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nizhspo · 24 days ago

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pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

synopsis: shibuya incodent, october 31st, 8:48 p.m.

content: smut (nsfw, 17+), angst undercurrent, canon timeline (shibuya arc), drunkenness, public sex (semi-private).

notes: i have not finished jjk i literally just hit this arc and decided i needed to write it. expect to see way more of this in the future i fucking love this show now.

shibuya’s gone strange.

october 31st was supposed to be a party—lights, laughs, costumes too thin for the chill, but now the world’s turning wrong.

under your feet, the pavement hums like it’s holding its breath. the station’s floodlights flicker overhead, caught in a haze of smoke and something heavier: something cursed, the energy thick and metallic on the back of your tongue.

the crowd’s panic is a tide, pulling and surging and collapsing in waves. people scream without direction. some run into walls. others stand still, staring at the curtain of warped space above.

the sky is like torn silk. it ripples unnaturally, pulsing with a kind of anti-light, like something holy in reverse.

and you… you’re just floating through it all.

tipsy off plum wine and the kind of fear that doesn’t feel real yet. your feet wobble in your white platform heels. your angel costume’s clinging to your skin, more vodka and sweat than polyester. a crooked halo bobs with each step, glowing faintly in the haze.

you’re laughing, for no good reason. maybe because you don’t want to cry. maybe because everyone else is crying.

and then the veil shudders, like it knows who’s coming. a beam of blue light slices the dark. cold and clean, heaven-colored and humming.

and then he steps through, and your breath stutters.

he’s tall. impossibly tall. his silhouette is straight out of a fever dream, long black coat billowing around lean legs, silver hair gleaming like a blade under moonlight. his face, at first, is obscured by the glare off his sunglasses, but then he turns his head just enough for you to see—

oh.

he doesn’t look real.

cheekbones carved like sculpture. lips that could lie or pray, depending on how he moved them. hair tousled like he’d just flown down from some war in heaven, still catching pieces of light in every strand. and his eyes, what little you catch behind tinted lenses, are bluer than the curse-choked sky above.

you forget to breathe.

he takes it all in with a lazy glance—the screaming, the sirens, the veil snapping behind him, and says, too casual, too fucking calm,

“my bad.”

your body moves before your brain does. you stumble toward him, grab onto his sleeve like he’s gravity and you’re tired of floating.

“you’re so fucking pretty,” you slur.

he pauses. cocks his head slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking up in bemusement. “huh?”

your fingers slide down the smooth line of his wrist. expensive fabric. coiled strength under it. “did you come out of heaven,” you murmur, eyes wide and dazed, “or am i just really drunk?”

his grin unfurls slow. dangerous. like he’s done this before.

“definitely drunk,” he says, tone like velvet. “but i like your taste in men.”

you laugh, hiccuping on it. “i lost my friends to that… wind thingy.” you wave vaguely behind you. “poof. like, gone. i was gonna cry but then i saw you. so i decided not to.”

his smile twitches, falters, almost just for a second. a breath passes, quiet and full of something you can’t name.

because he knows. and there’s a pit in his stomach, low, cold, leaden. it’s been there since the moment he crossed the threshold. since he felt the thickness of the curse energy in the air, tasted the iron weight of it on his tongue.

it feels like a trap. like one giant mouth waiting to close around him.

he doesn’t know how or why, not yet—but every inch of his soul is buzzing with warning. he hasn’t felt like this since suguru turned his back.

and still, he’s here.

he looks down at you, glittery eyes and messy lip gloss, drunk little smile, and thinks, maybe just for a moment, that it wouldn’t be so bad to forget.

“but if it’s the end of the world…” your voice trembles, light and lovely. “at least i’m with you.”

that’s what does it.

he glances at his watch. silver flash. eight forty-eight.

“ten minutes,” he mutters. “i can spare ten.”

“what?”

but he’s already tugging you with him, fast, smooth, practiced. like dancing. you follow blindly, heels clacking over shattered tile, past overturned chairs and cracked screens.

he slips into an empty shop with a busted door. broken mannequins, a register half-gutted. a single overhead light swings on its cord, casting warped shadows across the dusty linoleum. perfume bottles smashed underfoot. cracked glass glittering like ice on the floor. the air smells like smoke and old silk, something burnt sweet.

and then he’s kissing you.

not gently, not exactly, but like he’s trying to memorize your mouth. like he’s got ten minutes and needs you burned into him before they’re gone. your spine presses to the chipped wall behind you, the texture biting through your dress. cold plaster. warm hands.

his lips are plush and parted, tasting faintly of spearmint and something electric, like ozone before a storm. he kisses with purpose, tongue slow and steady, teeth catching your lower lip—like he knows every trick and has no shame using all of them.

you moan softly into his mouth, one hand fisting in his coat, the other sliding up his chest. beneath the fabric, he’s all hard muscle and lean strength, like a coiled spring. his heart is pounding against your palm.

he presses closer. the thick line of his thigh nudges between yours, high and firm, and you feel it, the deliberate roll of his hips as he grinds in. your dress hikes up in protest, bunched useless around your waist. the warmth of him slots perfectly against the soaked heat of your underwear.

you choke on a gasp, grinding down.

“what’s your name?” you whisper, your breath catching on his mouth.

his lips curve against yours, cocky but warm. ��satoru.”

your fingers dig into his shoulders.

“satoru,” you echo, barely audible. it feels like the world might break in half, but you’re saying his name like a secret.

he makes a noise low in his throat, pleased, wrecked, and slides both hands to your ass, gripping hard enough to bruise. he lifts you slightly, pinning your hips with his, pressing harder against your core. you feel the thick press of him through his pants, hot and eager.

“you’re trouble, angel,” he mutters against your lips. “real bad trouble.”

you giggle, breathless, thighs tightening around his. “then punish me.”

his head tips back just slightly, silver hair catching the swaying light, and he actually growls. low and sharp. like he’s forgotten the entire city outside.

his zipper’s down in one practiced pull. he hisses as he frees himself, cock flushed and hard, already leaking. you can feel it, thick, heavy, pressed to your thigh. your mouth goes dry.

“fuck,” you whisper.

“mm,” he hums, a smirk in his voice. “not yet.”

you fumble in your costume’s thin folds, pull a small, crinkling square from the bodice. “i got a condom,” you pant, wide-eyed.

he snorts against your jaw. “you came to shibuya looking for god and brought a condom? now that’s optimism.”

your laugh stutters. “you don’t have one?”

“angel,” he drawls, guiding your hips as he kisses your throat, “i did not plan to be doing this tonight.”

and then he’s touching you again.

one hand sliding between your thighs, brushing aside soaked lace. he runs two fingers along you, spreading wetness before sliding them inside, curling just right. your hips buck and you cry out, biting into his shoulder.

“still drunk?”

“drunk enough not to care. sober enough to want this.”

his breath catches. that grin again, darker this time, shadowed with something sharp. he pulls his fingers out slow, watching the way your body clenches around nothing. he lets your underwear fall halfway down your thighs before turning you around, pushing you gently toward a cracked counter.

your palms hit dusty tile.

he’s behind you in a blink, his hips flush to your ass, cock grinding wet and heavy between your legs. he nudges the thick head along you, back and forth, teasing the slick mess he’s made of you.

you arch against him, gasping. “satoru…”

“shh,” he murmurs, leaning forward, towering over you, his breath hot on your neck. “almost.”

you reach back, trembling fingers wrapping around his length. he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“jesus,” he groans as you guide him to your entrance, hot, aching, and he presses in, slow.

inch by inch.

your breath leaves in a shudder. he’s thick, stretching you open, dragging along nerves you didn’t know were there. your nails scrape the counter’s surface.

he groans deep in your ear. “fuck, you’re tight.”

the first thrust is deliberate, slow and anchoring. the second’s deeper. the third is a grind that leaves you gasping. he sets a rhythm that’s both frantic and focused, hips snapping up into you with slick, perfect precision. the wet sound of skin on skin fills the air.

your thighs tremble. your breath breaks. your dress is bunched at your waist and his hands are gripping your hips like he owns them.

he licks up your throat, bites your shoulder. “shit—” he pants, lips brushing your ear. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

your legs threaten to give. your moans spill helpless, face pressed to cold tile as he ruins you from behind. each thrust sends sparks through your spine. your body arches, muscles fluttering. you can feel it, that edge curling tight.

your voice is a gasp. “satoru, i’m gonna, i’m gonna—”

he laughs, breathless, a little cocky. his hand slides from your waist to your stomach, pulling you back flush against his chest. his hips don’t stop.

“already?” he pants, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “damn, i am good.”

he nips gently at your jaw as your body locks up around him, thighs trembling, slick and clenching, walls fluttering. you cry out, one hand scrambling for something solid, the other pressed to the tile as the wave hits.

you fall apart.

back arching, mouth open, hands fisting helplessly. you clench hard around him, and he doesn’t stop. not for a second. his pace stutters, just for a moment as you squeeze around him, but his smirk doesn’t fade.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice warm, wrecked, proud. “look at you…”

his pace stays filthy, relentless, the sound of it obscene. he’s panting into your neck, whispering curses, holding you through it.

then: his thrusts start to stutter, shallower, messier. his breath hits your neck in ragged bursts.

“fuck, i’m close,” he mutters, forehead pressing to your shoulder. “you want me to pull out or…?”

your head swims. you can’t think straight, let alone speak. “w-what?”

he huffs a half-laugh, hips grinding deep, voice tightening with restraint.

“c’mon,” he groans, grinning through clenched teeth. “help a guy out here, in or out?”

you moan, broken. “in. in. please—”

he groans, something between a laugh and a snarl, and buries himself. his whole body jerks. his head drops to your shoulder, jaw slack, breath catching like it hurts.

you feel it, thick and warm and pulsing deep. he groans into your shoulder, slumped over you, both of you shaking.

for one breath, two, there’s only silence.

then he pulls out, slow and sticky, and tucks himself back in with practiced grace. checks his watch. silver flash. 8:57.

he kisses your neck, your jaw, your temple. one last kiss to your lips, softer than before, like a ribbon tied around goodbye.

“well if it really is the end,” he says, barely above a whisper, “thanks for this.”

you touch his cheek, eyes dazed and full of something soft. “if it is… i’m glad it was with you.”

he doesn’t smile. doesn’t speak. just kisses you again, slow, aching, like he’s already saying goodbye.

“wish me luck,” he says, too casual to be anything but afraid. “hope we can do this again sometime.”

and then he’s gone.

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redsrooftopprincess · 1 month ago

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Marked

Raphael x GN!Reader

WARNING: BRUISING/MARKING KINK, descriptions of bruising and scars, biting, mention of non-consensual marking

Notes:

tl;dr: non-consensual marking is NOT OKAY, please trust your instincts and reach out if you think you need help.

This is a very dangerous subject that I make look very pretty, so before we get into this, it needs to be said that ANY kind of bruising/marking MUST be consensual, and, like any other kink, should be talked bout ahead of time very thoroughly. Humans are not 6' 5" anthropomorphic reptiles that go through a mating season once a year, and can absolutely control themselves. Real life is not fiction. If you're in a situation where this kind of thing tends to happen by "accident," it may not be an accident.

If you think you might need help:

This is the website for the Domestic Abuse Hotline

Their phone number is 1-800-799-SAFE ( 1-800-799-7233)

You can text by texting "Start" to 88788

If your gut is telling you that what's happening is not okay, it probably isn't, and you aren't alone.

Okay, back to the less important, but way more fun stuff…

You wake in the grey. The pale pre-dawn light filters in through the gossamer curtains, dimming and brightening as they shift in the gentle morning breeze. A single robin, nesting in the tree outside, ruffles her feathers, before hopping to the end of the alder branch and singing a greeting to the morning.

The sheets you're tangled in whisper sweet words and promises, tempting persuasions for you to stay in bed, wrapped in soft cotton and the arms of your beloved. The soft rumbling of his contented sleep against your spine is not making things any easier, but you somehow manage to extract yourself from bed, and pad silently to the bathroom.

It's darker in here, the early morning light from the window trapped on the other side of the shower curtain. It catches in the mirror as you shift the curtain aside to turn on the tap, the room quickly returning to darkness when the thick fabric falls back into place.

You study yourself in the mirror as you wait for the water to heat up. Dull, muted light, blocked by slate-blue polyester, pours shadows, like ink, over your skin. You tilt your head to the side, regarding some of the newer, more incongruous markings, imagining their colors beyond the monochrome. Would they be purple yet, or still moving toward a darker red? Would they bleed into the other, older colors, painting rainbows inside your skin?

A smile teases the corner of your mouth. It still surprises him that you love them so much. These markings. His markings. He would never hurt you intentionally, and you would never ask him to, but sometimes just being with you can push him past his limit. It never goes far, he'd never allow it, he'll just hold too tightly, push too hard, the evidence would rarely show until the next morning, hickeys and bruises scattered across your skin, and a blissful soreness in your muscles.

The shadow of a small scar, just where your neck meets your shoulder, catches your eye and your smile softens.

Last year was his first season after you'd finally stopped pretending, and admitted to yourselves that this is always where it was headed. It was his first season with a mate, and no one knew what to expect. When he felt the fever coming on, he panicked, and told you it was probably a good idea if you spent this first season apart.

It was different last year. You were together by that point, so the fever felt different. It didn't hurt, he just... needed you. In every way imaginable.

When you were apart, it felt like he was drowning, and when together, he felt dizzy and high. It was intense, and getting stronger, fast, and, frankly, it scared the shit out of him. So he decided that it would be safer if he kept his distance until he felt like he could keep himself in check. A decision that, to his credit, he managed to stick to for about 16 hours.

What followed was the reason why this year, you're here in the country, rather than cooped up in a sewer with a bunch of hormonal, territorial reptiles, or in your apartment, surrounded by other people.

He didn't even realize he'd bitten you until he tasted blood. Raph is normally all about biting in the bedroom, but this was different. He had been doing his best to stay away, so he took patrol on the other side of town, and a new coworker had walked you home. Raph could smell him on you. He was nice. Respectful. Kept his distance. And some part of him deep, deep in his DNA had a primal need to ensure it would stay that way.

When he caught the boy's scent, there was no anger, or jealousy, there was just the knowledge of what needed to be done, and his body's instinctive response to carry it out. They are free to admire, the others, of course they are. Personally, it's one of his favorite hobbies. But he is bound to you. You are his. And your body would carry their one warning.

He was inconsolable after it happened, refusing to see you until a full two weeks after the season was over, and there were many many long talks. This was one of those not-quite-human things that the two of you had been unprepared for, but eventually you worked out a plan, and two weeks ago you arrived at the farmhouse to ride out the following few.

Your hand reaches up to brush reverently over the raised skin. The aggression of the previous year hasn't returned. He's convinced it's the solitude, but you're not so sure. In the dark hours, when his skin is against yours, he is drawn to the scar like a magnet, dragging his teeth and tongue over it, with deep murmurs of your name, and "mine..." and gooseflesh scatters across your skin, as you wonder to yourself if this might have something to do with it.

Steam begins to tumble over the shower curtain and gather at the edges of the mirror. Stepping back, you pull the curtain aside and step into spray. It glitters, silver in the white gold morning, and you look down at your body, a riot in bloom within your skin.

....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15 @leosgirl82

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #TMNT Raphael #turtles aged up #tmnt raphael #bayverse raphael #bayverse tmnt #raphael x reader #bayverse raphael x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #TMNT aged up

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the-monkeies-girl · 10 months ago

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did u miss me??? but anyway—-

Caesar was a remarkably fast walker--- at least, in your mind there was no doubt that his proportionally shorter legs were swift, balanced and spaced toes able to give assistance when needed for extra grip and it was hard to ignore the ever lingering sense of envy that drifted against your ribs at the mere sight of him trailing ahead of you. Even despite your rain boots having decently new tread against the soles, they were nothing compared to the dexterity and assurance that Caesar had to not stumble over himself. He was confident in every stride, gait powerful from the tips of his shoulders that bristled with the thickened fur of the Winter Months that were now cresting their peak against the sleek land, all the way down the narrowing but not lanky torso and protruding with muscles that deemed purpose even when not in use.

There was a desperate urge from the recesses of your mind to move faster, to catch up and walk shoulder to shoulder with the Ape King himself, to feel the fur that your fingertips were so familiar with kissing the polyester of your jacket but that never garnered favor. Caesar lead you- figuratively and mentally, emotionally… To keep you safe in the Colony, comforted away from the Humans who brought their own destruction… Secure, with him and only him… It was an unspoken rule between the Ape and your Human self that beckoned no one to break it, sacred almost like a promise between two children on the playground. Never to be broken, but over time, it would be forgotten in favor of falling into a routine, mundane and just another way of living.

And that’s what this was, you thought to yourself with a small smile as Caesar peered over his left shoulder, urging you in silence to follow his placed foot steps over a fallen tree-trunk, covered in moss and silken dew from condensation that clung all too desperately to the air. Whenever you left the Colony together on foot, Caesar would bring his large frame a few paces in front of you to the point where your vision was nothing more than the broad shoulders that swept side to side with radiated assurance for you but juxtapose held nothing but warmth in the middle of the night when you were tangled in the nest together.

He was scanning the area with his lustrously green irises that were now brighter in color than the foliage that turned a bleak and boring gray this time of year, anything that posed a danger he would help you through. Anything that your Human feet could trip over, he pointed out in usual silence and it left you reeling that anyone in the days after the Flu took all semblance of empathy away from Humanity would care for you in such a way.

Caesar did though --- despite differences, you watched in bated hushedness as he reached his hand out, the fur along his knuckles tickling at your fingertips as you reached up and allowed him to laden your body closer as if you weighed nothing more than a leaf, embracing you against his chest with momentum that left you staggering for a breath, moving you around the fallen trunk that did not pose much of a threat, but the Ape was intuitive enough to notice you were falling behind in your hurriedness. Slowly, the arm that was by his side wrapped to tuck itself around your waist, pulling you in even further for stability as your center of gravity kissed feverishly against his own, submitting and leaning into it without reserve.

You smiled a 'thank you' towards your mate, returned only with a creased upward haze of his mouth and a playful gesture of his hand as the Chimp signed, 'Need you to stay close.'

"I know." You whispered softly, seeing the surge of the gray fur that lined his muzzle bristle at the sheer tenacity your breath had being so close to his face. "I could get lost, blah blah. You've told me---"

To outsiders, it would appear you were being scolded for not listening, but to the inner workings between Caesar and yourself, it was playful... Flirtatious around the edges as his voice came out in a deepened and rich baritone, a few notches below from the voice he used with others. It itched at the inside of your brain that yearned to have him inside of your skin, inside of your mind just to cure all the morbid and lasting curiosities you had about being mated to the King himself.

"Should listen then. Do not know... What I would do if you... Got lost." In a mirror position, you could feel the heat of his breath against your cheeks, playing along the thinly placed baby hairs of your skin and catapulting a shiver down your spine that was not due to the sudden breeze that sky-rocketed the landscape and rustled the graying and dead leaves. Caesar.... cared for you more than any Human ever would or could.

#planet of the apes #pota #Caesar #Caesar x reader #planet of the apes x reader #pota x reader #andy serkis #caesar planet of the apes #Caesar pota

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 1 year ago

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Good Girl | Bucky x Reader | Mutually Beneficial AU | Drabble

You don't listen to Sarge's instructions during a mission so he has to show you that you can be a good girl if you try.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, dom!Bucky, dirty talk, pet names & honourifics, clothing dispartiy and leather kink.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Mutually Beneficial Masterlist

Bucky dragged you to the back of the plane, sliding the panel that separated the main sitting area from a small cargo hold at the back.

Sam had shouted that the both of you should behave, there was no worry about that. You'd behave now, the fire behind Bucky's eyes told you you'd behave for a long time after this as well.

"You could have died" he hissed, hauling you up onto the large container box. Even though he was looking up at you now, you still felt small. Stupid. Tears welled in your eyes as he continued to berate you, that you were an agent first, that you were supposed to follow orders because they keep you safe.

He looked up from his tirade to see the tears begin to roll and stepped forward, back into your space.

"Babydoll?" He dropped his voice, quiet now, and wary.

"I'm so sorry" you sobbed, letting the tears over flow and pour down your face "I'm so sorry, I wanna follow orders, I wanna be good, I thought-" you hiccuped "I thought you were in danger, I couldn't-" hiccup "bare it".

Strong hands cupped your face, brushing your tears away, his hands cold from his leather gloves.

"Oh, Babydoll, that's why?"

You nodded, voice failing you. Bucky wrapped you in his arms, pulling you close and burying his own face in your leather clad chest.

"I wanna be good" you whispered "I wanted to be good. I - I love you is all and I"

He looked up, pressing his thumb to your lips, salty and red from your tears.

"I love you too, Baby, I'm sorry. You are good, you are" he ran a hand over your hair.

"Even though I didn't follow your orders?"

"Even though you didn't follow my orders. I can't blame you, I'd have done the same thing" he murmured.

"Will you tell me I'm good again? I feel...bad" you flushed, trying to hide your embarrassed face in his neck.

"Yeah? You need to feel like my good girl again?" The words went straight through you like electricity.

"Yes, yes please, Sarge" you did your best innocent eyes, blinking slowly and biting his thumb, still resting against your mouth.

"Hmmm... okay" he narrowed his eyes but the low grin he was hiding gave him away "Let's get you out of this" he plucked at the leather jacket and polyester combat trousers you were wearing, a few knife cuts against the legs from your earlier tussel.

Bucky backed across the small hold to the thin bench against the wall of the plane as you stripped, patting his knee "c'mon then, Babydoll, c'mere like my good girl, my best girl"

On wobbly legs you walked across the space, you felt dizzy, sick like you'd been poisoned by your own lust. Falling into his lap he spread your legs over his own, knees widening until your body hovered between you.

He pulled you down by your tag, holding you still while he kissed you, biting at your bottom lip and pulling away enough to look you in the eye.

"That's my Babydoll" he slid a leather clad hand across your wet folds, the cold material drawing stark attention to his tight black attire and your complete lack of clothing. The thought made you gush, fresh slick coating the leather as he pushed two fingers in "What a good girl, all wet for me."

He leaned forward making you clutch at his jacket for balance "think you could get wetter"

You moaned a response, you're sure you could, the question was more whether you'd survive it.

His fingers stilled, your hips winding in response, trying to find purchase, friction, something. Bucky chuckled darkly, biting the lobe of your ear until you cried out. His other hand shot up, covering your mouth. Without his support you dug your hands deeper into his clothes, feet barely touching the floor as your legs dangled over his thighs.

"Hush, Baby" you quietly moaned against his mouth, moving your hips again "I know what you need, my desperate girl can't wait any longer, can you" you shook your head, trying to stay quiet "and you want to be a good girl for your Sergeant, right?" You nodded "then you'll fuck yourself" you moaned again, his hand tightening over your lips "quietly! Or not at all. Can you do that?" You nodded. His hand moved away "tell me"

"I can do that, Sarge"

"Do what"

"Fuck myself, Sarge" you were so deeply ashamed of how much you needed this, but God, he was right, you were wetter, your arousal dripping on the floor.

"How?"

"On your fingers, Sarge" his deep chuckle was back.

"Good girl, yes, but I was looking for quietly"

"Yes, yes quietly, Sarge, I'll be quiet, I'll be good, Sarge, promise, so good"

He brought his legs a little closer together, your toes just touching the floor and giving you enough leverage to bounce on his hand.

"Then show me"

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #Bucky Barnes x female!Reader #Bucky Barnes/female reader #bucky x female reader #Bucky fluff #bucky

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moth-murdock · 2 months ago

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A Good Day? [Frank Castle x Gn!reader]

A/n: written for @mattmurdocksscars 2.5K celebration! I honestly misread the thing at first and thought we were submitting requests for the prompts but NGL I had fun with this so fuck it we ball

Genre: uhhhh irdk it's not particularly fluffy or angst but def not smut... Just BAMF frank castle protecting his boo

Summary: frank castle thinks he can just have a good day? Lol. Lmao.

Warnings: gun mention

Other tags: Gn!reader, no pronouns used, no body description, clothes described, low cut pants and high cut shirt, sorry if that's not your aesthetic but I made an executive decision

Word count: 839 (sorry it's so short😭)

Today was supposed to be a good day. You had been bratty all morning, sending teasing texts and pictures to Frank. This means that he now got to had to go home and fuck some sense into you. But he should have known better. It was too good to be true. He's clocked 2 snipers on the walk home, and seen the same car drive past three times.

He knows how to play it off, act oblivious. It's the best move, considering he was dumb enough to not carry today. He needed to make it home to you. Make sure you're safe before anything. So, as much as it kills him, he continues his leisurely pace home, still teasing you over text and telling you which street corner he's at.

"Be home in a few. You better be ready."

"And if I'm not?"

"You will be."

You were horny off the charts. You'd been wanting some tough love from Frank lately, and today was the perfect day to brat. Neither of you had any plans, and both of you were off early. The stars had aligned. So you wait at home, wearing the low cut pants and high cut shirt combo that you know drives Frank crazy, especially when you wear that one pair of underwear that is the perfect fit for the elastic band to peek out from under the pants.

You felt good enough to eat, as Frank would lovingly put it, and you were completely oblivious to the 3 or more men who were currently taking Frank home. Luckily, they didn't know where he was going, otherwise you would have at least 1 bullet in your body by now. You get goosebumps when you hear footsteps coming down the hallway of the apartment building, no doubt Frank's heavy steps.

Frank puts his keys into the doorknob, trying to continue playing it cool. He knows he won't have much time when he gets into the apartment, so he'll need to act quickly. He takes a deep breath to buy time, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. He'll go in fast, and tell you to get down before the bullet even goes through the glass of the window. It was a solid plan considering he only had two seconds to come up with it, and he'd figure out the rest as he went.

You are practically shaking as you hear the door finally squeak open, and your out of had the intended reaction. Frank pauses when he sees you, his plan having gone out the window momentarily. He opens his mouth to tell you to get down, but his dick had other plans.

"Bend over." He utters, though it sounds like he's choking on his words.

"Or what?" You tease, unaware of the danger.

It's by some miracle that the first bullet misses you, just barely grazing your arm. Frank snaps out of it then, tackling you to the floor just before a whole barrage of shots is unloaded into your apartment. Frank shields your body with his, covering as much of you as he can while you let out a string of curses from the bullet that grazed you. Because despite not getting actually shot, it still hurt like a bitch.

He waits until the bullets have stopped, indicating that your attackers are reloading. At that point, he lifts his head and looks around to be sure. Lots of things were damaged in the onslaught, and the worst one of all was a stuffed animal you had laying on the couch. You had ordered it online because it reminded you of Frank with its grumpy expression. He always pretended to hate it, but you both knew he loved it. And now there was a gaping hole in it's chest, polyester stuffing coming out like some pg-rated Gore.

He gets off of you and crawls over to get one of many guns hidden around the apartment. He checks to make sure that it's loaded before standing up, and firing a few shots out of the now broken window. You hear two heavy thuds, but he's still tracking something out there. Before you can ask, he's pulling you up and checking your arm.

"You okay?" He asks quietly

"Better than the alternative..." You wince as you put pressure on the wound

"Nicked you, huh?"

"It's not that deep, I think... I'll be fine." You assure him.

"I'll be back. Okay?"

"Where are you going?"

"They hurt you while tryin to get to me. No way in hell am I gonna let that slide." He mutters before leaning in to capture your lips in a searing kiss that seems to steal your breath away, making you momentarily forget your arm is hurt.

"Uh... Yeah... Okay..." You nod when he pulls away.

He lets out a soft huff of a laugh, shaking his head before leaving. You know he's going to come back covered in blood that's not his own, but honestly... You can't find it in you to be upset.

My Masterlist | celebration masterlist

#moth writes #frank castle #frank castle x reader #gn!reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x masc!reader #frank castle x male reader #frank castle x trans!reader #frank castle x enby!reader #the punisher #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher fanfiction

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doomhands-jr · 10 months ago

Text

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 11

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Not much. This is a dialogue and processing chapter, though there is a scene of religious anxiety. ALSO THIS IS UN-BETAD TRASH. If you find any corrections I should to make, please DM them to me.

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Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

____

You had no semblance of how much time had passed from when you first stirred to when you finally opened your eyes. It could have been ten minutes, or it could have been three hours. Waking up took the level of effort one would expect from a task like climbing out of quicksand—every pause had you sinking further back into a pit of unconsciousness.

The first thing you noticed was the pounding in your head. That was all you registered the first three times you attempted to wake. The fourth time, you registered a vile taste in your mouth. Cold metal, mixed with stale liquor, mixed with mold, mixed with acid.

You fell asleep again for a while longer after that. When you stirred again, you could tell you weren’t in your room, judging by the smell and the feel of the mattress. The bed was firmer than yours. It smelled familiar, but your head was so cloudy that you couldn’t place where you knew it from.

Then you were under again, pulled into yet another dreamless sleep. At some point, you opened your eyes to see blurry light peeking out from an unfamiliar window, and that’s all you had time to register before slipping away again.

The next time you woke, it took. Lids filled with lead, you kept them closed for several minutes, but your fingers twitched against the polyester comforter covering you and you breathed deep, recognizing the smell a little more, but still having trouble placing it, visions of cinnamon lattes and rain drifting across your closed lids.

You wiggled your toes, the sleep paralysis finally beginning to release its hold over you inch by inch. After a few more minutes, you opened your eyes. It took some more time before the blurriness in your vision began to clear enough for you to study your surroundings.

The room was familiar—you’d seen it once before. Perhaps in a dream. Or in a photo. It was as if bits of cotton and fluff had been stuffed into the crevices of your brain and it was a struggle for you to think past them.

There was an element of danger to waking up in a strange room. You recognized that, but there was no emotion tied to the thought. No panic. No adrenaline: your nervous system was still asleep.

Realization crashed into you like a wave when you looked over to the edge of the bed and saw a familiar tattooed hand peeking out from a black sleeve. A head of brown hair rested on the arm and suddenly you knew where you recognized the room from—it was in the background of the video chat you’d had with Noah.

As if the realization had taken all your remaining brain power, you let your head fall back onto the pillow and closed your eyes again, feeling your head throb with every heartbeat.

This was Noah’s room. You were in Noah’s room.

How did you get here?

You were at a party last night. That much you remember. You’d had a few drinks. Maybe you’d gotten drunker than you realized and that was why you couldn’t remember anything.

Nick had said he wouldn’t let you get drunk.

That’s right. You were with Nick.

Your eyes flew open. You had kissed Nick. The two of you had been dancing. And then you were making out. The memories came to you in flashes, as if you were flipping through a photo album.

So how did you get in Noah’s room?

You lifted your head as much as you could to get a better look.

Noah sat on the floor, back against a dresser. He was slumped over to the side, resting his arm on the mattress, forehead on forearm while his hair spilled over like a curtain, hiding the side of his face.

Mustering all the strength you could, you pressed your palms into the mattress and pushed yourself into a half-sitting position against the headboard.

The movement must have startled Noah because he awoke the opposite of you: with a sharp inhale, his head snapping up, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

“Angel.” The word fell softly from his lips, and there was relief coded into it. He sat up, shifting to face you. The arm that had been on the bed drifted closer, reaching toward you before he thought better of it and pulled it back.

Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out. At least not at first. It was a few tense seconds of eye contact before you spoke.

“Noah…” Your throat cracked painfully when you spoke, and you realized how dry your mouth was.

“Shh,” he soothed, reaching up for a glass of water that sat on the nightstand and offering it to you. “Here.”

You took it gratefully, noticing how cold and unfamiliar the tips of his fingers were when your brushed them.

You sipped, the water soothing your throat and lubricating your vocal folds. “Why am I here?” you asked. “What happened?”

Noah watched you with caution, face falling.

Something was off—he was reluctant he was to answer your question. The look he gave you made you squirm uncomfortably.

“Tell me,” you said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head to break whatever thought he was trapped in. “Um,” he began, taking a deep, steadying breath.

Your stomach sank.

“First of all, you’re safe. Nothing happened. Nick and I made sure you were taken care of.”

“You…what?” His words were concerning. Why did he have to make a point that you were safe? Had there been a time when you weren’t?

“Also, we caught the guy. He’s in police custody.”

Your heart began to race. “What guy?” you asked, breath growing tense and rapid. “Noah, what happened?”

Noah bit his lip, eyebrows pulling together in a mix of emotions you couldn’t decipher. “Someone was slipping stuff into girls’ drinks last night. We caught him before anything happened, but you were drugged.”

It all came out too fast before you could make any sense of it.

“And you were in pretty rough shape last night.”

The words hung in the air, unabsorbed as you blinked stupidly at him. You’d heard them, but there was something preventing you from processing them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling beside the bed so he could see your reaction. He reached out again, this time to grab your hand and you pulled it away out of instinct, body on autopilot. He flinched away, looking hurt for half a second before training his features into something calmer.

“Give me a second,” you said. He nodded.

Your stomach churned uncomfortably, and you slumped forward, feeling the saliva and bile seep into your mouth. You gagged.

Noah jumped into action, grabbing an empty bucket from beside the bed and tucking it under your chin. You gagged a few more times but nothing came up, so you sat back against the headboard, wiping at your irritated eyes.

You waited, allowing your stomach to settle again before entertaining any thoughts.

You’d been drugged.

It was too big of a thought to process all at once. Your mind didn’t have enough elasticity to wrap itself around something like that—you had to start smaller.

“How did I get here?”

“Right,” said Noah. “Nick and I brought you back here.”

“Why didn’t you bring me to my dorm?” you asked. The questions were coming rapid fire now.

“We couldn’t find your keys,” Noah answered, not missing a beat. He seemed eager to explain. You were grateful that he also seemed to recognize your need to digest the information in bits and pieces.

“They should be in my purse. Where is it?” you asked.

Noah shrugged.

It hit you how strange it was seeing his face again. There was a part of you that acknowledged how much you’d missed him. Another part recognized how angry you still were at him, but all of that was overshadowed by the information you were learning.

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “It’s probably back at Jolly’s. We can go get it if you want.”

“In a bit,” you said, leaning back against the pillows and taking a sip of water. The thought of getting out of bed and doing anything right now caused your anxiety to spike once more. You had to calm down. You could feel yourself getting worked up and knew that eventually, your emotions would surface and spill over, but you had questions you needed answered first.

“How did I get here?” you asked again, this time gesturing the bed. “Last I knew, I was with Nick.”

Noah looked entirely uncomfortable once again, but he willfully pushed past his discomfort to answer you.

“Well, uh,” he said, his voice low and soft, as if not to startle you. “You started vomiting. It got all over your clothes, so one of us had to remove them. I volunteered since…,” he trailed off.

“…since what?” you asked, not understanding what he was getting at. Thinking was still difficult. It was like your brain was trudging through mud to form thoughts.

“Since I’d already seen you.”

When his answer finally registered, you exhaled a deep, regretful breath. It was a truth you didn’t want to remember or acknowledge. At the time you’d been excited, but now you were ashamed and embarrassed that you’d been so easy.

That was another conversation you needed to have with Noah. But not right at that moment.

“Angel, I’m so sorry I didn’t—,”

“—I don’t want to talk about it.” The words were out of your mouth before you’d even processed them, body once again going on autopilot. Noah’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” you followed up, softening. “We can talk about it later. Just not right now.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Where are my clothes?” you asked.

“Nick put them in the washer last night,” he said, standing up. “I can go check on them.”

Perhaps he was eager to escape the discomfort that had settled between the two of you in the wake of all the events that had taken place, or perhaps he just wanted to do something for you. Either way, Noah got up and padded across the room, pausing at the door to make sure you were okay.

When you nodded, he slipped through the door, leaving you alone to process your thoughts.

As soon as he was gone, you felt like you could breathe again. You inhaled deeply, now free to think and feel without being observed by anyone, which was initially what you thought you wanted.

But without him as an anchor, intrusive thoughts crept in.

God’s punishing you.

It came as a whisper in the back of your mind, and at first you brushed it off—a stray remnant thought leftover from all the time you were steeped in church culture.

But then it got louder.

You brought this on yourself, you know. This is what’s waiting for you when you stray from the path of righteousness.

You squeezed your eyes shut. The thoughts were familiar. Ever since childhood, you’d had this voice in your head, but you knew what it was. It was the voice that arose any time you did something that someone else said was wrong, or anytime something bad happened. It was the one that said God was punishing you for some sin you’d committed.

You could tune the voice out now, though. You knew it was just anxiety.

It’s not anxiety. It’s a warning.

You swallowed, excess saliva having pooled on either side of your tongue. It wasn’t a warning. Your brain was lying to you.

You’re going to Hell if you keep acting like this.

You clenched your jaw. It was a lie.

It’s not a lie.

It’s a lie.

Your hands shook, and you struggled to catch your breath. Tears began leaking out. You hated feeling like this. This was the same feeling you used to get after every mistake. Any time you drifted from the narrow path laid out by the church.

Atone for your sins. Go back to church.

The shaking in your hands had progressed up your arms until it reached your chest, causing your breath to hitch, and you knew you were about to start crying. Not because you believed the voice, but because you couldn’t get it to leave you alone.

You’re going to Hell. If you don’t go back to church and believe in what they tell you, you’re going to Hell. You’ll burn for your sins.

You rocked back and forth, clutching onto yourself as you spiraled. Visions of you burning in a lake of fire flashed before your eyes. Your skin prickled all over and you struggled to breathe.

You didn’t register the door opening from across the room.

“Your clothes need more time to dry…oh shit!”

You heard Noah bound across the room and before you knew it, his arms were around you and your head was buried into his chest.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” he said, stroking your back as he rocked you back and forth. “I’ve got you.”

The deep pressure was just enough to tether you to Noah. Solid, sturdy Noah who slowly pulled you back to the present. And though, at that moment, you wished it was anyone other than him holding you, you were still grateful.

“What happened?” he asked, once your breathing had slowed.

You shook your head, not even wanting to voice your thoughts, as if saying them aloud would make them more real. If he could just hold you for a while, that would be enough.

“Okay,” he said, clutching you tighter. “Okay, we don’t have to talk.”

You focused on your breathing, in for four counts. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four. Repeat. You latched on to the scent of spiced oil—the scent you remembered fondly. You breathed it in deeply, allowing it to fill your nostrils and keep you grounded.

Your heart rate slowed. You pressed your forehead into the soft black cotton of the hoodie Noah wore, sliding your cheek over the fibers. You blinked back tears, eyes landing on a small hole near the pocket of the basketball shorts Noah wore.

Touch. Smell. Sight.

At least three out of your five senses were activated, and it was enough to pull you securely back to the present. The thoughts no longer consumed you, but they still lingered in your psyche and you were unable to fully relax.

With great effort, you cleared your throat.

“I’m going to say something,” you said. “I need you to tell me if it’s true.”

Noah squeezed your shoulder in affirmation. “Okay.”

“I am not being punished for leaving the church.”

Though you had been afraid that voicing your concerns would make them real, speaking them aloud had the opposite effect—your fears reduced in size as soon as the words were out.

“Jesus,” Noah remarked in disbelief, “Is that what you thought?”

“True or false?”

“No, you’re not being punished for leaving the church,” he said with a sigh. “Where is this coming from?”

Noah pulled away to look at you and you struggled to meet his eyes, focusing still on the small rip in his shorts instead.

“It’s something I heard a lot growing up,” you confessed. “If I turned away from God, I’d find nothing but pain and misery.”

You chanced a glance back up at Noah. He worried at his bottom lip, eyes focused on something on the ceiling and brows pulled together. His fingers tightened where they gripped your shoulder.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” said Noah, shaking his head. He situated himself against the wall so that he could sit comfortably next to you. You were touching at the knees and shoulders, and you wondered if he noticed as much as you did. Despite the anger and hurt you still had with him, you couldn’t help but lean into him a little.

“It’s not you. It just bothers me how much they try to control people. And they don’t care about the way it fucks them up.”

His words hit harsh and you flinched.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, looking over to you. His face was intimidatingly close. You tried to look up at him, but the eye contact was too intimate, so you wound up staring somewhere between the bottom of his nose and his upper lip. “I don’t think you’re fucked up. I just hate that you have to worry about this. You’ve been through enough.”

“Thank you,” you said, and in the silence that followed, your thoughts began to settle. The knowledge that you’d been drugged was no longer too big for you to process. You were reaching a state of acceptance.

“I don’t think you turned away from God, by the way,” said Noah. You looked up to see him quietly regarding you. This time the eye contact was tolerable.

“What?” you asked.

“You said that the church told you that if you turned away from God, you’d find nothing but pain. I don’t think you turned away from God. Maybe you turned away from the church, but not God.”

You twisted his words around in your head, examining them as they worked to combat some of the negative thoughts in your head.

“I thought you didn’t believe in God?” you asked.

It was Noah’s turn to look away. He sniffed once and tucked some hair behind his ear.

“Yeah, well…,” he trailed off, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

You let him avoid your question for the time being, but you couldn’t help the corner of your mouth from quirking up, feeling as though you’d caught him in a moment of vulnerability he never meant for you to see.

“I should go,” you said, hoisting yourself up off the bed and stretching. “I need to get my purse.”

“I can walk you,” Noah offered, mirroring your actions. “I’d feel better not leaving you alone.”

You weren’t planning on company. In fact, you could probably use some alone time to gather your thoughts, but being on better terms with Noah felt really good, and you wanted to enjoy it for a little longer before you got to work processing everything else that had happened, so you agreed.

Noah smiled, and you were greeted with his too-big front teeth. The sight of it ripped off the scab that had grown over the wound he’d left on your heart, leaving just enough space for him to crawl his way back in.

Uh oh. _____

That feeling stayed with you for the rest of the day, and you wished it wouldn’t. It was much easier when you’d written him off as a player and could focus on your self-discovery without thinking about him. Now that he’d weaseled his way back into your life, you were more confused than ever.

Rather than try to sort out exactly how you felt, however, you decided to distract yourself with Ava. As soon as you got back to your room and charged your phone, you were hit with several alarmed texts from her.

Ava: 3:08 AM: OMG Nick just told me what happened!!!! Are you okay?!?!?!

Ava: 3:22 AM: Text me as soon as you get this!

Ava: 10:55 AM: Girl! Where are you?!?!

Rather than text her back, you pressed the call button. When she answered, she sounded frenzied.

“Oh my God, where have you been?!” Her voice through the phone speaker came out tinny and shrill and you had to flinch away from the phone, head still pounding from the after-effects of the drug. As if she sensed she’d had a bad start, she immediately lowered her voice. “Sorry, I don’t mean to yell. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you said softly. “My head hurts, but I’m fine. I could use some company though. Are you busy?”

“What do you need?” she asked. “Are you at your dorm? Want me to bring food?”

“Just company,” you said, sighing back into your mattress. “That’s it.”

“I’m already on my way.”

_____

Ava arrived fifteen minutes later with a massive duffel bag. Once she greeted you with a hug, she got to work pulling out various comfort items she’d brought with her.

Within thirty seconds, your desk was covered in an array of face masks, bottles of coconut water, electrolyte drinks, painkillers, and several snacks, both salty and sweet.

“I also brought this in case you felt like doing a hair-of-the-dog,” she said, pulling a bottle of champagne out from the bottom of the duffel.

It was a lot. You probably could have anticipated that she’d go to such lengths to make you feel better, but her energy was too intense for you to digest.

“Thanks,” you said, scanning the contents of the table and grabbing a bottle of coconut water.

As abrasive as her energy was, she was right. As soon as you took the first few sips of coconut water, you started to feel better.

Ava, to her credit, quickly picked up on the fact that you weren’t responding favorably to her energy and stayed quiet after that, allowing you to take in everything for a few moments. “How are you?” she said after you’d taken your first few sips. This time, her voice was soft and tender.

“I’m okay,” you assured. “A little roughed up, but I think I’ll be fine.” You wanted to tell her that Noah helped talk you through it, but thought better of it. She might latch onto that detail and make it into a bigger deal than it was, and honestly you didn’t feel like answering questions regarding whatever was going on between you and Noah.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, helping herself to a seat on your bed.

Sitting beside her, you offered a noncommittal shrug. “What all did Nick tell you?”

“Not much,” she said, taking the bottle of champagne off your nightstand and twisting the cork out with a satisfying pop. She took a careful sip of it before offering it to you.

“No thanks,” you said, holding up a palm.

“He just told me that there’d been an incident, and you’d been slipped something. That he and Noah were taking care of you and that Noah beat the guy up.”

Your eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Noah beat him up?” you asked. This was news to you.

She blinked, tilting her head at you. “Yeah,” she said, eyebrows furrowed. “Did you talk to him at all?”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid this conversation forever, but you had hoped you could hold out a little longer. That was the problem with being known as well as Ava knew you—you couldn’t hide from her for long.

“We talked,” you said. “He didn’t mention anything like that.”

“What did you talk about?” she asked, regarding you with careful and practiced neutrality.

Ava had an opinion she wasn’t sharing and you knew it. She was putting you on the spot to see if her opinion was correct.

“He just helped me process everything,” you said, training your voice to match the neutrality of her face.

She took another sip of champagne, savored it in her mouth for a moment and then swallowed. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding.

“Out with it,” you said, growing impatient. Better to just rip the band-aid off.

“Do you know what you want with Noah?” she asked, words coming out rushed, as if pressure had been building up behind them.

“No,” you said firmly. “And I’d rather not torture myself trying to figure it out.”

Her eyes held the same concern that Noah’s had that morning, as if you were a fragile, delicate flower in danger of being crushed.

“You know I’m here to talk about it if you need,” she said. You could tell it was coming from a place of concern, but if you knew Ava as well as she knew you, it was also coming from a place of curiosity, and wanting to ease the tension of not knowing what was going to happen.

“I understand your concern,” you said. “You don’t want me to get hurt again.”

“I don’t,” she said, wrapping her arms around you, and the gesture contained an unspoken apology for pressing a matter you clearly didn’t want to discuss.

She was sweet though, and you knew it came from a good place, so you relented.

“He tried to bring up what happened, but I said I didn’t want to discuss it at the time.”

She gave you a firm squeeze, causing the champagne to slosh against the side of the bottle. “Do you think you will in the future?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Probably sooner rather than later. Just not right now. I’m too tired,” you said, punctuating it with a yawn.

“I bet,” she said.

“Can we talk about something easier?” you asked, slumping against the headboard. “How was your time with Hera?”

“We, uh…,” she trailed off, bashful smile playing on her lips. Your jaw fell open. “Did you…?”

The smile grew into her full, toothy grin and a flush crept over her cheeks.

“Shut up! How was it?” you asked, grateful for the change in subject.

“It was amazing,” she said, stars in her eyes as she stared dreamily off into a corner of the room. She sighed, likely still picturing it, before launching into a detailed explanation of how her night had consisted of a slow flirtation that had quickly grown into a banter and culminated in Hera kissing her once they’d gotten back to her dorm, which then led to Ava spending the night and ‘losing her lesbian virginity’ as she’d put it.

You smiled, relaxing into the pillows of your bed and observing her as she spoke animatedly about her evening, lighting up from within, and you couldn’t remember ever seeing her this happy. You hadn’t spent much time with Hera, but if she made Ava this happy, she was someone you wanted to get to know more.

“So who’s better in bed,” you asked after she was done. “Nick or Hera?”

“Hera, for sure,” she said. “But Nick could give her a run for her money. The man knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh my God,” you said, sitting up. “I forgot to tell you. Nick and I made out!”

“What?!” she squealed, half-spilling the bag of sour cream and cheddar chips that the two of you had been sharing. “Why didn’t you mention it earlier?!”

“I kind of forgot,” you admitted. “A lot happened, but yeah.”

“Who moved first?” she asked, picking up the chips she’d spilled and popping them into her mouth one by one.

“He did. We were dancing and then he pulled me in and kissed me,” you confessed, “I wasn’t expecting it at all.” You plucked the half-drunk bottle of champagne off the nightstand next to you and took a careful swig. Your headache had finally subsided, but you were still feeling some leftover brain fog.

“How was it?” she asked, tearing off the foil edge of a face mask pack and sliding the mask out.

You shrugged, grabbing a mask for yourself while she smoothed hers onto her cheeks. “It was fun, I guess. The whole night was sort of a blur by that point.”

“Did you talk to him at all after? What did he say?” she asked. She poured some of the leftover serum from the packet out into her palms and began smoothing it over her chest and arms.

“I didn’t, actually. He was still asleep when I left. Oh wait!,” you said, fetching your phone from where it was still connected to the charger. “I think I have a text from him.”

“What does it say?!”

You tapped on it a few times—the residue from your mask smearing over the screen and making it difficult to open. “He’s asking if he can come over…or well, he was asking. That was a couple of hours ago.”

“What are you going to say?” she asked.

“I’m having fun just us,” you said, fingers already busy texting a reply. “But I’m inviting him over tomorrow after my Lit final.”

“I should probably study for those, by the way,” she said, but she made no move to get up.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the sheet mask crinkle with the movement.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, waving your concerns away. “I only have one actual final. The rest are projects I’ve already finished.”

You also felt confident that you knew the material enough that you could pass without too much studying. Besides, a good night’s sleep was probably going to help you pass more than pouring over your textbooks would.

“How do you feel about what happened last night before everything went down?” Ava asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Did you have a fun time with Nick?”

“I did,” you said. There was something you needed to admit to yourself, however, and probably to Ava as well.

“Can you tell me more?” she pressed.

You took a large sip of champagne to stall while you worked up the nerve. Too big, in fact: the carbonation compressed the neck of the bottle, causing bubbles to shoot up your nose and out of your mouth, coating your face in the sticky beverage.

Ava couldn’t help but laugh at your clumsiness and you followed suit. After using the corner of your duvet to wipe your face, you discarded the soiled face mask into the trash and sighed, struggling to meet Ava’s eyes because you knew what you were about to confess.

“Truth is,” you said, “part of me was hoping I’d lose my virginity last night.”

Ava’s mouth fell open, shock etched across her face. “What?! With Nick? I thought you didn’t want to.”

You hid your face in your palms, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t,” you said. “But then…,”

“Say no more,” she said. “I get it. He’s very disarming. It didn’t take long for me to hop on that train either.”

You relaxed, glad Ava understood what you meant. “Yes! Exactly, and it doesn’t even feel like a trick. I think he’s genuine about it.”

“He is,” she said, nodding. “He took care of me the whole time. Now I’m bummed you didn’t get to.”

You sighed. “It’s probably for the best,” you said.

“Why’s that?” Ava asked, peeling her own mask off and tossing it into the trash.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just get the feeling it wouldn’t have solved my problem.”

“What problem, specifically?” she asked. It was a good question, but one you didn’t know the exact answer to. It lingered in the back of your head—a sort of quiet discontent and sense of unease. You knew it was related to the church, and had something to do with your sexuality, but couldn’t quite articulate what it was.

_____

“Hey,” said Nick as soon as you opened the door. You stepped aside to allow him more room. “Hard to believe it’s only been two days since I was in here last.”

He was referring to the décor, which you’d purchased that morning and had spent the last two hours hanging up. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a few items you found at a bargain store a few blocks from campus, but it made your room a little warmer than the barren wasteland it had been after you’d torn down all of your church-related posters.

“Thanks,” you said, stepping further into the room. “How are you?”

Nick spun around to face you, tilting his head to the side. “I’m good, thanks for asking. I’m more concerned about how you are though.”

You took a deep breath—something you’d been doing a lot of lately, and softened. “I’m okay,” you said. “Yesterday was kind of rough, but I’ve done a lot of processing and I think I’ll be fine.”

Nick searched your face for any sign of dishonesty and after finding none, he visibly relaxed, lips pulling up into a soft smile. “That’s good,” he said. “I’ve been kicking myself for the last two days for allowing you to get into a situation like that. I feel like I failed you.”

Your eyebrows pulled together. “Nick, you didn’t fail me,” you said, moving across the room to sit cross-legged on your bed. Following your lead, Nick pulled the chair out from your desk and spun it to face you, sitting comfortably. “I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect you to predict every possible scenario and prevent it from happening. You did your best.”

His lower lip jutted out from his face in a pout. “I still wish I could have stopped it.”

“I know,” you said. “Me too. But these things happen. It sucks that they do, but you did a good job. As soon as you noticed something, you stepped in.”

“Noah stepped in,” he corrected.

You scowled, not about the fact that Noah was there, but because he wasn’t giving himself enough credit. “Are you going to make me comfort you all evening? Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

He breathed out half a snort. “I like when you check me.”

“I know,” you said, picking at the pilling on your flannel pajama bottoms, “considering I’m always having to do it.”

You looked up to find him unguarded, looking back at you with genuine fondness and the two of you shared a moment of warm sincerity. You really did like Nick, which made the conversation you were about to have with him all the more irksome.

You sucked in air through your teeth. “Nick…,” you started.

“Hold on,” he said, raising a palm to interject. “I have a feeling I know what you’re going to say, and I want to say something first.”

You nodded, gesturing for him to go on.

“I’m not going to apologize for kissing you, because I really did want to. And I enjoyed it.”

Your face twisted into a look of surprise, not expecting the turn in conversation.

“But,” he continued, “it probably didn’t make things easier for you with Noah the next morning, and for that, I am sorry. I hope it wasn’t too awkward.”

“We didn’t even talk about it,” you said. “Does Noah know we kissed?” Your stomach folded in on itself, chest seizing up at the idea. You had to manually relax your muscles, reminding yourself that you’d done nothing wrong.

Nick looked uncomfortable, eyes scanning over your bedspread rather than meeting your face and he drummed his fingers nervously on his knee. “Yeah,” he admitted.

You steadied your breathing, eyes flicking up to the ceiling in search of some sort of answer for how you should proceed. “What did he say?”

“He wasn’t exactly happy,” said Nick, smoothing his hands over his jeans. “We talked about it though, and I think he’s good. If he didn’t bring it up to you yesterday morning, he probably isn’t going to.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding to yourself. “Okay, I can work with that.”

“Have to talked to him since?” he asked. His eyebrows disappeared under the rim of his black beanie and you could see on his face just how much he cared for you and Noah, and how much it ate at him to think he’d caused problems.

“No,” you said, not enjoying how the answer felt coming out. “I know I should, but I’ve been taking some space. Wanting to sort some things out in my head.”

“I can respect that,” said Nick.

He waited for a few minutes, quietly regarding you as you checked in with yourself to see how you were feeling about the situation.

You knew you needed to talk to Noah. Over the last twenty four hours, you’d opened up the text thread that you had with him, typed out a few words, sighed, and closed it again without sending anything on several different occasions. Nothing felt right.

“How’s he doing?” you asked.

“He’s fine,” Nick said, but the slight shift in energy on his end led you to believe that it was more complicated than that.

“Are you guys okay?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “We talked about it. I explained everything and he said he understood. He’s not mad at either of us. He knows he fucked up and has no right to be upset.”

“I think he’s allowed to be upset, just not with us.”

“Right,” Nick said, nodding. “He’s frustrated by the situation, but he doesn’t have any resentment.”

You let out a long, slow breath. “That’s good,” you said.

A few beats passed, both of you knowing what needed to be discussed next, but neither wanting to bring it up.

When the tension grew too thick, you finally spoke up. “So about the kiss,” you said.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, words coming out rushed.

You nodded. “I didn’t think you did, but I wanted to make sure.”

Nick stood up, walking over to your bed and with a twitch of his eyebrows, wordlessly asking for permission to sit next to you. You nodded. He sat facing you, tucking his legs underneath him. “I really liked kissing you,” he said.

You flushed, not used to someone being so direct.

“But Noah is one of my best friends. And you’re quickly becoming someone important to me as well,” he continued, placing a gentle hand on your knee for emphasis. “I don’t want to fuck with either of your happiness. As much as I hate it, we probably can’t do that again.”

You chuckled, placing your hand over his and squeezing it. “I know,” you said. “It’s probably for the best.”

“Can I ask you something though?” he said, leaning towards you in earnest.

“Sure.”

“In an alternate universe where you’d never met Noah and hadn’t been brought up in the church,” he began and you smiled, already guessing where this was going, “what do you think would have happened.”

You bit your bottom lip, debating on whether or not to be honest with him, but your smile betrayed you. “I think you know.”

He beamed at you, glee radiating off of him. “That’s all I needed to know,” he said.

“What about you?” you asked. “Would you have?”

“Oh, in a heartbeat,” he said, needing no time to think it over. He brought his other hand to your leg, palms gently squeezing your thighs to emphasize his point.

Your eyes flicked from where his hands rested on your legs back up to his face and there were only a few times you could ever recall anyone looking at you with the desire that was etched across Nick’s face.

You could see it. A world where you and Nick met under different circumstances. As you scanned his face, you could feel the pull of him. Your eyes were drawn to his lower lip and it was reeling you in like a fish that had taken the bait.

It was a soft pull, though. One that you’d have entertained had you never gotten close with Noah and didn’t have religious trauma to work through before you could consider being intimate with anyone else.

You sat up straight, not realizing that during the course of the conversation, you’d been inching towards Nick, and he followed your lead, removing his hands from your thighs, though he still watched your face like he was considering throwing caution to the wind and going for what he wanted.

You rolled your shoulders, shaking off the heady cloud of lust that had settled over the two of you.

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m not sure I trust myself with that kind of stuff yet.”

Nick blinked back a few times, likely also still pulling back from his desire. “Yeah,” he said, sighing the word out. “Yeah, it’s not the easiest thing to navigate, especially for someone so new to it.”

An unexpected wave of disappointment washed over you. It was small, but not insignificant, and you realized just how difficult it was to say no to temptation. Not that you were concerned about the sin of it. It was just the realization that sometimes what you wanted went against your better judgement, and that choosing the right thing came with its own set of consequences.

“I’m gonna have to talk to Noah soon, aren’t I?”

Nick nodded, swallowing thickly as the last bit of desire released him from its clutches. “I think you do.”

And with that, you and Nick were back to platonic companions. It was bittersweet, but it was also the right move, and both of you knew it.

Besides, you had a feeling the upcoming conversation with Noah was going to be complicated enough. No need to throw another wrench into it.

A/N: Okay so I know the ending wasn't my best, but I was on a deadline and just wanted to get this chapter out so we could get to the NEXT chapter, which is where the real meat of the story is.

Also I have to write the taglist like this because tagging normally isn't working.

Let me know what you think! Sorry if it's a little rushed. Hope we're all okay with it though.

Taglist:

@traffordonna

@velvetlilacsdaisies

@sunsshinesunny

@rain-down-on-me

@friedchildblaze

@emilygalindo

@kat-rhi-lac

@sister-sebastian

@badomensls

@collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

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@noahsebastions

@cyber-tiny

@xxkittenkissesxx

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@flowerynerds

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#noah sebastian x reader #nick folio x reader #bad omens fic #the devil's advocate #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian #bad omens #fanfiction

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laughtalelogs · 6 months ago

Text

❄impossibilities - zoro x reader❄

❄ day 2 - little lie, trapped together in a snowstorm, “I thought you knew where you were going?!” ❄ fandom/character(s) - one piece - zoro x reader ❄ warnings - no beta reader, gn!reader, enemies to ???, forced proximity, implied sexual themes ❄ word count: 1.6k+ ❄ description - what happens when an unstoppable force, you, is crammed a tin can with an unmovable object, zoro? you both hate eachother's guts— that's what.

sorry this one is so late! today caught up with me bad. hope you enjoy, this one is actually complete this time too!

tomorrow is everyone's favorite lesbian, nami! I should have that one up timely, since it'll only be a small blurb.

check out the rest of the days here

The bitter cold was all consuming. The wind raged over the icy hills. Its whistling rang against the metal that shielded you from its burn. Snow pelted the foggy windshield in a thick layer of white, frost seeping into the cramped, humid caravan. You looked over at the man in front of you— well, what you could see, at least.

Hunched over, his thick thighs squished against both walls. He made a poor attempt to find comfort as he spread his legs wide but preserved what distance he could from you.

Yet, your knees still knocked together. The polyester squeaked as you both tried to avoid contact. A green glow lit the dark silhouette of his brow bone and jaw. His scowl was clear, even in the dark.

You rubbed your clammy, cold hands on your snowsuit. You weren't sure what made you more uncomfortable. It was a toss-up between the swordsman, your freezing feet, and the sweat rolling down your back, soaking your thin cotton shirt that insulated you like a sauna. You didn’t know how long you could take this, and it seemed he was at his limit too.

“You do realize this is your fault?” His voice sliced through the stale, warm air, snapping his head up at you, voice leaking with annoyance.

“I don’t control the weather, Zoro,” you bristle, avoiding his unwavering gaze.

You look behind at the console, the screen blinking an incessant warning on the panel: Warning, low temperatures detected. Return Brachio Mini to Franky immediately.

"But you control this." He gestures at the broken panel. “We could’ve been back by now.”

“I’m sorry I like to be thorough; you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” You snapped back, but a small ounce of guilt bangs in your chest. As if you didn’t already know that, you thought. It didn’t stop you from holding on to your sliver of pride.

“When has Nami ever been wrong?” He tried to adjust for the hundredth time with no luck.

You sighed. How did he know how to get under your skin and fester there? “It was just sunny outside! You even took a swim earlier,"

“Now I’ve got a stalker?” His lips curl in cruel amusement, making your eye twitch with anger. “That still doesn’t answer the question.”

“Fine, Nami was right. that's what you want to hear?” you hiss between tight lips. "And she’s going to kill us if we don’t freeze to death. Or maybe the lack of oxygen will come first.”

He tilted his head. “So Nami is right, and I’m not?”

“Glad to see you have your priorities straight.” You can’t help how naturally your eyes roll into your skull. He always brushed off the danger, like an annoying fly. It was a mere inconvenience to the brute. While he sat there, calm and unwavered, you were trying to quell your racing pulse, worry eating away at your patience.

“I’m not dying here, and neither are you. I told you I could open the hatch." His voice was soft but determined. You feel your chest burn.

“And lose the heat? Are you stupid?” you grumbled.

“You’re the one worried about the air.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, and I’m also worried about freezing to death too. Say, do you have anything between your ears, or is it just a stand for your sword?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” He claps, each echoing off the tinny walls. You sit in silence, trying to calm down.

"I only agreed to come because I knew you'd get lost." You repeat, fiddling with the transponder snail. Still, no signal.

And that was something Zoro couldn’t argue with. He slanted his eyes down at you as you turned back toward him, crossing your arms over your chest. Silence enveloped you once more, thick with tension and aggravation.

You could see it so clearly 3 hours ago. Zoro went off by himself on the island. He either got into trouble or got lost, causing it. With limited options, you knew tagging along was the better one. He never tried to see it from your angle, no matter how hard you would persist. You used to feel envious of this, how his troubles would roll off his shoulders like a duck sheds water. Now, you realize he lacks the brain to see the issue.

With a voice laced in anger, he broke the silence once more. “Anyone else would’ve gotten us back to this ship now,”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” you shoot back. “And I’m not anyone else.”

“You got that right,” he muttered, shifting as your knees knocked together again. You ignore the swift blow to your ego, pestering further.

“So you rather Sanji?”

“Please, don’t say that name right now; my head hurts enough with just you here.”

"Answer my question, swords." You point your finger at his chest. The heat of his body radiates into your finger. He swats your hand away, rubbing the spot like it burned.

“Both of you are annoying. One of you is lucky they're—" He paused, catching himself, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. You tilt your head, leaning closer in curiosity.

"Never mind, this shit is stupid.” He trailed off, voice low as he avoided your gaze. His face twists between disgust and something else you can’t quite label; his eyes flicker away.

“No, finish your thought. Lucky? Lucky for what? And who?”

“I’m not doing this with you right now.. You're impossible.” He groaned, rubbing his temples. “Let me try to fix it; we’re losing daylight.”

You stared at him. “And do what exactly? I don’t think you can slash yourself out of this one.”

He looked up at the ceiling, hands reflexively thumbing the swords jutting at his hip. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

You scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack. Move.” He grabbed your shoulder, standing up, hunched over with a hand gripping Wado. You dug your heels in and leaned back.

“No.” You glare at him, ignoring how his frame folded over yours. You sink further into the chair to avoid his gaze. His legs slot into yours awkwardly. “I won't let you ruin our only way back.”

“And I’m not going to listen to your constant whining anymore. Move.” He grips tighter on your shoulder, eyes boring into you, unreadable. “Now.”

“I won’t, asshole!” you seethe, but you’re losing your bite as he dips his head down, slamming a hand down behind you in frustration.

“ I have had it up to here, with you. You can’t control everything.” He whispered tersely, eyes searching yours for the answer.

"I don’t,” you whispered back.

“Then why have you insisted on doing everything? There’s no I in team.”

You try to deflect, picking at your sleeve. “I’m surprised you can spell."

He rumbled your name, and you looked at him, eyes serious. The green highlights his small, pouting mouth. It reflects pretty shimmers off his earrings, which sway with his movements. His grip on your shoulder loosened as he loomed down, his face impossibly close to yours. You feel his breath feather against your cheeks, warming your windburned skin.

“Trust me, dammit..” His voice was low, not commanding, but pleading- a small tinge of frustration laced within his voice that left you wondering ‘trust you with what?’

The weight of heady legs pressed closer into yours. You freeze.

...Was he?

You watch his eyes soften as his eyes dart across your face. For a brief moment, he eyes your chapped lips, his own twitching into something too tender, too vulnerable to be meant for you. You were rendered silent, trying to steel your legs from squeezing his toned leg between them. this must be some cruel dream you were conjuring for yourself. But no, you both were here, breathing in each other's air, staring into each other's eyes for what felt like eternity. You feel your body buzz with the palpable energy left suspended in the air.

Before your brain can catch up with your thoughts, you exhale sharply, lips forming a soft ‘o’. You were unable to back further away, feeling yourself pulled in by his gravity. He couldn’t be... Could he?

But then-

Sharp metal and glass clash violently after Zoro swiftly unsheathes Wado, stabbing the panel behind you. You scream and jolt forward, tumbling into Zoro’s chest as he falls back, sparks whizzing in the air. The interior groans and spurts, before suddenly, the engines whirs with purpose. The lights of the cabin flicker on, and the power levels itself out again.

“What the hell was that?!” You jump out of Zoro’s arms, pushing away the arm he had wrapped around your waist. You can see the way his cheeks are dusted red, but he leaned back, sheathing the sword.

“I fixed it. See what happens when we can trust each other,” He smiled.

You look at him incredulously. He was stupid, but not braindead.“That wasn’t trust! that was- you- you tricked-”

“What did you think was going to happen? I’m not that easy.” He smirked and you feel embarrassment eat away at whatever nerves you have left. He did know what affect that had on you, and seemed to relish it.

“I’ll kill you with my barehands,”

“Why don’t you just get us home instead?” He juts his chin to the panel.

You try to calm your shot nerves for a moment to think, reaching at whatever remnants of the panel to carry yourselves back home. You needed to be far away from him, as soon as possible. Your hands twitch as you try to retrace the land, snow melting slowly off the windshield.

You worry on your bottom lip. Great.

“I... I think we’re lost.” You force the words out of your mouth, defeat weighing you down.

“I thought you knew where you were going?!” He yelled behind you in exsperation.

"Uh.. yeah, my bad."

Maybe you were a little impossible.

and legends say they are still in the snow, battling their sexual tension, frozen in time lol.

hope you enjoyed this! If you can't tell I like when zoro is mad at you lol. Sorry if the end is a bit rushed :')

ngl I highkey wouldn't mind making a pt.2 to this with MAYBE some smut- but forewarning, i’m rusty asf. if you would want one, let me know! this was definitely supposed to be longer, but I thought it'd be cute leaving it off here.

If you enjoy that, check out my other stuff (x)

#12daysofchristmas2024 #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #zoro blurb #enemies to a secret third option #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #lynn writes #lynn-writes

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satancopilotsmytardis · 1 year ago

Text

Heavy Home

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Commissioned by an anonymous user. Dabi has never been good with people, with controlling his emotions, or controlling his quirk, and all of those things have put him in a lot of danger throughout his life. He doesn't think that it's all that surprising that he ends up feeling like the entire world may crash in on him or that he might ignite when he gets stressed out by those things. He just didn't know that there was a way to feel better when that was happening. Shigaraki takes one look at him when he's spinning out and shows him how he can.

Contents: panic attacks, hurt/comfort, protective!Shigaraki, cuddling, soft sex, praise kink, frottage, cumming in pants, multiple orgasms, anal fingering, anal sex, anal cockwarming, creampie, overstimulation

Word Count: 7969

Dabi is never going to say that he's ever been good with people. When he was a kid he was 'off-putting' to other kids. Even though he was friendly when he was little, when he started to go wrong, his intensity and obsession with getting back into his father's good graces, and the viciousness through which he tried to hide how badly it hurt that he was cast aside, made him disconcerting to be around. Natsuo was the only one who could stand him without fail, though it was his cruelty to Fuyumi that soured that particular well. Still, he wasn't good with other people when he was a child, and waking up from a coma to find he had been completely cast aside, did not help that condition in the slightest. Then he'd been on the streets and the lack of social skills, feeling like a child in a body that didn't belong to him, having people constantly trying to hurt or take advantage of him-- it all piled up. He had to learn how to survive.

That resulted in Dabi making himself dangerous. He made his scars worse by reopening them all the time as he took on criminal work to show that he was powerful and not someone to be fucked with. He got piercings on top of his staples, he dyed his hair black, he switched to leather clothes so that he would look tougher and not have to worry about picking melted polyester out of his skin. He made himself 'Dabi' in more than just name to ensure that he wouldn't get destroyed before he could become the ghost he had vowed to be at his altar.

The problem is that doing all of that hadn't made him less scared, less small, less fragile, when he already always felt like he was on the verge of losing his mind and control of his quirk again. He wonders how many other people know the unique and intimate terror of knowing every second of every day that one slip in their concentration could mean their quirk rebelling and killing them. He doubts that many could. He just knows that it's something that is always sitting at the edge of his awareness, and he knows that his fight or flight leans so heavily towards 'fight' in an effort to keep him alive, making it even more likely that he's going to lose control again ahead of schedule.

He tries to hide those fears and doubts, tries not to make himself a target for threats or violence, if only to keep his skin on his fucking body. And he hides all of it through a blasé attitude, thuggish drawl, and seeming disinterest in everything going on around him. He gets very good at faking all of that to hide the constant riot of emotions that is surging through him at nearly all hours of the day. Dabi thinks he's done a particularly good job of hiding those emotions when he goes to meet the League of Villains. He thinks he's done a very good job when it's Shigaraki who lunges for him, and not the other way around. At least this way, he knows that the other man is focusing on his anger and Dabi can pretend he isn't nearly bouncing his foot as he realizes this is a big step for him. He's been biding his time in the shadows for so long, coming out of them and throwing his lot in with the League could destroy him before he even gets a chance to see his father again. But he does it anyway, and despite almost coming to blows, he is accepted into the group.

He really thought that maybe he would calm down a bit after that.

///

The problem is, that no matter how much he plays it cool around the others, he is constantly on edge. He doesn't know the right things to say to keep people from getting aggressive with him, he can't talk about himself out of fear of giving anyone any clues about exactly who he really is, and he is constantly trying to sound dumber than he is. He doesn't think he does a good job with the last one, because despite the rough start with Shigaraki, he is put in charge of the summer camp job. Though, that may be a good thing, because he is very invested in making sure that he does everything he can to ensure if he sees Shoto, his identity isn't immediately revealed. But that, he thinks, is only making his anxiety higher and higher.

It's especially bad on training days. The training facility that Kurogiri sends them to is somewhere deep underground, a large white room, maybe the size of a baseball diamond, with thirty foot high ceilings, a viewing window off to one side where the monster maker and Shigaraki typically observe from, and the ability to be dressed up as different settings so that they can practice trying to use their quirks in 'open, outdoor environments' without actually drawing attention to themselves. It's good for the others, Magne learning how much of a direct line of sight she needs on someone to properly magnetize them, Toga is figuring out how to move through the trees and throw around her needles, things like that. Dabi is mostly wandering around, tossing Velcro balls at people when they get distracted, mimicking the way they are likely to get hurt if they aren't paying attention when moving through the forest with his flames licking all around them. But he doesn't use his quirk during this training session. Not only is it dangerous given they are in an underground enclosed area, but it also wouldn't be safe with his seams. He doesn't want to burn himself out before they even get to the camp, so he is mostly keeping an eye on things, acting as a fake hazard, and learning what he can about the others.

He learns very quickly that Muscular is a piece of fucking work.

"This is bullshit," the bigger man snarls, tearing three of the balls off of his clothes and stomping right over to Dabi. He tries to maintain his cool exterior, but he can't help the fact that his temperature is creeping higher as the other man gets right into his face. "I can feel fire before I get close to it." He shoves the balls into Dabi's chest, pushing hard enough that it puts just the wrong amount of strain against the edge of his seam and one of the staples pops free. He hides a wince as he starts to feel the empty holes beginning to bleed. Muscular's single eye drifts down to the bloom of blood and the sneer goes even more vicious. "Aw, is that the problem, pipsqueak? Are you too fragile to be any use in the field?"

Dabi's pulse is thundering in his ears and he wants nothing more than to get away as fast as possible to treat the wound, not wanting to risk the bastard jamming his fingers into it and possibly giving him an infection. But what he actually does is take half a step back, lift one of the little balls, and bring flashfire to his hand. It burns hot and bright sharply for about half a second before it's reduced to ash, but it's so hot that Muscular rears back immediately with a sneer, activating his quirk to keep the worst of the heat away from his skin. It's not fast enough to avoid the flames drying out the skin on his face, not enough to give him first degree burns, but enough to make it turn a little pink with irritation.

The sprinklers trigger as the smoke from his palm reaches the sensors in the ceiling, making Toga and Magne both squeal over their hair getting wet and Compress grumble about his suit. He's just grateful for them because the roar of the water means that it will be hard for anyone to hear it if his voice is trembling at all. "You may not have a chance to feel the heat before my flames come. You need to be aware of your surroundings if you don't want to get burned."

He is glad that a portal opens for them as Shigaraki's voice crackles through the speakers. "That's it for the day." The room will need to be reset and the others start to go through the portal without protest. He is a little slower behind the rest of them, trying to make his breathing even and slow the beat of his heart, but it feels impossible.

The others aren't all staying at the bar, only he and Toga without somewhere else to go, and Kurogiri clearly sent the others back to their places of residence, because it's just he, Duster, and Dabi in the bar when he steps through, Toga's feet already moving up the rickety stairs.

Dabi means to immediately follow her as Kurogiri steps through a portal of his own to go see to whatever AFO has him doing, but as he turns to leave, Shigaraki reaches out and catches his arm. He only uses four fingers, and the touch doesn't hurt, but it's entirely too much for him after Muscular got so into his space, and Dabi forces himself to clamp down as hard as he can on his quirk to keep from combusting and lighting up the entire bar. But that traps all of the heat inside of him and he feels his brain boil, his limbs all starting to tremble and his breath fills with embers as he tries to figure out how to fill his lungs around the flames, or if he should be trying to suffocate them away.

"Dabi?" His hand drops his elbow and he feels like a child as he curls in on himself. His skin feels like it's going to catch, fuck, fuck, fuck--

All of the sudden, there is a solid weight on him, smothering his skin, held close to his body as he's grabbed again. Not just his arm this time, but around his shoulders and his waist. Dabi is pretty sure that should be the thing that sends his skin boiling, but instead he lets out a breath of smoke as Shigaraki... holds him. He's wrapped him with the ratty blanket from the back of the couch, used it to smother the heat pouring off of his skin, and he is holding him tightly against his body. That pressure, he thinks, should break him. The heat being reflected back in on him should make him ignite. But instead nearly all of his muscles go slack and Shigaraki is the only thing holding him up at that point.

He lets out a gasp that is all smoke as he realizes, despite seeing how dangerous his quirk could be, Duster saw him losing control and got closer to make sure he didn't.

///

Dabi is really out of it, he knew that the moment that Muscular got into his space and sent his nerves so high, but this is past that. He feels like he's hungover as he realizes that he's on the couch, or more specifically, he's in Shigaraki's lap on the couch. The other is still holding him tight, his chin resting on the top of Dabi's head, and holding him wrapped in the blanket. He blinks and starts to straighten up,

"Fuck," His face burns, but it's with a blush this time, not his quirk. No, that feels pretty settled as he shifts in the other's lap. "Sorry, I--"

"It's alright, Dabi." He doesn't know if he's ever heard Shigaraki's voice soft in the time they've known each other. "...Do you always have this kind of trouble with your quirk? Or is it just when you're having a panic attack?"

"A what?"

Duster blinks, his arms tightening a bit around him, and that look tells Dabi that's something that he should know, but might be something the coma and lack of education are messing with.

"Whatever, I'm fine with my quirk, I can do my job." He insists.

"...Okay, but if you need anything else, we can help, Dabi."

Right, because so many people have been willing to help him before. He extracts himself from Shigaraki's hold and the blanket to go upstairs. He probably would have stolen a bottle of booze to annihilate his brain if the other man's eyes hadn't been following him the entire time as he was going.

///

Shigaraki doesn't bring it up again, but after another couple of days, a package gets left for him outside of his door. Inside of it he finds a weighted blanket made of a special fire-retardant fabric and Dabi would carry the thing around like a child if he could get away with it. He didn't know how much being smothered in the heavy fabric would help to ground him, the weight making it so he doesn't feel like he's drifting away from his body, and the covering with something that won't catch, letting him breathe a bit more easily as his anxiety swells. It's beyond good that he has the blanket now, and it only gets better when their support gear comes in and Dabi is given a leather coat that has a removable lining with lots of places he can put similar weights inside of the fabric. He almost resents how quickly Shigaraki was able to pinpoint a way for him to contain the constant discomfort under his skin. But he can't really when this all is working-- for the most part.

Dabi still wakes up more than he likes to admit, gasping, lungs filled with smoke, and feeling like he might come apart at the seams. And the blanket helps then, but it doesn't fix him. He ends up layering his coat on top of himself as well, and that still isn't enough. So when he and Duster have a private minute he asks,

"Where can I get another one of those blankets?"

"I can order it for you, why? Did something happen to the first?" Duster doesn't even look up from his game.

"No, it's just not heavy enough at night."

That does get Shigaraki to pause, literally and figuratively, so that he can give Dabi his full attention. "You can't add another blanket, it's not safe. Too much weight could compress your lungs." Oh. Fuck. He wonders if Shigaraki can see the disappointment on his face, because he starts to scratch at his neck before he mumbles, "There might be something else that we can try, though."

///

Which is how Dabi goes from just sleeping with his blanket, to sleeping with Duster. Beyond weird at first to go to his boss's room whenever he has a bad dream or spike of anxiety, and climb into his bed, the heavy blanket separating their bodies, and then Shig climbs on top of him. He rests his weight completely against Dabi, and like being hugged tight by him the first time, it smothers out his discomfort and lets him fall right to sleep. And Shigaraki can then get off of him and go about whatever he decides to do when his insomnia keeps him up. It's strange and beyond embarrassing at first, but over the course of another week or two of the best nights of sleep Dabi has had since he was five, he gets over the weirdness.

He's laying underneath Duster again, the tension slowly trickling out of his body and making his eyes get a little heavier. Shigaraki is scrolling on his phone, his chin tucked over Dabi's shoulder, reading some report or another that AFO sent him. They usually don't exchange words when he comes in here, but it's been weeks and Dabi can't help but mumble,

"Why're you going out of your way to help?"

He hears the other's thumb stop moving. "I'd hardly call lying on you 'going out of my way'." Shig tells him, sitting up a little. Dabi reaches for him through the blanket and holds onto his shirt, trying to keep him close, and Duster shifts to keep most of his weight on him, just straightening enough so that he can look at Dabi. "But if it's helping, why wouldn't I?" And he says it like that should be obvious, like that's just so simple and expected that the thought that he wouldn't do that is completely foreign.

Dabi, for as reckless and stupid as it is, can't help but respond to that by leaning up and ruining it by pressing their lips together in a soft kiss. Shigaraki stiffens over him and his stomach plummets, his anxiety ratcheting up in his veins again, ready to try and squirm out from under him and go quietly immolate himself elsewhere, but Duster doesn't pull away, he doesn't kill him. His gloved hand wraps around the back of his neck and he holds him in place as his mouth moves against his own.

The kiss is achingly tender, making a burning bloom behind his eyes that he doesn't want to give name to. But just like the hugs, the blanket, the consideration and care that Shigaraki has been giving him for the past few weeks, a kiss that isn't brutal is completely foreign to him. He's only ever been kissed a few times, never by anyone he wanted to kiss, never when he wasn't so high or drunk that it made any sense. But Duster is gentle as he moves their lips together. His lips are shattered, but soft as he tilts his head to seal them together more completely, and when his tongue begs permission, Dabi opens to let the other inside. There's no rush, no plundering, or biting, it's all just the slow intentional movements of his mouth as he licks behind his teeth, strokes their tongues together, filling Dabi's mouth with the slightly stale taste of mint from his toothpaste. But it's good. It's better than any kiss he's ever had before and Dabi is humiliatingly breathless when Duster pulls away, red eyes dark and half-lidded as he looks down at him. He wonders what he looks like and hopes it's not as desperate as he feels.

He's really not expecting Shigaraki to murmur, "Sorry, I shouldn't have-- that doesn't have to be a part of this. You can come to me when you need to. I'm not expecting... that in return."

Dabi blinks, because it hadn't even crossed his mind that Shigaraki would take away the care he's been giving him if he wasn't doing what he wanted. He untangles his hands from beneath the blanket and knots his fingers in the soft, loose sleep shirt across the other's chest. "Okay." He feels his face going a little hotter and hopes that his scars cover it up. "Could it be?"

The hand around the back of his neck flexes and tightens a bit, and then Shigaraki is leaning back in to kiss him again. It is just as deep as the first, but it's a little faster, a little harder, like Shigaraki is actually hungry for him. It spreads the heat from Dabi's cheeks along his whole body and he tries to match his pace. Duster gives him kiss after kiss, each one building in intensity until Dabi is just taking in little gasps of air every time their lips part even the slightest bit, but not letting himself fully part at all. He doesn't want to pull away completely, he would drown beneath Shigaraki if he could.

But then Shigaraki shifts on top of him, slipping one of his thighs between Dabi's legs and his body goes even hotter as he spreads them open. The hand moves from around his neck, his mouth moving to along his jaw like his scars aren't even an inconvenience, so that he can pull the thick blanket out from between them. Feeling Shigaraki's body against his own without that barrier between them, makes a hazy need start to itch across his veins. Opening his legs to make room, not just for Shigaraki's thigh, but wide enough so that his hips can slot between his own and he can bring every part of their bodies flush against one another makes him breathless. Duster moves slowly, his lips kissing and nipping ever so gently across his jaw and down his neck, teasing his skin as he looks for any place that makes little shivers or tiny gasps escape him. Dabi tries to get his wits about him. He's had other hookups before. They weren't soft, they weren't even good if he's being entirely honest, but they were something and he knows what he's supposed to be doing. It's just that... being under Shigaraki as he lavishes his ruined skin with the same warmth and softness that he was given when he first held him, is making it incredibly hard to focus.

Duster doesn't seem to mind though, and his hands are moving up to the hem of Dabi's shirt. His fingers dip just beneath it, stroking his stomach just above the edge of his waistband, and then he murmurs against his skin. "Can I?"

Dabi is terrified of how weak his voice will be if he tries to use it and manages a nod instead. Shigaraki has to lean away from him and Dabi has to let go of how tightly he was clinging to him, but it's worth it when Duster coaxes him out of his shirt. It's a relief to shed the fabric, the heat of his body becoming unbearable. He catches the hem of the other's shirt when he's free of his own and Shigaraki takes the hint, pulling the dark fabric away and tossing it somewhere else in the room as Dabi is left breathless as he gets a look at his body. The bullet wounds are freshly healed, but no longer puffy as the stars from. The cut deep across his shoulder looks much newer and Dabi can see the little scabs on either side of it from how recently the stitches were removed. Those pull his immediate concern, if only because he didn't know their leader was running around with those injuries, but the next is that Shigaraki, for as thin as he is, has more muscle on him than he thought he did. He's lean the way Dabi is, where his body seems to be trying to put on the muscle that it is ready to make, but it's being stopped by something. For Dabi, it's his quirk constantly burning through him and years of malnutrition that keep him wiry with broad shoulders, but for Shigaraki, he wonders, if it's the injuries, the fucked sleep schedule, or the fact they never see him eating anything and he's only ever seen the boss have a drink if it was something hard from the bar.

But those thoughts aren't given room to breathe as Shigaraki leans back down to catch his mouth in another consuming kiss before his hands are moving over Dabi's chest. His skin is much cooler than his own, but most people are colder than him. He's more focused on how good it feels as he brushes a thumb over his nipple, teasing the bud and playing with the piercing through it. How that good sensation feeds into the gentle, exploratory touch across the seam that runs over his stomach, and how normally that doesn't do anything but hurt, but the lightness of this, how warm his body already is for these proceedings, is making it feel good. He reaches for Duster, trying to touch him, to make certain that he's worth his time when Shigaraki didn't need to give him his attention at all in the first place. But Duster catches one of his wrists and pushes up by his head against the pillows,

"Let me make you feel good?" He has never been spoken to so softly and Dabi trembles, managing only a tiny nod as his throat goes thicker.

Shigaraki keeps touching him, kissing his skin, touches exploratory and teasing, until he finds the spots that make him squirm and bite his lip as his cock fills and little moans keep wanting to slip out. He needs to be quiet. Toga's room is right on the other side of the hall, and he will have to immolate them both if they wake her up because she will definitely mock them for this. It's hard to hold back the sounds though when Shigaraki's cock is swelling too and the thin material of their pajama bottoms is barely a barrier between them. His thighs tighten around Duster's hips when he rolls them together. It's the first time someone's touched him in half a year, and it's been even longer than that since he got desperate enough to stroke himself, his piercings and staples across his palm making it a tedious and somewhat unpleasant task. That, he thinks, is making him so much more sensitive, and he's practically whining, biting his lip hard to stay quiet, as Shigaraki grinds them together, his cock feeling so big as it moves against his own. He ends up having to fist his hands into the bedding, his hips giving aborted little twitches up, trying to get the other to go faster, harder, to give him more because it's humiliating that he is so desperate when this is all he's been given.

"So pretty, sweetheart, so sensitive," Duster's voice is lower, in volume and with the rasp of his own arousal. And his lips go to his cheek, kissing him there like he's nothing but a desperate, blushing virgin, and Dabi feels like one as he is left wanting more so badly. "Is this enough, baby boy?" He rolls his hips more deliberately and Dabi can't help the thin moan he lets out, his jumping to rub against him, sparks dancing along his nerves. Never had someone call him nice pet names in bed either. He doesn't think that those should be making him so much needier, but they are. "Can you cum like this, precious?" Shigaraki doesn't sound like he's mocking him, he sounds like the thought is enough to make him hotter too and he can't hide how wet he's getting as his cock leaks in his pajama bottoms.

Dabi barely manages to nod. And instead of pulling back to make him cool down so that he can actually be worth the other's time, Duster kisses him again and pushes harder, moving more deliberately as one hand goes to Dabi's thigh, catching it around the back so that he can lift his leg slightly to make the angle even better. Good enough that Dabi can't help the gut-punched moan that comes out of him.

"That's it, show me how pretty you are when you cum, Dabi."

He half turns his face into the pillows, gasping and whining lowly as the movements keep going, finding the perfect pace to push the heat in his veins higher and higher until he can't hold on any longer. Dabi bites his lip hard to hide the sound of his pleasure as his balls go tight and his cock pulses his orgasm across his nerves and paints the inside of his pants with a sticky mess that squelches obscenely when Tomura keeps moving against him until Dabi is shaking.

Shig catches his chin with two fingers and turns him back to him to give him another hot, open-mouthed kiss. "That's it, baby. Beautiful." He kisses him and slows his movements, letting Dabi come down, but that's not what he wants. He wants more. He wants to be worth the care and consideration that Tomura keeps trying to give him even though he's mostly been a shit to the other man who tried to kill him when they met.

He kisses back as hard as he can manage when his limbs feel like jelly and tries to get a hand into Duster's pants. "Shig, let me--"

His words are cut off with another kiss. "Let me see you, baby?"

He nods weakly, and Shigaraki moves so that he can peel his sticky pants off of his legs. He feels his face heat as he sees what a mess he's made of himself, but Duster is looking at his cum smeared skin like he's going to eat him alive and Dabi doesn't have to ask him this time to have him shifting so that he can take off his pajamas as well. He whimpers when he sees how big the other's cock is, flushed dark at his head and with pretty veins winding along the underside. Shigaraki leans over him again, one of his hands moving down Dabi's body, palming at his soft cock, and Dabi knows immediately with how hot he still is, that he won't stay that way for long. Especially not when Shigaraki's thumb finds his ladder and he starts to tease him there.

"You're gorgeous, sweetheart." His words come out as a purr and Dabi thinks he's going to boil his brain if Duster doesn't start acting like he is as desperate for release as he must be feeling from how hard he already is. "I want to see you spread open for me, baby boy. Is that alright? Can I fuck your pretty hole, precious?"

Dabi may incinerate them both if he doesn't. "Please, Tomura--"

"That's it. Want you to use my name, firefly." He drops a kiss to his forehead and then reaches over to the nightstand, retrieving a half empty bottle of lube as Dabi's cock aches as he starts to fill again so soon. He spreads his legs as wide as he can, tilting his hips up, and Shigaraki doesn't hesitate to push one of the other pillows beneath his hips so that he can keep them at the angle that he wants without strain. He uncaps the lube and squirts some into his hand, letting it warm a bit against his palm as he leans in and drags his mouth across the seam over his collarbone before his lips find a nipple and he starts to kiss, suck, and tease at the bud and his piercing there. He keeps doing that as his fingers trace around his rim, the first touch light and exploratory, but when Dabi pushes back against them instead of flinching away, he starts to move with a lot more sureness.

His chest is aching and over-sensitive by the time Tomura has two fingers inside of him, his body opening up for him readily between the lingering bliss of his first orgasm and the way every gentle touch is making him hotter than any rough one he's been given since he started having sex. When Shigaraki crooks his fingers and starts to rub and tease against his prostate he has to shove his knuckles between his teeth to keep from making too much noise as his whole body goes incandescent with how good it feels. Shigaraki gives him a third, kisses his cheek, and strokes his cock until he's hard and breathless with the need for more. It's only then that he slips his fingers out and reaches back over to the bedside drawer to try and grab a condom out of the box inside.

Dabi whines, taking his skin from between his teeth, "Clean," he's always had to be careful because of his seams and how prone to infection he is, but he wants this too much to have something separating their skin. "Tomura, inside, please."

"Fuck, you're so perfect, baby boy." The words are rough and raw, and his pleading ears Dabi a kiss. Tomura gives another squirt of the lube, not bothering to warm it for himself before he's slicking up his cock and pressing his head against Dabi's hole. Distantly, he realizes that he's never had a cock this big before, but he can't find even an ounce of hesitation inside of him now as Tomura starts to push in.

Dabi swears his ears are ringing as he feels the other starting to stretch his hole, even just the first inch of him making him breathless. He's never felt his pleasure go so high and Tomura letting out a harsher breath against his lips, a soft growl in his voice when he says,

"You're so tight, sweetheart," in a way that makes that feel like the highest praise Dabi has ever earned. He mewls weakly, a sound that he's never heard himself make before as Duster sinks inside slowly until his body is impossibly full and his muscles are all but clinging to Tomura's length. He can't stop trembling beneath him, the stretch feeling so good, but completely overwhelming as Tomura peppers his skin with kisses and shushes him softly. He stays still, petting along his body, and making sure that he has the time to adjust, for a long while, like his need is miles away when Dabi's own desperation feels like it's going to make his skin catch.

When he finally manages to weakly roll his hips up, Tomura takes that for the invitation that it is. He still doesn't fuck him hard. He goes slowly, but his movements are deep and rolling, making his body feel hotter and tighter as they come again and again, Shigaraki making sure that he has his hips angled so that he can brush over his prostate every time his cock drives deep into his heat. It is beyond satisfaction, beyond words, to be fucked like this and Dabi can taste smoke crawling up the back of his throat as he lets the other take him apart.

He doesn't know how long Tomura is fucking him, barely able to remember to bite his tongue to stay quiet, let alone keep track of anything happening in the world around him. He just knows that by the time he's desperate for his second orgasm, Shigaraki must be dying for his first. But it's still him who slips over that edge again, not even being able to warn him, not even having a hand on his cock. Tomura's just feels so good as it pushes inside of him and rubs over his walls, the stretch so wide and so satisfying, that it practically sneaks up on him and he's suddenly making their stomachs even stickier as he gives one soft whimper as he cums. It heightens both of their pleasure, because his muscles clench tight around Shigaraki's cock, so tight he practically growls as his movements get shallower, keeping his cock deep inside of him for a few more thrusts before Dabi's insides are dripping with warmth as Tomura gives a final rough gasp as he cums.

Dabi didn't know his body could feel so heavy and so light at the same time as he lays underneath the other man, dazed and blissful as the aftershocks of his orgasm run through him. He gives a soft, fluttery sigh, exhaustion starting to sweep over him as they lay together. Tomura gets his wits about him first, and he starts to shift, starting to pull out and try to move his weight from on top of him, but Dabi doesn't want that. He manages to hook an arm around his shoulders and weakly pulls at him until he settles again, Dabi pushing his face right into his neck. Duster laughs lightly, a soft kiss being pressed to the top of Dabi's hair.

"You want to stay like this for a little while, firefly?"

He barely manages a nod, but that's enough for the other man to settle his weight back over him. Dabi is so tired that he can barely keep his eyes open, and he has the fleeting thought that he is absolutely fucked because as good and grounding as it is to have Tomura's weight on top of him is already, he's never going to be able to forget how satisfying it feels to be pressed this close and filled up so gently.

///

He wakes the next morning achingly hard, warm, and with his muscles fluttering as he feels Tomura's cock still inside of him, cum leaking out of his hole, sticky and thick, because the other clearly stayed inside of him throughout the night. Dabi can't help the loud moan that spills out of him, his body trembling as he catches onto the other's skin, fingers digging into his uninjured shoulder and at his side as he feels how good it is to be full like this. That sound is met with a soft hiss from Tomura as he also rouses and feels their bodies trying to find relief after being so stimulated for so many hours.

"Fuck, precious, ah--"

Dabi digs his nails in, trying to twitch his nearly numb hips into some semblance of movement, crying out when doing so makes his hard cock rub against Tomura's stomach and send even sharper pleasure over his nerves. It all stings, it's definitely too much, and Dabi wants even more.

"Ah, baby, can I?"

"Tomura," he barely manages the word, his voice tiny and shaking badly, but he manages another weak nod and roll of his hips.

"Fuck, not going to last long, sweetheart." He doesn't know how Shigaraki could possibly think he'd be any better when the first little movement of his hips makes his insides feel like they're on fire, every inch of his walls feeling swollen, aching, and deliciously oversensitive. Neither of them are going to manage the time they took with each other last night.

When he cums again it's with a sharp ache deep in his balls as he realizes that he must have orgasmed in his sleep as well, because there's hardly a dribble of cum that is added to the mess smeared all between their stomachs. And the little clench of his muscles makes Tomura spill too, groaning lowly in his ear and putting enough cum into him that there's a fresh pulse of it spilling onto the sheets as he does.

They lay, trembling, together for another long moment before Tomura is pulling out and shifting to catch his lips in another long, sweet kiss that somehow melts Dabi even more.

///

Fucking Shigaraki doesn't fix his anxiety or whatever that makes him so bad with people and so prone to getting overwhelmed. It doesn't make him need his weighted coat or blanket any less. All it does is give him maybe the first real relationship he's ever had with someone he's sleeping with, and guarantee that the nights he needs to go to him to sleep, Tomura will pepper his face and lips with kisses and tell him how pretty and sweet he is beneath him, even if they don't actually fuck at those times. Dabi doesn't really have words to tell Duster how much he likes all of that, but he does stop calling the other man gross, so he thinks he figures it out.

And he is definitely going to be running right into his room tonight after how awful this planning session has been. He's never going to say that planning for the inevitable clusterfuck that the summer camp job is going to be easy. Not when the League is home to a couple of grade-A crazies, including a guy who gets distracted by how edible his teammates are, and two young teenagers. On top of that, Muscular's ego and battlelust are just getting more and more frustratingly prevalent as they get deeper into the sessions. Thankfully, after seeing how the hulking meathead could consistently send Dabi into a panic attack whenever he got too close, Shigaraki decided that he would not be Dabi's bodyguard during the infiltration as originally planned. He didn't want Muscular doing something stupid and Dabi going off or shutting down in the middle of a job, putting himself and the others all in danger if he did. So instead the nomu that they were going to have on the perimeter will be shadowing him to keep him safe and Muscular would be far on the outskirts, made even more of an insult because,

"That's a better place for you anyway since you're still doing so abysmally at avoiding the fake flames during training." Duster says that without even looking up and Dabi has about three seconds to be incredibly, incredibly smug over that comment, Toga snickering in agreement, as Muscular's face flushes a blotchy, ugly red with his anger.

"The only reason that crispy fuck needs protection is because he can't handle himself." He snarls. Dabi would probably have just rolled his eyes and shrugged that off, savoring in the other's bruised ego, but he doesn't get that chance as the table they had the map laid out on is suddenly flying across the bar, crashing into the far wall with the splintering of wood, as they all give their own startled shouts before Muscular is lunging for him. Dabi hates how he sees blue eyes in his face for a second as he calls up his flames to try and burn him without torching the rest of the bar. But he doesn't even have a chance to send the sparks off of his skin.

Tomura grabs Goto by one arm, one hand around his wrist, and the other striking the heel of his palm to the skin. His face is twisted into a snarl of his own, looking more vicious than Dabi has ever seen him, as he dislocates Muscular's elbow with a loud pop. The force of the blow makes him go slightly off balance and Shigaraki takes that as an opportunity to use the close combat training that none of them have ever actually had a chance to see before, and he shifts his center of gravity. Muscular practically trips over him, going ass over teakettle and making Dabi have to drop his flames and move a few feet back so that when the other hits the ground, he's not in the way. Tomura doesn't stop there, keeping his injured arm up and locked so that he can't move it, and dropping down to kneel on his chest, a knee pressed into his throat.

"Do not," He snarls, his voice a thousand times more dangerous than it sounded when he was threatening him during their first meeting. "Ever try to lay your hands on one of your teammates again," He tightens his fingers around Goto's wrist, his single, raised finger getting much closer to his skin. "Or I won't leave you with any hands at all when I'm done. Am I clear?" But he digs his knee tighter into his throat, choking off his air and keeping him there even as he uses his other arm to tap against the floor in surrender. When he tries to reach for Shigaraki to push him off, he drops his raised finger and his skin starts to shatter. His hand immediately drops back to the floor and Shigaraki raises his after another second, just long enough for his skin to be cracked open and blood to be streaming down his arm. He holds him until his face starts to ashen and his eye begins to roll back, and only then does he toss his injured arm aside and push off of the floor.

Shigaraki takes a breath and then casts his gaze around the room. Dabi manages to look up as well, seeing a mixture of shock, and from Toga, sheer delight, at the display. "If you want to be a part of the League, you follow orders, you look out for one another, and you never raise a hand to your teammates. I am not going to have another party that forgets its goals as soon as they're faced with something they weren't prepared for."

"Yeah, yup, you got it boss." Magne also sounds a little delighted too, which he wasn't expecting.

"He doesn't get to see the doctor until tomorrow," He turns to head towards the stairs, clearly ending this session, "Clean up that mess."

No one even bothers to protest as he leaves, they just watch him until he is out of sight, and even then, no one says a word as they hear his door open and shut upstairs. He feels a little shaky, the spike of his adrenaline from being attacked, and then the sudden rush of not being hurt leaving him feel like his skin isn't sitting over his bones quite right, but he makes himself turn to the others again. He gets a fresher burst of it when he finds they're all looking at him as Muscular tries to push himself up from the floor.

Toga makes a little shooing motion at him and he feels his face heat again, though this time with a blush. He hadn't thought any of them were aware of what he and Duster have been up to, and he is fairly certain he's blushing all the way down his neck, not that anyone can see it, as he flicks them all off as he turns to go upstairs too. He does end up stomping a little as he goes, but that's not enough to cover up Toga's loud,

"I told you so!" To the others. He should have burned the entire bar down. He's tempted to go into her room and set her bed on fire. Instead he goes to Tomura's door and taps his knuckles against it too softly for it even to really be a knock, before he's opening the door and slipping inside. Duster looks up at him from the center of his room, his shirt already half off and Dabi sees why immediately. The wound on his shoulder is torn open, blood slipping over his pale skin, and Dabi doesn't say anything. He slips back out into the hall, retrieving the first-aid kit and wetting a washcloth from the bathroom, before he comes back in.

Neither of them speak as he gets Tomura to sit on the edge of his bed. He pulls the chair over and sits in front of him, dabbing away the blood, making sure that it's not open so deeply that he'll need new stitches, and then putting some antiseptic onto it. It's strange to be helping someone else, having spent all of his life having to bandage his own wounds, but he thinks he does a passible job applying the cotton and taping down the gauze. Tomura doesn't complain or correct him at least, and when he's finished, Dabi lets out a shaky breath and then allows himself the humiliating vulnerability of leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the bandages.

Duster sighs, a low, slow sound and Dabi sees the tension in him fall away. Then his hand lifts hesitantly towards him, like he thinks that maybe, after being reminded how dangerous his touches are, that he won't want them anymore. But Dabi doesn't flinch. He catches the other's wrist and holds him still as he rests his cheek against his palm, four fingers against his skin. He wonders if the gut-punched desperation in Tomura's expression is the same way that he's looked at the other every time he's held him through a panic attack. He thinks he understands now why Tomura was so good with those now. He thinks he's not the only one who's been 'off-putting' and bad with people his whole life. But Tomura is good with him. Good to him. He's learning. Dabi has always been good at learning too.

He leans in and this kiss is as achingly tender as their first, their last, and he hopes, their next.

#shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction #fanfiction

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nanabrainrot · 2 years ago

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Leg Lock [Pervert!Miguel]

Miguel isn’t convinced you’re as adept in as many martial arts as you say; he says you can only prove it with a spar.

Warning! NSFW content ahead. DUBIOUS CONSENT - reader is oblivious the way he’s wrestling is to cop a feel and that he cums on himself :/ what a freak

Pervert!Miguel x F!Oblivious!Reader

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You were none the wiser. Your spidey senses just didn’t pick up on the ways of men - you were no mind reader. The definition of book smart but not street smart. It’s unbelievable you accepted his personal “challenge” to spar and no less showed up in this ensemble: the smallest compression shorts that was barely even the size of boyshorts and a form fitting tank with a v that dipped dangerously low to the stretch of skin between your tits.

The fact he turned up the air conditioner and had the fan looming above on full blast only served to sweeten the sight by making your nipples pebble against the polyester mix. If he put enough friction across your chest, if you were sensitive you’d surely moan or at least give him a choked gasp; something to jack off to later.

“You ready to eat your words, Miguel?” you huffed seriously. The comical difference between you two was shown in the shadow cast by the fluorescent overhead light in the spinning fan: he was standing hands on his hips and stone-faced at one end of the personal training room and you at the other, bouncing on the balls of your feet with hands already stiff in front like a boxer. It didn’t help it looked like a yippy chihuahua hounding a rottweiler for a fight.

“Just try to at least land a hit -“

You lunged forward, shin flying up to try and meet his neck only to be blocked by his forearm. His eyes widen at your fast pace, but narrow as he meets your onslaught of moves with defenses. The little wraps around your fists do graze his skin as you batter at him with a flurry of fists like a boxer, though your kicks definitely reminded him of capoeira. The speed of it had to be from mixed martial arts and speedboxing while your grace and precision was karate inspired. And he could tell you did jiu jitsu by the way you tried to get him in a leg lock, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist and use your arms to push at his neck hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

You had to have known that move would have put you in this position: back pressed hard to the mat with no way out. You were incredibly skilled, surprising him with the flurry of fists and kicks fast enough to put him in a position where he could only really use defense but definitely underestimated what he was willing to do to best you.

Miguel had a black belt in jiu jitsu, teaching classes at the dojo Gabby went to back in Nueva York, hard pressed to raise a girl who could handle her own. If you hadn’t overestimated yourself and started off using so much energy, you wouldn’t be panting like this.

Your brows knit, face tense with focus as you gauged your next move but his mind was anywhere but this spar: his cock was against your groin. The sorry excuse of shorts left nothing to the imagination only confirmed that under it was nothing but your bare puffy cunt as his knees drove into the mat to set you in place under him, your wrists pinned under his. “You didn’t land a hit. Too big of an ego can get you -“

A hard impact of your feet hitting his pecs and sending him back from the surprise as you rolled back in a tuck and jumped to your feet back in a boxing stance. Flyaways stuck out from your messy hair from being pinned to the mat as your chest heaved, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Can get me what?” you snorted in between short breaths.

“Get you -“ Miguel lunged forward, his legs long and strong enough to dart behind you to grab you by the waist and drag you to the floor, “-killed.”

Whines and grunts of struggle left you as you tried to get out of the compromising position: Miguel had you in a nelson on the floor, big hot palms of his hands on your neck and arm pinning back your biceps as you tried to grab at his wrists to apply enough force to get him to have a looser grip.

Too focused is a bad thing, sometimes. The fabric of your volleyball compression shorts that were more like panties rode up as your ass grinded against his groin - cock hard and twitching in his sweatpants as your feet struggled to get enough friction with the mat to be able to do a backbend or tuck and roll to use your flexibility. Dozens of possible routes flit in your mind and zero of them acknowledged you were basically being dry humped by Miguel: his grunts from the friction mistakes for grunts of effort. In reality, you were easy to restrain but the issue was your agility and speed compared to his strength - a given granted his strength based workout regimen versus yours, which focused on flexibility.

“If powers were allowed, I’d have had you pinned in the first minute,” you panted, lip twitching in focus as you continued to roll your hips against his as you struggled to find footing to be able to utilize your flexibility and roll over him. He must be smart, you think (stupidly), as his legs suddenly push against the mat and have him standing: yet you hang there in a full nelson. “That’s not funny, Miguel!” you hissed, as his forearms settled under your thighs during the shift and the palms secured at your neck still. The size difference suddenly made you realize why spars had size and weight classes; but there were no weight classes with the villains and anomalies you regularly encountered, he chastisted as he offered a spar with you.

If you had your powers allowed, you would’ve had him against the ceiling by now. But you shook on it. God, you wish you had a weaker sense of integrity and just said fuck it and blasted him with your power to get out of this humiliating debacle. The only thing left in reach was his fingers.

Your hands fly to the fingers locked behind your neck keeping you mid air as you resorted to a dirty trick: scratching with nails. A low hiss emits as he drops you and loses footing, landing on top of you: groin to ass. The dirty trick leaves him huffing with anger as he suddenly has you in a head lock, your hands batting at him pathetically. You just wanted to tap out, he could tell, but he just needed one thing: to have his way.

His hips roll into your pussy, feigning it as trying to keep you pinned by shifting weight from knee to knee in a side-to-side motion and lurched forward sometimes. The fact you kept bucking your hips to get out of the pin only helped him along; the warmth of your pussy would have been nicer, but next spar. Knowing your competitive nature, you would go along with a naked wrestling competition if it meant coming out on top.

But he’s on top right now, his hot breath fanning your ear as you mewl and bat at the thick forearnms around your neck pinning you. “F-fine…!” you whine out, borderline pornographic in your pleading, “you win!”

His hips roll again, with you still bucking your hips back into him. “Say it again.” He knew your whiny nature, the way when you wanted your way you would do anything: most missions consisted of you pleading and begging to see the sights on other dimensions or stop by food stalls like you were on vacation. He fucking spoiled you but even bratty bitches need discipline.

“You win!”

“Louder!”

“You win, Miguel!”

A hot pant. Fuck, the way you were whining and bucking in this position was getting him close. A few more words and he’d surely cum, wearing the dark sweatpants and a long baggy tee that loomed over where the wet spot would be specifically with this in mind. No powers put you in a disadvantage, the height and mass difference would never let you win. A spar was just a reason to hump you as you stupidly wriggled and cried out. One more sentence, then he’ll cum, cum and stop. The urge will leave and he can go back to being sated and content without distraction; he was too busy to keep entertaining this disgusting fantasy of fucking you every day and night. Just one more sentence to freedom.

A hot puff of air in your ear before a deep raspy voice hisses, “Now tell me I’m big and strong and I’ll let you go.” Your eyes widen as you look in confusion at the mat, his face behind you as you chest was still glued to the mat thanks to his weight.

“T-tell you what?”

“Say ‘you’re too big and strong for me, Miguel.’” A roll of the hips.

“No! I can still win!” you buck back harder, hips shifting hard between his groin and the mat to try and get out. Your nails sink into his forearms but he doesn’t move. You can’t get out until you say it. It’s a shameful dawn of emotion that wounds your pride. But you can get stronger, spar with him more, until you can beat him - powers or no powers.

“Say it and you can go.” The wriggling winds down as time stretches, you finally going limp and panting on the mat with his weight still crushing you.

A gulp.

Softer than a whisper, “You’re so big and strong, Miguel…”

The cum spurts into his briefs, inevitably ruining them and leaving a wet spot in the pants. You’re too tired, limp, to feel his clothed dick twitch against your pussy through the shorts.

You don’t even feel happy when he clumbers off you; in your universe you were a master of the arts and your powers only enhanced this great feat. Yet, you still lost to your boss. You want a rematch.

No.

You need a rematch.

He clumbers away, slow heavy footfalls and low panting breaths as he strides to the exit of the personal training room. Sitting back on your heels still panting but back to him as he walked away you find enough energy to ask: “Same time next week, Miguel?”

You’ll win. You’ll run a million miles, do a thousand crunches, and eat your weight - no, Miguel’s weight in protein and come out victorious next week as you always do. Just because he’s a man it didn’t mean you had no chance: it only meant you had to work harder.

Quiet. He’s panting though, you hear it, but the strain in his voice isn’t just from the spar: “Same time next week.”

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hope yall likedd feel free to leave requests or anything in my inbox! its p empty rn - I have a hobie fic coming next <3

#nana writes spiderverse #nana writes #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader smut #miguel o’hara x you smut #miguel o’hara x y/n smut

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