Lucifer Morningstar x gn!reader 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 1.5k | making out, spicy but not smutty, jokes, foolish teasing, slight mention of blood and injuries, dramatic Lucifer

This idea wasn't mine; I saw it in a @iamnearlyagod 's post and thought I'd give it a try… so I hope you liked it and that it met your expectations! :)

Lucifer was devastated when he discovered it. Or so you told yourself, because with how dramatic he was, you assured that it was just an exaggeration, trying not to laugh. He had even flown to a corner of the room! You swore he had started to cry.

You two had organized a movie night after a heavy week, which meant that the poor king would finally have a day of peace and rest with his beloved spouse. Hugs, snacks, cuddles, and kisses everywhere! The first half of the movie was adorable, both of you laughed like schoolboys while cuddling against each other, Lucifer's wings spread around you and drew you towards him like a warm, protective hug. But being the busy king of hell also builds up a lot of sexual frustration from stress, right?

Your arms were around his neck, his wings were ruffled, curving around you, yearning for your touch like a bird courting its mate. Your lips collided incessantly, struggling for control between longing and passion, overflowing with love. His hands were on your hips, you had been sitting on his lap for a while, your thighs around his hips, his hands not letting you go anywhere.

His bifid tongue was inside your mouth. Lucifer was not usually dominant—actually, neither of you "dominated" the other when you made love, very different from when you had sex. The simple name said it all. That’s why the pleasure was more passionate, not just lustful; when his hands moved you in circles over his lap, a discreet hint of how he wanted to grind against you, asking for permission but also claiming what was his from the moment the ring fell on your finger.

Your hands went from holding the hair at the nape of his neck to trailing down his back; your fingers caressed his back with devotion until they reached the base of his wings, the simple touch made him shudder under your caress. His lips parted from yours, inhaling breaths of air, trailing kisses from your jaw to your throat and the hollow of your neck. His sharp teeth sank into the junction of your neck and shoulder deeply, hearing the hiss that escaped you made him hum in satisfaction. He didn’t usually do that; he was careful with the marks, he didn’t like to hurt you, only when you asked for it; and that you had done before getting on his lap.

But there was something almost primitive about the new idea of seeing you marked, ravaged, that every part of your body screamed that you were his, and no one else’s. To show off with all Pride if necessary to let them see the beautiful lover he had. He deepened the bite; he wouldn’t be satisfied until he felt the metallic taste of your blood on his palate, but feeling that it was too much, he pulled away just a little.

And then…

“What?” he murmured. For a few moments, he stopped. He really did. His brow furrowed, his pupils almost constricted, and disbelief, surprise, and anger marked his face.

“Luci?” you asked, raising an eyebrow and lowering your gaze to his face. His hands rose to your cheeks to cradle your face, but instead of bringing it closer to his, they held it up. The shadow of your head must not fall where he was looking. “Luci!”

"Just a moment!" he replied, still astonished. He blinked; he blinked several times, you could see the gears guiding in a head, constructing a response. His astonished face melted into a terrified expression.

"W…Where is it?"

"What thing?"

"My bite! I just bit your shoulder and I don't see it, where is it?"

You also blinked. You got off his lap, and he was so astonished and stunned that he didn't even bother to protest as he would have in another case; rather, he focused on not diverting his gaze from your neck. At the junction of your shoulder and neck, where there was supposed to be a deep bite mark (perhaps with some blood), there was barely a pattern of teeth. Not even sharp like his, just… teeth, and barely visible.

He frowned; there was a sudden determination in his gaze, focused with concentration, a plan in mind. His hands went to the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head, throwing it to the other side of the room. At another moment, he would have adored you, admired your body, your beauty, every scar, burn, insecurity—whatever it was, he was going to love it. But something was happening to him with how determined he was to test his hypothesis.

His long black nails slid with a scratch to your sides, closer to your lower back than to your waist. His face said it all, how he did not take his eyes off his nails on your skin, waiting to see a hint of skin opening and giving way to small drops of blood. And, for just a few moments, he swore he saw it, really! Only for moments later the wound to close up. He was horrified again.

"Dear" you placed your hands over his, letting out a sigh at how disappointed he looked, totally depressed and hurt. You tightened your grip, your fingers over his knuckles. "Do you want to tell me what’s going on in that little head of yours?"

Silence. The buzzing of the television that has been off since your lips collided, the muted noises from the street, the synchronized breaths. Then─

"I can't hurt sinners! Do you know what that means?" he spat, his voice strangled like an out-of-tune violin, immersed in exasperation and realization. "No bites, no hickeys, no scratches!" His hands went up to cover his face, while he pulled at the poor golden strands that were in his way.

But he looked so disappointed, so devastated─ Aha! There was the word that completely described his state, because it meant he couldn't give the kind of pleasure that his lover liked. What if they liked strangulation? No, it can't be! BDSM, slaps? Neither! It was as if your body didn't even register that you were being hurt, or on the contrary, his body couldn't make wounds.

This… hit him harder than you expected.

It was like this that Lucifer, the king of hell, the fallen angel, ended up sitting on the corner of the bed; he would have gone to the corner of the room but you didn’t let him! With his legs pulled to his chest, his wings closed around him like a shell, a thick blanket protecting him from the outside─ or from you, in either case. He had a pout on his lips, although you couldn’t see it, you were sure of what his face looked like; the furrowed brow, the wrinkled lips, the narrowed eyes filled with tears. You didn’t know whether to laugh or join him in his misery.

Your shoulders shook with a cruel contained laugh that you were seriously trying not to let out because his theatrical act of a broken heart would only worsen. You placed your hand on his back, which was where he was most exposed since his wings covered everything but his back. As if his body recognized you before he did, his wings opened, majestically flapping as if to say “look at me, we are precious!” with a song coming from nowhere. Lucifer felt betrayed by his own body.

“Don’t say anything!” he stopped you, raising a finger. He managed to fold his wings more calmly behind his back, letting out a sigh that you didn’t know if it was an emphasis for a monologue or a genuine part of his realization. “I just… didn’t think the punishment would affect me in something like making love!”

“Dear,” you placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, his lower lip protruding with what you recognized as a genuine pout, not just an extension of his act. You also let out a sigh, a calm smile that didn’t reach your eyes adorning your face. “We can still make love.”

“But not like you like…”

“Do you think that because you can’t scratch me or bite me I don’t like making love with you? For God’s sake!” you wanted to shake him by the shoulders until all the feathers fell from his wings. Instead, you leaned closer to him. “None of that matters to me if you’re in my bed!”

“Even if I can’t make you bleed?”

“Even when you can’t make me bleed,” you nodded, assuring your words with a hand on your heart.

Lucifer’s lips curved into a smile, shy but honest, relieved by your words despite the genuine anguish he hid behind his dramatic act, even when he hid beneath his wings. He placed a hand on your shoulder, leaned in for support, and his lips fell upon yours in a sealing kiss.

“So… what were we on?”

percy jackson x gn!reader

💌 ( valentine's day special! )

There's no way anyone can convince me that Percy doesn't like Valentine's Day. A day when he can give you flowers, sweets and affection? He already does that every day! but he sees it as a challenge to outdo himself, especially with how competitive he can be when he sees the other campers giving their partners extravagant gifts.

You weren't sure if Percy was really going to do something special for the occasion, perhaps take you for a walk in the evening or bring you a wildflower, but you didn't get your hopes up. Not because you didn't believe in him or in the possibility of being spoiled, but because you thought he would forget. Oh, and he hadn't even told you about a date a few days earlier, so even that made you doubt.

He daydreamed about you, and February 14th was just an excuse to spoil you all day and be overly affectionate without his friends making fun of him. An excuse to kiss your whole face when they sneaked out of training to giggle in secret. To see you looking even prettier, because it seemed like you thought the same way he did.

First, he takes his time getting up early to get ready. Taming his jet-black hair, as unruly as a wave during a storm, shaving his stupid teenage stubble (he has no idea how) and taking a good shower, he has to make sure he smells like something other than sand, salt and sweat. He takes pains to iron a shirt from the camp, even though it's useless, put on just the right amount of cologne and deodorant, brush his teeth, and even chew gum.

He never does that. He couldn't care less about his appearance when he's trying to survive day to day without being devoured by a monster or gods who woke up more bitter than usual that morning. He has to be ready for you, his Valentine's Day date! Or so he thought as he headed to your cabin to pick you up and take you to breakfast. Before forgetting about the flowers he had prepared in his cabin, he turned around and ran. He tripped over his shoelaces, but everything was in order!

He obtained water lily flowers after negotiating with a couple of fish in the lake, as the location of the camp would have made it difficult to swim until he found a perfect sea flower to give you. His idea was that you could put them in a vase with water and they would not wilt, unlike normal flowers. Oh, and Demeter's children couldn't get him magical flowers because they were busy with extra work due to the dates. He solved it himself.

When he saw you come out of your cabin, his smile was so wide that it warmed you like the afternoon sun on the beach, his cheeks burned and his dimples became pronounced. He didn't even let you step onto the doorstep to leave, he threw himself at you, almost shouting and laughing loudly—you couldn't remember the last time you had seen him so happy. So excited. So... him. No monsters or gods, the day belonged to his partner!

He accompanied you to the pavilion for breakfast, holding your hand. He was nervous and excited like never before. He had planned everything (for the first time in his life, coherently) and repeated it to himself mentally multiple times so as not to forget anything. He never stopped making you laugh or blush. When you giggled, he sighed as if a secondary mission on his list had been completed.

Chiron and Mr D didn't really bother to leave any activities for that day, no exciting games to keep him away from you that day. Percy doesn't know personal space, whenever he can he's on top of you or hanging around you, like a silent, dense protection, with a warm smile and mischievous eyes. His hand was always on some part of your body, either on your waist or on your shoulders, his eyes followed you everywhere, and he always had something to say.

He loved lying on the grass under the shade of the trees, his head resting on your legs. His words came out slurred, the accumulated fatigue of being someone like him overcoming him in peaceful situations. Your warmth made him dizzy enough to make his eyelids feel heavy, and the idea of taking a nap with you was too tempting to resist. He has already imagined a life with you. When the war is over and things calm down, he wants to build something with you. Whether you like marriage or not, even children, he wants to be with you for the rest of his days.

"But Valentine's Day doesn't happen in summer─" me vale verga

Hitoshi Shinso x reader

established relationship, fluff, short, attempt to get out of writer's block

Hitoshi Shinso didn't actually have insomnia. Not like everyone thought.

It wasn’t that Hitoshi didn’t sleep; it was just that his sleeping habits always seemed strange to everyone else. He could fall asleep extremely quickly if he was in a comfortable, quiet place—like the common room on a lucky day—but he could never fall asleep in his bed early in the evening without staring at the ceiling until dawn.

And he didn’t hate naps; he just couldn’t fall asleep if he was training. He was always sleepy at the worst possible times.

That’s why he started feeling sleepy when you invited him to cuddle up.

Hitoshi had been training all day with Aizawa, as usual; strands of indigo hair were plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest was heaving rapidly, and he could still feel the adrenaline coursing through his body. He was completely exhausted but unable to sit still.

Hitoshi was sitting under a tree, his head tilted back as he caught his breath. In his calloused hands lay his untangled capture weapon, its light yet efficient texture keeping him grounded. Until you arrived. You had that sweet smile on your face, waving at him as you approached with hurried steps and your hands full—a cold bottle of water in one and a packet of crackers in the other.

"Toshi!" You greeted him warmly. A weary smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Hey, honey,” he said in his usual husky voice that always gave you butterflies.

Hitoshi shifted his body to make room for you, spreading his legs and arms. You settled yourself against him, your back against his chest and his legs wrapping around yours. His arms wrapped around your torso; he didn’t bother to take what you were offering him, even with your complaining voice echoing in his ears. His head nestled into the crook of your neck, letting out a sigh and closing his eyes.

No matter how much you wanted to complain that he was sweaty or how much you squirmed to get away from his embrace, Hitoshi’s arms didn’t loosen their grip. You heard a purring murmur in his throat, and for a few moments, you could have sworn he started snoring.

His mind went blank, and any worries he had were swept away the moment he felt your warmth against him. The tension in his shoulders eased; he was almost a different man the way he nestled his face against your shoulder, letting out moans you swore you’d never hear if you moved, and he almost lost you.

They're so warm and comfy… and smell so good. Sweet. Oh ny God, they smell like caramel.

You were his weakness, his everything. You were the only person he trusted enough to doze off in your arms, the person he listened to when he was scolded for neglecting basic care. The way his face would relax comfortably without him even realizing it. He was a hero to you, though not always in a heroic way; more in the way he wanted to hold your hand in a room full of people.

“Toshi─ Toshi, come on, you're not gonna sleep here.” “Huh? Why not?" As soon as he opened his eyes, he tilted his head to make sure he was looking at your face. "Because you're not. Let's go to my room. We'll watch a movie, and you can sleep over in my room." "Hmm," he murmured hoarsely, still making no effort to move but agreeing with you. "yeah."

Percy Jackson x loser boy!reader

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 8.7k | 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ˒˒ fluff/smut, sub!amab!reader, softdom!percy, first time, grown-up characters, established relationship, dry humping, spicy, aftercare.

Percy Jackson x gn!reader

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: suggestive touches, making out | short

In your defense, maybe you should have expected it when you invited Percy to your house for the holidays—you knew something would happen.

Your family had gone out for a few hours to buy cookie dough to make gingerbread men, leaving you and Percy alone.

Oh, but could you blame him? The poor man had been holding back terribly ever since he stepped onto the welcome rug and took off his shoes. He had already been in your room, the kitchen, the backyard, and now the couch, where you both were.

This man was starving, as if just a couple of hours without laying a hand on you beyond your knee was lethal for him—having to behave, sitting with his back straight and jaw tight while smiling at your family in a pitiful attempt to disguise the blush that climbed his neck every time you nestled closer to him. You looked dazzling just by smiling, and it was killing him.

He had his hand on your thigh, his nails digging into the flesh and grazing lightly—not wanting to hurt you but channeling all his pent-up desire there. He molded that same leg and ended up pulling it onto his lap, giving him more room to slip between them and lean in to kiss you better. His lips were fire—hot and fleeting, crashing against yours with desperation. He was trying so hard to remain a gentleman, not to drag you fully into his lap and ruin you right then and there.

Only kisses, he told himself, while your ankles locked completely behind his back, your arms around his neck, your hands in his hair, and your body sinking into the soft cushions of the couch—an open invitation for him to hover over you, his free hand braced beside your head to keep from crushing you.

“You taste so— gods, good…” he almost whined, his lips moving from yours to your jaw, fighting with all his strength not to attack your neck and leave it raw, because at any moment your family could walk through that front door.

He couldn’t even remember how it had gotten this far—his brain was mush, filled with nothing but flashes of you. His ears only registered your sounds, his eyes only your figure: every movement, every brush of skin against skin, every expression and caress. The way your hair spilled over the cushions, your pupils dilated, your lips already swelling from his bites. Your outfit was wrinkled; the hem of your shirt rode up to your stomach, your chest heaved with every breath, and you were practically sweating if he focused closely enough on the droplets forming at your temple. He swallowed hard and promised himself to save that image for… later.

Thinking about Dick Grayson and how he's such a charming scoundrel, with an ego so big it takes up all the oxygen when you're in a room with him and you can't breathe, but with a heart to match. How he smiles like the world owes him something, how he flirts like it's the first time and looks at you like he knows he already has you wrapped around his arm. Still, he's a complete mess.

He couldn't be away from you without feeling like a part of his soul had been taken away from him. He gave you his whole heart, and if you left the house for a few minutes without telling him, he'd be waiting for you, sitting on the couch as if he hadn't sat for twenty minutes in front of the door waiting for your return, pouting.

The kind of boyfriend who invited you on shopping dates at the mall, gave you his credit card, let you buy whatever you wanted, and carried your bags in his hands on the way home. He's a clumsy gentleman, sometimes forgetting to open doors or the rule of walking on the sidewalk, but he does his best when it comes to paying for the dates, giving you his jacket, or giving you flowers at least once a week.

In public, he's "discreet" (what's discreet to this man?) with gestures like his hand on your lower back, subtle glances to make sure you were okay, or kisses on the palm of your hand. Tall enough to lean down to hear you when you were talking, even though it was too noisy outside. But behind closed doors, he was nothing more than a whiny, clingy kid because when you ordered sandwiches at that grocery store near your house, they forgot to take out the pickles.

He follows you around like he's lost, looks at you with hearts in his eyes when he thinks you're not noticing, and daydreams like you're not even there. His favorite part of the day is lounging with you on the couch, playing video games, eating junk food, and then setting a terrible sleep schedule by staring at the ceiling and talking to you on a cold winter night.

Vox x gn!reader

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 4.3k | elements (violence, language, jokes) of the canon, a bit ooc (I'm getting used to the character), short

made for @lossdream | ma'am I want my Lucifer's draw

He doesn’t know how he ended up like this. Every day he tells himself that he is completely sorry, that it was a mistake and that he would never do it again, but the words flow from his mouth every time he sees himself in front of the mirror so that his ego doesn’t get hurt. As always.

You are his favorite employee. Not Val’s, not Velvett’s, his employee. The one who brings him coffee, gives the reports, the papers, announces the layoffs, gets rid of the bodies. You did your job like any employee (not lazy) and still, you had something special. That’s how Valentino called it when Vox mentioned you for a fraction of a second, although he never quite understood if it was sarcasm or he was serious, which meant that he probably wanted you in one of his films, but he wouldn’t… allow it.

You arrived at the tower on a peculiar day. Less miserable, as the news announced, while they split someone’s skull in two with an axe right in front of the VoxTek tower before you entered with security. A tall, confident, and positive demeanor to get the position you wanted. The interview was simpler than you had heard as whispered rumors in the streets, in less than an hour you had already gotten the position, they would expect you on Monday at the scheduled time and they let you leave. That was your first impression of Vox beyond the public impression.

“Mondays are for making the opening week itinerary, Tuesdays you organize the television scripts, Wednesdays and Thursdays the new releases, and Fridays we close the week” he said, his arms behind his back as he walked and chatted about what would be your new job. He turned on his heels to face you. “Did you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

Vox almost wanted to laugh. Instead, he nodded. Something told him that you weren’t going to last long, you looked too happy and optimistic to be in hell, even in his company. He knew that people didn’t last long, but honestly, he couldn’t care less. But little did he know how stubborn and determined you were, as the position of just another weekly assistant started to feel too small for what you once thought when you got the position. And even he noticed it.

You used to leave the cup of his bitter coffee on the coaster of the desk, the reports (and complaints) from employees in your free hand, organized as you knew he liked. You waited for him to come through the door; you asked him about his day, and after he rolled his eyes at you, you started with your part of the job. If you had to be honest, you didn’t understand why suddenly everyone was complaining about Vox. A bad boss? But he gave you recognition!

“Descent” he formulated once, leaving the papers on the desk.

He always insisted that the papers were useless, with all the technology that existed, there were still employees who used papers. But you were one of the few who did not receive reprimand for this. Vox put his feet up on the desk, looking at you with what you did not know if it was pride reluctantly or simplicity. He cleared his throat, his hand went to adjust the bow tie around his neck naturally, as he always did when he was bored, and then he put his arms behind his head.

“What else did I ask you to do?” he raised an eyebrow.

You put your arms behind your back, maintaining a relaxed posture. “Take care of Shock.Wave.”

Vox raised an eyebrow. “Did I tell you to do that?” he thought out loud, as if he had forgotten. There was a moment of silence, where he simply shrugged with disinterest. “Yeah, of course. Do it.”

You approached the large fish tank in the office, the size of a wall. A happy smile that did not reach your eyes when you tapped the glass with your finger, the huge shark swam to the place of the sound in a matter of seconds, resting its forehead against your hand. You let out a laugh and began with its daily care, like feeding it fresh meat, cleaning its glass, checking if it needed a water change, or talking to it about your day as if it were your best friend who was going to give you a response. You were the only one Vox trusted with the care of his son.

Then he stayed working in the same room as you, and the silence was anything but… annoying. I mean, if you wanted to hum a melody, play with Shock.Wave, or talk to yourself. Vox did not yell at you to shut up with a threat of dismembering you in between. It almost seemed comfortable, seriously! You told yourself that he seemed less tense without annoying noises when he could hear you were there.

You were lucky, the others told you, poor soulless shells for having ended up working for him thanks to a stupidity, never of your own will, contrary to yours. Your life seemed better in hell than when you were alive, but you did not overthink too much. Vox? Vox was kind to you! He responded to your good mornings with a “mph” instead of his indifferent silence or disgusting sarcasm, it almost seemed like he paid attention to you when you dared to ramble about a topic you liked, he did not kick you out of his office, sometimes he agreed with you, he kept you away from the perverted workers of Val (or himself), he did not yell at you. He was kind to you!

It all started one day when you entered his office, as usual. An unpleasant day, like any day in hell, the sky just as red as always, the atmosphere just as miserable, the heat just as suffocating; nothing had changed. The sound of a coffee cup being placed on the table was what made you lift your gaze from the reports you had in your hand. You raised an eyebrow because he never arrived before you.

“Sir?” an awkward laugh bubbled from your chest. You lowered your gaze to the coffee you were holding in your hand. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know you had already brought yours.”

“This is not mine” e pointed out, disinterested as always. The claw with its light blue nail pointed to the coffee cup. “, I don’t drink coffee with sugar. The bitch who served them didn’t hear what I said, at least you are more competent when you bring them.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, daring to say “So, um, can I─”

“Yes, take it. Get it out of my sight.” he gestured with his hand, rolling his eyes.

At that moment, you didn’t do much, you laughed under your breath, leaving his coffee in its place on the coaster where it always was. He was looking at the huge pool the size of a wall with his son inside, swimming peacefully, threatening and terrifying, as always. His arms behind his back didn’t move, nor did his face, but somehow he looked over his shoulder to signal that you could take the sweetened coffee.

That’s how it started. Vague lies, mediocre excuses, and a lot of arrogance praising himself. A new outfit? Oh, Valentino said it would look good on you, it highlighted your curves. New shoes? Velvett hated them and got rid of them cleanly. New tech gadgets? A poor idiot among his workers mixed up the addresses and the packages ended up at your door, but you never received complaints demanding a return. Then one day you received a card in the name of VoxTek and you knew something had happened in the flat head of your boss.

You spent more time in his office taking care (playing) of Shock.Wave, gradually you managed to get under his skin with this same tactic to get conversation topics, and it worked! I mean, there had to be something behind the fact that he now responded to you more than with simple “mph” or “uh-huh, yes.” Once he let out a laugh! Sarcastic, but it was still a laugh. You were delighted at how he seemed clearly protective of you in his own way, with how he let you buy what you wanted for him to see, and he did.

Then he started to flirt.

“Oh, but what a beauty” he whistled. You had just passed in front of him on your way to the stairs. You turned around, running a hand through your hair and the other to your chest.

“Excuse me?” you raised an eyebrow.

“What? Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud.” he chuckled. Your response only stroked his ego as if you were petting the fur of a spoiled cat.

You decided to ignore him, right? It was foolishness, it would soon pass, maybe by next week he would become obsessed with another employee or another sinner wandering the uncomfortable streets. But those weeks turned into months with just a couple of blinks, with a speed of time that you didn’t measure that had him obsessed in the palm of your hand.

Vox was pathetic, if you had to be honest. Too proud, unappealing hints, tasteless jokes. And you liked that, it amused you, even made you feel tenderness, it was nice to hear how he had changed more obviously while you remained the same employee as always, just now more spoiled and with less work on your plate.

“Hello, sweetness” he dragged the words as soon as he saw you enter through the doors of his office, sitting in the armchair instead of behind his desk. He lifted his head when he heard your chuckle, which meant it was probably a good sign. “How did it go?”

“What do you mean?” you raised an eyebrow.

“About the party you went to yesterday… your tracker started beeping all night.”

“All night─ YOU PUT A TRACKER ON ME?”

“Mhn” he nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was no regret behind his eyes. “I need to take care of my employees.”

“Do you do that with everyone?”

Vox let out an explosive and thunderous laugh, a joke too good to leave it as a chuckle. He wiped a tear from the screen and turned to see you completely, his brow furrowed with pitying amusement, as if he were grateful you made him laugh that way, similarly his lips were curved upwards.

“Of course not!” and he laughed loudly again like a rogue. “No one is that important. Except…"

“You said the same thing last week”

“It’s not like my opinion has changed!”

You raised an eyebrow, you knew he was hiding something given that his egocentric theatricality shone brightly. When his smug smile was so wide it showed his teeth across the screen. Something made you distrust, something was what he wanted, and somehow, you were sure he was going to get it.

He cleared his throat, intertwined his fingers, and leaned on his hands, with his elbows on the backrest of the armchair where he remained reclined. His smile darkened enough to confirm your theories of the moment.

“I have a proposal for you…”

“Ah, there it is”

“Let me continue” he chuckled, disgusted at the idea of being interrupted, smiling pitifully. He extended his hand towards you “Come with me to the Overlords' gala”

You jumped in your place, raised an eyebrow, and almost tripped over your feet when you decided to straighten up. Hearing his victorious laugh again discreetly sent a shiver down your spine. In a blue electric flash, Vox appeared in front of you, still with his hand extended, each time more impatient that you are not giving him the answer he expected. He longed. He needed.

“Come with me to the gala that will be among the Overlords this weekend, a profit recap and shit like that. It has always been done” he leaned towards your height, his smile dropped just a little to keep pressing. “I bet you will have a great time.” but you didn’t fall so easily.

“A gala?” you raised an eyebrow. You managed to regain the little courage you had left. You swallowed. “Why would you suddenly be interested in an event like that? And what if I say no?”

He didn’t like your answer. His smile fell as quickly as it appeared, in its place was a flash of offended and angry smile, he usually didn’t receive a “no” in response. But more than once he had shown you that he wasn’t good at giving you a “no” either. That’s why it took him so long to think of a response, instead of reaching out and crushing your neck until you said yes, he took a deep breath, giving you that bloodstained smile with false empathy and his eyebrows curved with pity.

“Dear… oh, you don’t know how lucky you would be. Alcohol, food, contacts, all free if you just come with me!” this time he did take your arm. It wasn’t a rough or painful touch, his fingers wrapped around your arm securely, as if he were afraid you would leave with a definitive no. His smile softened in a less arrogant way, one you hadn’t seen before.

“I offer you a gift in exchange for a yes.” he concluded, his voice with a mechanical purr that made you think twice.

But you knew that was what he wanted, that he had you in the palm of his hand doing what he had instinctively urged you to do. But you didn’t fall so easily as you thought you would.

“Are you buying me?”

Vox’s eyes widened. A laugh that you couldn’t identify if it was from realizing his stupid words, and that he could have used other ones. Or maybe it was disbelief that you were talking to him like that. Whatever the case, he let go of your arm, putting a hand on his face. His laughter started to give you certain creepy nerves.

“Buying you? Don’t fuck with me!” he kept laughing. For a moment you thought he was going to raise his voice at you, but it didn’t happen. “I’m inviting you to a party where I know you will have a good time! Buying you?” he repeated. His voice broke with static interruptions, which only started to make you uncomfortable.

“Vox” you stopped, raising your hand. As soon as his name left your lips he stopped, as if you had pressed a pause button. You blushed with strangeness. “Sir, um… do you want me as your companion? What about Valentino?”

“He will go with one of his whores”

“Velvett?”

“She hates going accompanied, she says we dim her shine.”

“Oh” you said. You had a dry throat, you didn’t know what else to say.

I mean, you really weren’t losing anything if you went, Vox was going to take care of the transportation, your outfit, presentation, and everything you asked for. As he always did. You didn’t know whether to say you were uncomfortable or excited.

“I… I will go” you sighed. You could have sworn the brightness on his screen increased with excitement. You added; “But! No harassment, or─ or I’ll leave the company!”

“You have my word” he put a hand to his chest, a proud (and somewhat excited) smile blooming at the corner of his lips. You didn’t know whether to distrust even more.

And well, it had been a yes. And you weren’t someone who lied with your word, unlike what you thought Vox did.

That weekend you had left your house with an outfit that had appeared at your door from Velvett, a quite nice one with the note “you better wear it, bitch” in the box. What confidence.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, you felt strange when a luxurious car with the plate “TRUST US” parked with the windows down, calling your name. It was even stranger because; while you lived in a low-income neighborhood, blood, trash, and vomit everywhere, you climbed with your expensive high-heeled shoes into the back seat of what you now knew was a limousine. The ride became quite uncomfortable when you started to hear the driver just crying about his ex-wife.

Finally, you arrived at the reception of the towering building. The first thing you saw was Velvett yelling at the poor underpaid man who had to work as a receptionist that night. You didn’t know whether to move forward, stand still, act uncomfortable as if nothing had happened or that you had known her your whole life.

“MY SHOW IS BEING DELAYED BECAUSE OF YOUR FUCKING FAULT, CHEAP WHORE! Nothing you’re wearing matches, you should be ashamed to be near me. NO, DON’T TOUCH ME! If anything goes wrong here, I will use your skin as a coat, maybe that way it will be more useful than your fucking presence” she waved her fist in the air. You were sure that as soon as you turned around, the poor man had already received a punch.

Yes, approaching Velvett was not an option. Neither was Valentino when you turned around and saw him enter through the same door as you. For a moment, you felt trapped. Or at least that was until you saw a nearby door that opened to the stairs.

With some complicated high-heeled shoes, you ran to the stair door, pushed it with more force than you had measured, and stumbled over your feet. It was dark, with little lighting and a smell of dampness. You climbed the stairs with careful steps, each echo that resonated made you question if you were alone; the first answer was yes during the first steps until you saw another door. It wasn't very big, a lightweight burnable wooden door that you opened without even needing to take the knob.

You squinted your eyes to focus on your now illuminated surroundings; the smell of preserved ginebra and cleaning detergent reached your nose, your first instinct at that moment was to grimace, your hand rose to cover your nose. The smell diminished in strength as you ventured further; it was one of the many bars in the building, with yellow lights and jazz music resonating in the four walls. A sinner behind the bar (who definitely didn't want to work that night) barely greeted you with a hand gesture, making an inviting motion to one of the high chairs.

One of the people you least expected to see getting drunk, or at least with a round of glasses of whiskey with melted ice in front, was Vox. He looked quite depressing, with a face of few friends. No theatrics, egocentrism, or any trace of a presumptuous personality, just… him.

With doubt, you continued walking, you climbed onto the stool next to him. The worker turned around after leaving you a glass of wine in front, disappearing as if he didn't care about what would happen next.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was avoiding Valentino. You?"

"I just arrived." You took the glass with some hesitation. You smelled it; first of all, you had to make sure they weren't going to poison you, and not feeling anything made you a little less uneasy.

"I was also escaping from Valentino. Velvett was yelling at the manager."

“Oh, that man was not the manager.”

Vox barely laughed, and you found yourself more surprised than you expected. His arms were crossed over the counter; for a few moments, you played that his robotic pupils were dilated, something you hadn't seen even when he danced between the limbo of hangover and drunkenness. You couldn't help but chuckle under your breath, and for some reason, he did too. The sound filled the atmosphere like an ambiguous melody that hadn't been played on the record player for a long time.

Vox seemed to feel how your heartbeat appeared to increase, how you smiled from ear to ear without realizing it. A more genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He extended his hand, his fingers sparkled with anticipation, his smile softened into something gentler, a more discreet flirtation than his shows when you arrived at work and he felt you looked particularly good. I mean, always.

You looked at his hand, then at him. His smile was contagious and you agreed, slowly standing up and taking his hand, his fingers closing and intertwining with yours as he also got up from his seat. His hand gently held yours, while his other hand moved to your hip with a ghostly touch, pretending it wasn't there as he began to sway back and forth with you to the beat of a song that didn't exist. Your free hand rested on his shoulder, carefully, gently, as if you didn't want him to remember you were there. As if he could forget.

“What are you doing?” you couldn't help but laugh confused after spinning around thanks to him.

“Fulfilling my part” he puffed out his chest with pride, shaking his head. “I told you you were going to have fun.”

“You're an idiot “

“You are gorgeous” he sighed, his gaze was so deep that you felt there was no way he could be lying.

You laughed again and he noted that now it was his favorite sound. He let out a satisfied sigh, leaned forward, buzzing in front of your face. Inside, he was giggling and kicking like a schoolgirl at not being pushed away by a punch, it had to be the closest he had been to you! He was going to brag about that later if he didn't suffer a short circuit in the next ten minutes.

You had never seen him… like this. Vulnerable, honest, relaxed? All together made you think you were dancing and interacting with another person, not with your boss. For a long time, Vox had stopped acting like a professional boss; he was more likely to seem like a gentlemen lover (who, by the way, he really was not) who always pampered you, bought you things, and gave you his attention.

He made you spin again. The laughter you let out, how you moved your feet trying not to step on him, how easy you were to move with such a silly dance spread a pixelated blue blush across the screen. He simply couldn't not be close to you.

“What are you laughing at?” you tilted your head to one side.

“At you… you're charming” he also laughed, his fingers drummed on your palm, an affirmation that they were still there; more for him than for you. “And I am too powerful to have close.”

“Oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow, still couldn't help but smile smugly, there was fun marked in your whole being.

“Yes, of course!” he sang, his proud smile widened enough for you to see his sharp teeth.

“Mhn” you feigned indifference. That was enough to put a stunned expression on his face, you couldn't help but feel pleased with your mischief.

“But how… powerful?”

“I can do whatever I want!” he added quickly.

“What you want?” you pressed.

And then─

He kissed you.

You didn't expect it, the truth is that he didn't either. He leaned in enough to break the small distance that existed between you, his lips landed on yours too quickly, a rushed reaction to his wounded pride. But also, it was the opportunity to fulfill the stupid dream he had been having since he saw you enter his building. Every conversation, every afternoon in his office, every compliment, every push, coffee, games with Shock.Wake, everything made him feel stupid by your side. And now, the little sanity he had left had turned to ashes.

It was a short kiss, you realized that. He did too. When he pulled away quickly to realize his mistake, with his cheeks now completely flushed across the screen. He had a failure, the colorful "out of service" bars followed by the beeping and constant grumbling aesthetic pulled you out of your daze.

“Vox?”your voice came out too high-pitched thanks to the sudden fear. “Vox!”

“Shit!” he shouted, with a blink he returned to normal. His eyes took barely a few seconds to assimilate his surroundings, it only took another couple of seconds for him to blush again. “I─”

“That was stupid.”

“Too much.”

“You are my boss.”

“Yes, and I─”

“Can you do it again?”

He blinked. He used all his willpower not to have another short circuit like just a few seconds ago. Your voice was so soft and tender that it was almost impossible not to collapse there. His knees trembled.

Slowly, with more care to memorize everything, from every blink to how you moistened your lips, Vox leaned in. His lips touched yours with less speed and more care, a robotic buzzing filled your ears, similar to the purring of a cat sitting on a computer keyboard─ then you realized it was a sigh of satisfaction. His hand on your hip didn't press more, he maintained his presence cautiously, still like a ghostly touch. His hand holding yours moved to cradle your cheek, you felt a tingling due to his little control at that moment.

His lips tasted like metal, as if you could be surprised, but they were soft, cold, and smooth.It was clear that the only people he kissed must have been his occasional lovers,but you were sure you hadn't seen him with any of them in at least three months,as if he were on a streak of sobriety that he had to maintain. In reality, it was easier than you thought, he had done it all by hanging on, thinking of you.He, the technological demon, an Overlord with all the power of hell in the palm of hishand, reduced to trying not to short-circuit from the sensation of kissing you. Finally.

Hitoshi Shinso x punk!reader

established relationship, fluff, short in case anyone's bored

“Do you want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Yes, please!”

The room almost shook with the thunderous drum solo from “Anarchy in the U.K.”—just like any other solo that would come out of the secondhand record player you’d found at a junkyard. The thing was old, the needle kept skipping, but you kept insisting you wouldn’t buy one from a store. Hitoshi had started to get used to the screams, the thunderous sounds, and the shouts ripped from each of the songs you liked; he dared to say he was starting to like some of them.

If it sounded like Nirvana, maybe it was already on his playlist.

Hitoshi rummaged through your things for the worn-out eyeliner you always used, and an amused chuckle escaped his lips at the thought of something you did almost on autopilot. Hitoshi had grown accustomed to this side of you—the one who wanted to be eccentric in public with loud makeup that would shock anyone not used to seeing people like that in their daily lives. But for him, seeing your bright, proud smile on your face when you felt confident was enough to fill his chest with pride and leave him happy and satisfied with himself and his work.

He sat down next to you as you lay on the bed with your head on the pillows. You closed your eyes with an excited, restless smile creeping up the corners of your lips. He snorted, finding it impossible not to smile back at you. He unscrewed the eyeliner, waiting for you to close your eyes so he could lean over you, invading your personal space.

He had decided to sneak into your room through the window of your house when you sent him a message saying your parents were too busy to notice what you were doing—which was trying to finish your schoolwork. You didn’t go to the same school, you never cared about becoming a hero once you realized how the system of power hierarchies, smokescreens, and heroes’ public images based on popularity worked. There was nothing you could do about it—you just had to study at a school like any other civilian.

Hitoshi and you met at a café he used to go to when he couldn’t concentrate in his dorm room at the UA and needed something to wake him up. He was too busy standing outside the order line looking at the menu that he didn’t notice when you stood next to him to do the same. You were quiet, but your outfit wasn’t; the leather jacket, the spiked bracelets, the big boots, the torn and graffitied clothes, the necklaces, and the chains around your waist said a lot about your personality even before he knew the sound of your voice.

“Nice jacket,” he said. The comment was meant to be sarcastic, because he’d never seen anyone so eccentric on the street. His intentions vanished the moment you turned around and gave him a cheerful smile.

“Thanks! Nice hair,” you said, pointing to his spiky indigo hair.

Your smile and response did something to him. Maybe the way his heart skipped a beat, the flutter in his stomach, or the heat he felt on his cheeks. You had a beautiful smile, the makeup on your face didn’t hide your sweet features. He couldn’t find the words to respond to your compliment, staring at you in a way that others might find creepy, but you were so used to people’s stares that you chuckled to yourself and went back to looking at the menu in front of you.

Say something, dumbass.

“T-The Clash?” he said, sounding more awkward than he ever had.

He took it as a victory when you turned your head toward him. You blinked, glancing over your shoulder at the patch on your back featuring the ’70s band he’d mentioned. You turned your gaze back to him, smiling lightly as if you were on the same wavelength.

“Yes! Do you know them?”

“Um. Yeah,” he said, successfully returning to his monotone voice even though he could feel his heart pounding at breakneck speed in his chest every time he heard your voice, melodious as a song.

Your face lit up with an even brighter smile. The way you spoke was spontaneous and witty, talking not only about music but also about what each patch on your jacket meant. It had never occurred to Hitoshi to understand what anarchism was until he heard you explaining it. Every time you finished saying something, his brain worked to come up with another question just so he could keep up with you.

Finally, he left the café with a bitter coffee—no sugar or sweeteners—and your number in his pocket. You texted and hung out when he didn’t have training or heavy chores. He shared his dreams of being a hero unlike the rest, how he’d been discriminated against because of his quirk (even though you thought it was awesome) and how his training was improving day by day. Even though you weren’t on the heroes’ side politically speaking and had already told him so, you supported him in everything.

“Stay still,” he murmured. Back in the moment, with one of his hands on the side of your head, his chest pressed against yours, and his dominant hand holding the eyeliner pencil. He had already outlined your eyes and was trying to trace the contour of your lips. “Don’t talk. Where are you going, anyway?”

“Didn’t you say not to talk?”

“Mph. Where are you going?”

“To a surprise date with you.” You opened one eye to look at his expression.

Hitoshi frowned, pulling the pencil away from your lips and looking at you with a look of confusion on his ethereal face.

“Why didn’t you—”

“Surprise date, Tosh,” you smiled at him. He swore you’d be the death of him. “Ta-da!”

He let out a sigh, rolling his eyes, but his cheeks were flushed a glossy crimson. His hand, which had been resting beside your head, moved to cradle your chin, turning your face toward him and bringing the makeup pencil back to your lips. You chuckled, letting go of the smile on your lips to make his job easier.

You were going to be his undoing, not just with the way you smiled but how you made his heart swell in his chest and his head spin. His eyes were fixed on your lips, and you thought it wasn’t really concentration but something he was hiding. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against yours. His lips were slightly stained with the black lip liner you were wearing. You chuckled under your breath, reaching your hand toward the back of his neck to pull him closer and give him a more proper kiss.

Yeah, you were going to be his death.