of disapproval.

It's a deep rumble, travelling through your chest and down your spine. A warning sign that you do not heed to, something you quickly come to regret when your actions pull an averse reaction out of him. His grip around your waist tightened instantly, the act immobilising your writhing figure which then urged him to snuggle closer into your neck.

He does it so effortlessly, so readily, as if it were no more than common practice, a behaviour that was so frighteningly familiar, it has your heart sink with disbelief.

Just who the hell was he, acting like this was nothing out of ordinary?

"G-Get, get off of me!"

The man let out another low grunt when you tried to pull away from him again, his annoyance accompanied with a short huff, one that sent a bout of unease to your stomach.

It was like playing a one-sided game of tug of war, you trying to escape his vice-like clutch whilst he merely groaned with displeasure and squeezed you near half to death.

Fuck, if the weight of him on top of you was this suffocating, you didn't even wanna imagine what kind of state your pet bunny would've been in considering he'd been peacefully sleeping on top of you.

Most likely bull-dozed under this hunk of a man.

"Ugh— you're crushing- my bunny—!"

You managed to get out with a heavy wheeze, still trying to put some much needed distance between the two of you. Your endeavours, for the very first time this morning, finally have some kind of effect on him. Albeit a very small one.

He perks up at your words, his earlier fatigue now nowhere to be found as he peered down at your twisting features through heavy-lidded eyes. A quaint shade of crimson, resembling rubies with their dull glimmer, greeted you in their full glory.

You gasped, mouth gaping as their familiarity dawned upon you.

There's no way—!

Just because he has hair and eyes that were terribly similar to your pet bunny, and a unique mannerism that you could recognise anywhere, just because of that— there's just no way… right?

You were very clearly jumping to conclusions!

"Bunny…?" Your voice trembled against yourself, lips wobbling as tears gathered in your lash line against your will. "My… my cute Bun-Bun..?"

It was almost comical how his nose twitched at the endearment, you could practically see flowers blooming around him as he flopped his head back down onto you, his temple pressing close to your lips as if waiting for something— something you only ever did with your furball…

He wanted you to coddle him with morning kisses and head scratches…!

But you couldn't do that— there was absolutely no way you could do that! This was a man!

Well, a hot man, but a man nonetheless!

Not your cute bunny!

There was a big difference between kissing your pet as opposed to kissing a whole ass man! You weren't exactly ready to cross that line yet!

And the longer you spent contemplating all this, the larger the risk of angering your spoiled bunny grew. And an angered bunny was not what you needed right now, not when you had only just replaced your previously chewed charger.

You needed to make a decision, and you needed to make it quick.

Ugh!

Eyes scrunching shut with fluster, you gathered your courage, lips puckering up as they readied themselves to plant a short but sweet peck on his pale hair. What you didn't account for, however, was how short his fuse actually was.

So imagine your surprise, when your lips didn't meet the soft tress of hair like you'd mentally prepared for, but instead, they were greeted with another pair of soft lips.

To your bunny's standard, you had taken far too long to shower him in your morning affections. And as a result, his frustrations grew, which had led him to face you with arguably the cutest expression of fury.

And, well, it didn't take a full blown genius to put two and two together— you'd crashed straight into his lips!

"Mmph—!"

Your heart nearly clawed its way out of your throat when you felt his tongue push past your lips. This, was not something you ever did with your bunny!

His head tilted to the side, teeth clashing and nose pressing against yours as he reached deeper into your wet cavern, chasing after something you couldn't quite put a name to.

A soft mewl left you in tandem, the noise of your pleasure swallowed by the greedy man on top of you. You nearly let yourself fall victim to your desires, those of which have been fuelling with frustration after your recent break up, only to snap out of it when you felt something hard press against your inner thighs.

He— he's hard!

Your ears flushed with embarrassment at the implication of his little — or big — situation, the realisation that he was still very naked striking you once more. And haunted with what you'd just done, your vigour grew. Your hands freed themselves from his now loosened confines, before they reached over to his broad shoulders and pushed.

"Ngh-!"

Your lips parted with effort, the only evidence of your indulgence visible in the thin strand of saliva that lewdly connected the two of you together.

"Put some…" You heaved, cheeks flushing as you tried to collect your breath that was cruelly stolen from you by the now hovering and guilty man. Your gaze wandered despite yourself, taking in his sculpted muscles that were littered with familiar scars identical to the ones your bunny had.

He really is.. him.

Your scrutiny was cut short when he tried to reach back down to you, his erection becoming very visible under your curious stare.

"Kyaa! Put some clothes on!"

There was no way this hot man was your pet bunny!

You couldn't be more wrong.

This man, six feet and three inches of pure muscle, was definitely your pet bunny.

There was no mistaking it.

Just because he now towered over you with his ridiculously attractive form, it didn't change that fact.

And if you refused to acknowledge it, then you were simply in denial.

Because there was nothing quite as spoiled as your pet bunny. You knew that, your friends knew that, God— even your fucking mailman knew that. But this man, Bunny — as you've resolved to call him considering it was the only thing that seemed to catch his attention — came very close. In fact, it wouldn't be a stretch to say he was more spoiled than your little fur-ball.

For one, you tried to put his very naked self into some clothes, namely your ex's clothing given that they were the closest thing to fitting him. But Bunny took one small, barely conspicuous sniff at the garments, and his face grew contorted with displeasure. He then turned away from you, stomped his feet like a child throwing a hissy fit, and refused to put them on.

You damn near lost your mind, did that mean you had to sacrifice your clothes in the name of shame and modesty?

It did.

Since he harshly rejected your ex's clothes, you had no choice but to resort to yours. And it would've been easy to just deal with loose or teared clothes, but Bunny still hadn't forgiven you for having the nerve to offer him that other man's clothes.

You had to coddle him, run your hands through his hair and across his back with ardent affections, cup his puffed out cheeks and shower him with countless wet kisses whilst calling him all sorts of sweet but stupid endearments just to get him to look at you!

You've never regretted spoiling your Bunny more than now, because now it meant he had standards reaching the skies.

Maybe you should've heeded to you ex's words, he had always mentioned how you were spoiling the animal too much. At that time, you thought he'd been jealous of the furball receiving your love, but maybe, he was looking out for me..?

No, that would just be ridiculous.

Though, that ridiculous thought didn't seem so ridiculous now, did it?

And so, the only possible solution you could come up with to deal with his spoiled nature was to… wean him off of your affections…

Oh, it was so stupid. But you were truly under the impression that it would work. You really were.

Imagine your surprise, or lack thereof, when that went terribly wrong.

Bunny was absolutely furious to receive your silence. No longer having you in the palm of his hand to snuggle into as he leeched onto your warmth was hell.

So he did what he always did, throw a temper tantrum to have you pamper him once more. If you wanted to suddenly start ignoring him, then he would make it so that you couldn't.

Yeah, sure, you payed no mind to chewed cables and torn furniture, but what if he walked around you naked?

You couldn't possibly ignore that, could you?

And thus, Bunny refused to wear any clothes around you, even if they were yours. Choosing to roam around your home in absolutely nothing, something you could not turn a blind eye to.

His plan worked, like always.

Left with no choice, you were reduced to a pathetic, bumbling mess.

Heeding to every one of his wishes, as outrageous as each may be, became your national sport. And Bunny, realising the lengths of his special privileges, took it up a notch.

Whenever you locked yourself in the bathroom for some much needed privacy, he was hot on your tail. Knocking, scratching and thumping on the door for entry — the threat of his destruction loomed, and weak to your will, you had no choice but to let him in.

You couldn't shower in peace, no, you couldn't even shower at all!

How the hell were you supposed to? When he just stood there, watching you with dull and hazy eyes, his gaze tracking every one of your movements with rapt intrigue.

It was impossible!

So you just awkwardly stood there too, under the shower head, tap running, and still in your clothes — because what did it matter if you were still dressed when he did the undressing for you with his bedroom eyes?

No seriously, what else were you supposed to fucking do?

Strip in front of the insanely attractive man and just shower as if he wasn't quite literally sporting a fucking hard-on?!

Maybe if he was still your pet bunny you would've payed it no mind — partly because you'd already done that before — but you couldn't now!

And your sudden aversion made no sense to him.

Because Bunny had already seen you naked before, he'd seen it all. When he was still a fur ball with a pass to roam freely wherever he wished. It was not out of ordinary for him to just watch you bathe yourself, you'd let him do it plenty of times.

Hell, you'd even encouraged it!

Going as far bringing him a chair where he could comfortably lay on so the both of you could spend 'quality time' together.

So what the hell was with your reluctance now?

He just couldn't bring himself to understand, and worst of all, he couldn't fucking tolerate it.

And so, like he did to anything that displeased him, Bunny decided to tackle the root of the problem.

He'd join you, or rather, he'd corner you in the shower or tower over you in the tub, whichever you decided to choose, body flush against yours and face nuzzled into your proximity as he then urged you to groom him clean — a trait you later found bunnies did to assert their dominance.

Though ignorant to that fact beforehand, you didn't think much of it and cleaned him thoroughly. Fingers lost in the tress of his pale hair, you'd begin by massaging his roots with intense focus, before letting them slip low and wander about with a curious mind of their own. You'd mindlessly trace his deep scars, the ones all over him, on his arms, his chest and his face with the ghost of a feather.

Bunny's expression was always fixed into one of pure bliss when under your hands' ministrations, and the sight pulled on your heartstrings more than you liked to admit. Even though he was now a man, he still behaved much like he did when he was your pet.

It was so cute, until he then tugged at your clothes like it was now your turn. You'd fought back, obviously, gallant and valiant as you tried desperately to keep them on, but your endeavours were for nought, your efforts in vain. For the man, using either his teeth or monstrous strength, teared them off of you with unbecoming ease.

You'd learnt pretty quickly from then on that there was no use in fighting him, it was just easier to let him get his way — your growing pile of destroyed belongings a rather telling tale.

And much to your chagrin or relief, you weren't sure which of the two, he didn't help wash you up at all — that would be a humiliating sign of his submission towards you — rather, he settled into your warmth. Choosing to tuck his nose snug into your jugular and inhale the scent of you, something he couldn't get quite enough of.

With his weight toppled over you, no signs of him leaving discernible, you were left with no choice but to indulge in his wishes. Either running your fingers through his hair like before or over the ridges of his thick muscles as he hummed with delight.

The shared moment was strangely peaceful, but the instant you slowed down or showed any signs of stopping, he'd whine and huff and bite at your skin, refusing to latch off until you resumed your affections or placated him with endless kisses. Left with no choice but to comply, you heeded to every one of his demands as audacious as they may be.

And when he finally did unlatch from you, reluctantly at that, you were left to suffer with the bruises of his possession. Visible markings would mar the surface of your flesh, the kind that bloomed into shades of purple and were later very curiously questioned on by others.

Bunny wasn't just a headache because he caused you emotional stress and reputational damage, he was an even bigger pain the ass because he was running you into credit card debt.

If as a furball he was eating enough to feed a football team, then his appetite as a human was probably the leading cause of world hunger.

"Say aah—!" You drawled out sweetly, a carrot in your hand as you gently urged him to open his mouth.

That's right, as if his bottomless pit of a stomach wasn't enough, Bunny refused to eat if you didn't feed it to him directly.

Crunch.

His head barely lifted from your shoulder as he took a bite of the root vegetable, whining softly when you took a moment too long to continue scratching the nape of his neck.

"That was a big bite!" You cooed, planting a wet kiss on his rounded cheek as he chewed. "My Bun-Bun is such a good boy!"

You had to compliment him after each bite too, reward him with a smooch for being 'such a good Bunny' and touch him in some kind of way— because the one time you didn't do that, he ended up chewing through your lacy panties that you didn't even know you still had!

They were at the bottom of your hamper, so you'd half forgotten they existed, but still! What man digs through a pile of dirty laundry and destroys panties of all things just to express his irritation?

Only Bunny would, and considering how he was technically a rabbit who liked digging, it wasn't that surprising he still had some of his animal instincts left over. So you being you, just chalked it up to Bunny being, well, your pet bunny.

You were about to feed him another bite, only to blink with stupor when you heard the bell of your apartment ring. Carrot hovering near his wide and awaiting mouth, you racked your brain for who could possibly be visiting you at this late hour.

Bunny let out a low growl from where he was sitting on your lap, his legs immediately tightening around your waist with quiet warning as his eyes narrowed with obvious displeasure. One look at his furrowed expression and you could practically see the new pyjama set you bought ripped into tatters.

"Bunny, I'm sorry— but um… would you please get off me for one moment..?"

He didn't move from his very comfortable spot on you, choosing to ignore you and huff with disapproval into your collarbone instead.

"Please?" You begged, kissing the corners of his mouth with wide and pleading eyes as your thumb rubbed across the swell of his cheeks.

Bunny watched you from the corner of his eyes, the glint of a small thought forming in them as he took in your desperation. Whilst he was a spoiled little brat who enjoyed terrorising you any chance he got, you were still his favourite human.

You may not have realised this while having to deal with his bullshit, but Bunny was weak to you just as much as you were to him.

In one swift moment, he flopped off of you and landed beside you on the couch with a thump. His silent approval, rare and genuine, warmed your heart, pulling a soft smile out of you. One Bunny quickly turned to avoid with a low grunt— the kind that urged you to hurry whilst he was still patient.

"Thank you, Bunny!" You cheered, standing to your feet, though not before giving his head a little pat. "I'll be back soon."

That's what you promised, but one look at your uninvited visitor and that may as well just have been lip service.

"What are you doing here?" You spat, arms crossing defensively as you took in the rather distasteful sight of your ex.

Just what the hell was he doing here?

"Babe—"

"Don't call me that!" You snapped, one hand flying to grab the edge of your door as the other shook by your side. "We… broke up, so please just—."

However, the man before you was quick to notice your intentions. And before you could shut the door in his face, he grabbed a hold of your arm and pulled, knocking you off of your balance.

"Stop being so stubborn!" He grunted with effort, clearly caught off guard with your unusual boost of energy.

You've never been like this before, since when did you learn to fight back?

"Let go—!" Panic shot up your throat as his grip on your arm tightened. The heat of his grimy touch searing your flesh, a feeling you hadn't felt since dating him. "Please—"

And as if hearing your desperation from afar, an arm you've lately become familiar with snaked itself around your waist.

Unlike your ex's, his touch brought you comfort, a mellow warmth you couldn't replicate with just anything.

"Bunny…!" You sniffed, immediate relief flooding you as he pulled you flush against him, your back slotting in his chest with ease.

Bunny didn't reply back to you, instead, he tucked your head beneath his chin in quiet acknowledgement and held you close like he always did. Gaze fixed forward, he stood to his full height and sized down the man intruding on his territory.

Your ex quickly grew alarmed under Bunny's scrutiny, though he tried, and pathetically so, to appear as if the six feet and three inches of pure muscle didn't frighten him.

"Who—Who, who the hell are you?!"

And again, Bunny didn't respond to your ex, though his displeased expression spoke in its stead. His narrowed eyes lingered on the man's hand, namely the way it had still yet to detach from your arm.

Bunny's arm around your waist wandered, trailing low around your hips and pushing you further into his proximity while the other grabbed a hold of the man's wrist.

"Argh—!"

Pain immediately painted his face in a hideous hue, a show of Bunny's unusual strength, one you've never been subjected to despite however many times you've ' irritated' Bunny.

"I—I'll leave! I'll go- damn it!"

Your ex's grip on your arm loosened on instinct, and Bunny was quick to take advantage of the fact. He let go of the man's wrist, quickly replacing it with your now freed arm and pulling you out of the door-frame's way.

The door swung shut, a reverberating bang that was tensely followed with eerie silence.

"…."

You gulped, dread growing in the pit of your stomach as you tried to make sense of the situation— something you were unable to do given how you couldn't even see Bunny's expression.

His grip hasn't left your arm either, and his breathing has only gotten heavier behind you, the heat of his breath fanning your neck with the threat of something.

Bunny has always had quite the good memory, there's no way he'd forget what just happened— let alone forgive you for it. To even consider otherwise is just plain stupid, and the mere thought of receiving his silence shatters your heart.

You turn to face him before you realise, your free hand reaching to cup his face with desperation you aren't aware you're capable of, only to stop when he refuses to meet you.

"Bunny, I—"

The reaction you fear doesn't come. Not in irate huffs, or stomping feet, or crossed arms. No, nothing of the sort.

Bunny's gaze is just so sad as he stares off into the distance, his expression contorted with intense confusion, like he can't figure out something he craves so deeply to understand.

"Bunny..?" Your voice trails of unsurely, your hand hovering with just as much certainty.

He finally turns to face you, or namely your arm that he'd still yet to let go of, and what he does next— has your stomach lurch.

"B-Bunny—?!"

He's licking your arm, slobbering all over the flesh of your limb with the instinct of an animal grooming its beloved.

Your fluster goes ignored, though the spike in your pulse doesn't go unnoticed by the large man before you, his darkening eyes a telling sign of his growing desires.

Bunny stares at you, unblinking and lust-glazed as he approaches your proximity with the nature of a veteran. Swift, effortless, and readily— like he knows what he's doing. Like he's seen you do it so many times before that it has now become a part of his strange nature.

"Hah—" you let out a soft sigh, your thighs clenching against yourself, a pit of need growing in your core as he littered your exposed skin with countless opened mouth kisses— covering you in his scent.

Bruises are bound to grow with how hard he bites at the flesh, but the pain eases into pleasure as he licks at the teared skin with uncontainable reverence. His desire leaks through just as much as yours, you feel it in the way he presses against you, a short friction that only fuels your longing.

His lips wander at an agonising pace, from your ears to your neck, your neck to your collarbone— and they travel lower and lower. Bunny has reached your stomach before you know it, and he stops for a short moment, just staring at you with dilated eyes. There's intention behind them, and you can only whine with desperation as the moment of tension lengthens into eternity.

The air smells different. Sweeter.

Enticing.

Your pheromones are running haywire, Bunny notices, of course he does. The faint twitch of his nose as he picks up on the change in your scent is obvious— he can see your chest heave from anticipation and your eyes glaze with the hope of release.

It's so blatantly clear that you're aroused— and Bunny wants nothing more than to breed you full of his essence.

But he doesn't just do as he pleases this time.

This time, he waits for your words of permission with patience that is unbecoming of him.

"Bunny…"

Your voice is soft as you address him, breathy and mellifluous as they charge the air with palpable tension. Grabbing the lengths of his short hair, you pull him flush against you, pressing his face close to the heat of your need.

"Will you…" Lashes fluttering, you met his gaze head on, a small smile growing on your lips as you awaited for his reaction.

"Will you show me how bunnies show their affection?"

A snort. "If I'm dying at an early age, it's definitely not gonna be from lung cancer."

You watch as his fingers fiddle with the lighter; the cap already hinged up, his thumb scraping the gear across the other, sending flames lighting on and off again.

He glances up at you, and there's that gleam again. He doesn't look away this time, though —his eyes pierce you, and his tone comes out deliberate, despite how nonchalant he is.

"Do you want to try one?"

You blink.

It was all light teasing up to this point, but this actually makes you nervous — makes you feel like prey under his stare, makes you want to shrink away from how excited it makes you feel.

It's dark outside, and it's only the two of you on the rooftop of this building; that fact makes you startlingly aware of every action, every rustle of his clothes, every clang of the machines around you.

"C'mon, babysitter," he chides, the teasing lilt at the edge of his voice sending shivers up your spine, "Give it a spin. For me?"

(For him?

Doesn’t he know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him?)

"… This counts as peer pressure, you know."

"I’d say we're a little bit more than just 'peers',” he hums, “But whatever makes you feel better."

The heat on the back of your neck floods to your jaw, tensing as you debate the action of smoking a highly addictive cancer stick that you've been warned your entire life not to touch.

You know for a fact that he doesn’t care if you actually end up taking it, he won’t berate you or make you feel bad about it — he cares too much about you, and you think that might be the problem. Addictive, in the same way a cigarette would be.

He lights the end, and you catch a whiff of burnt tobacco. It smells of smoke and pine, tar and earth.

Stifling and coy, clinging to the air around you, and you come to the devastating realization that’s why you like the way he smells so much.

"Here, I'll go first so you don't have to."

You've seen him smoke cigarettes multiple times before, and still, you don't think you'll ever get used to just how attractive he is when he inhales — pursed lips wrapped around the paper, the way his chest rises, the muscle in his neck tensing.

Shit.

He’s beautiful under the reflection of the moonlight, beautiful as he blows the smoke out of his lungs, beautiful as he offers the stick to you.

Your fingertips graze against his as he hands it over, your skin tingling from his touch, your heart beating out of your chest as you bring it to your mouth. The man takes a step back — hair fluttering in the wind, sharp eyes seemingly studying your frame.

(He's so beautiful it hurts, and for a second, you think about what it might taste like to drown in him instead.)

So you inhale sharply.

Nicotine makes its way down your lungs, and you end up coughing almost immediately, dry hacks escaping your lips as you cover your mouth.

Through bleary eyes, you manage to see a hint of a smile playing on his lips before he has the decency to turn away, leaving you swallowing to gather the saliva down your esophagus — it helps, but your windpipe still feels bare and dirty.

You have to shake your head, laughing at how silly you feel.

"Get this thing out of my hands." You smile, embarrassed as you give the stupid thing back to him, “I don't know how you do it."

"It's probably better that you don't enjoy it," he affirms, before his eyes catch the edges of the top of the cigarette. There are wet streaks that line where your mouth was — wet, but not wet enough to be saliva.

He tilts his head, his tongue peeking out to his teeth, tone amused. "You're not wearing gloss by any chance?"

"Chapstick." You flush slightly, pressing your lips together as he takes another hit, “Strawberry-scented."

He hums, playfully breathing out a short puff of smoke into your face — you wrinkle your nose, waving your hand to blow it away, and he laughs.

"Want to try something else?" You watch his lips form the words, his eyes staring ahead to the moon that shines above you, the buildings whose lights slowly begin to flicker off as the day comes to an end.

Your mouth feels dry from the smoke. "You don't think you've been a bad enough influence?"

"Oh come on," his eyes flit towards yours, and you capture his full attention again. He's usually not like this — usually not this direct and certainly never this impulsive — it's just the effect you have on him, he assumes, that makes his uniform feel tight on his body, makes his feet automatically step closer to you. “Don't you trust me?"

Your heart thunders in your chest as he smoothly shifts closer, his body domineering over yours. Your hands grip the railing of the deck you stand on, watching as he maneuvers his hand right next to yours, turning his body so that he's right in front of you.

“Of course." Your lips move on their own, as if he just asked if the moon above you was gray or if flames lapping at your skin would burn — because of course fire burns and the moon reflects a silver light, and of course you trust him.

And he's so beautiful.

Beautiful as his lips quirk to a small smirk, beautiful as he lifts the cigarette to his lips.

The butt of the cigarette faces you, dangerously close to the skin between your eyes — you think it might be the sun, glowing a fiery and angry orange as his chest rises and he inhales, bits of paper crisping up to black floating down onto your clothes.

His chest stays taut as he leans closer, his lips only inches away from yours.

And that's that.

He breathes out, and you breathe in.

You don't cough this time — you can't with how overwhelmed it all feels — nerves short-circuiting with the scent of his cologne and breath far too close to you, his arms trapping you against the edge. It's bad how dizzyingly good it feels spasming in your chest, settling deep behind your heart. Your fingertips tingle as his hands lie flush against your own, heat emanating from every part of his body, fleetingly aware of how close you are to him.

(It feels like you've kissed the Grim Reaper, when all you want to do is kiss him instead.)

His fingers tighten their grip on yours at your expression, eyes struggling to stay open, heaving breaths of fresh air while his smoke as if you could ever cleanse him out of you, rid his stains on your purity, stop his lips from inching closer.

As if you'd ever want to.

Your hands grasp the collar of his shirt, and he lets out a muffled gasp of surprise as your lips connect with his. His lips are hot — it's actually warm from the cigarette — moving fluidly against yours.

They're chapped, his bottom lip more than his top lip, but you don't really mind, not with the way his hand cups your neck and his head tilts to the side, his jaw flexing as he kisses you like a man going through withdrawals.

His lips feel like liquid fire on yours, wreaking havoc where they spread, burning up your will to not consume him. You've always known he was a dangerous man, but this feels so much better than you could've imagined; he's greedy as he kisses you, hand cupping the back of your neck, muscle against your teeth.

His right hand drops the cigarette to reach for your waist instead, the burning smoke long forgotten when you're right there.

You separate your lips from his, a puff of warm air escaping your esophagus as he moves his head with yours, breathing heavily under hushed tones.

"Wasn't — hah — wasn't that more enjoyable than a cigarette?" Your thumb reaches up to his mouth, smearing the little bit of your chapstick to the rest of his lips, wet with saliva.

The sickeningly saccharine scent of strawberry invades his brain this way, the scent of you at the receptors of his neurons, shutting them down, making his heart all soft.

"Can we do that again?" His voice is lower and huskier, staring unabashedly at your lips. They're so smooth compared to his, pillowy and soft, the taste of your chapstick lingering on his tongue—fuck, he can barely think straight.

Your hand moves to his jaw, caressing his cheek. It's like he melts into you, his chin dipping lower, eyelashes fluttering, pupils staring up at you and awaiting your next command.

You smile.

"No cigarettes for two weeks."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

— Aki Hayakawa, Shizuo Heiwajima, Geto Suguru, Keishin Ukai, Shikamaru Nara, Hirotaka Nifuji, Sniper Mask, Gray Fullbuster, Loid Forger, John Price, John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, Sanji, John Constantine, plus your other faves!

a/n: yeah i know half of these are ooc but i just love smokers … ← girl who has never smoked anything in her life