#i’m torn between wanting to wear it every day and just framing it to keep it ✨pristine✨

[in-naeher-we-trust]

GUESS WHAT CAME IN THE MAIL TODAY!!!

[swampstew]

What's the Magic Word?

Chapter 3: What Are You?

Three days came and went quickly – the marines left Sabaody on the second day, the execution of Portgas D. Ace was coming up and the island and Kid Pirate crew alike were abuzz with predictions of what’s to come. Almost everyone was anticipating war to break out between the Whitebeard Pirates and the Marines.

Rowena woke up on the third day screaming and sobbing out for her crewmates. It wasn’t until Kid entered the infirmary to confront her that she finally stopped screaming, mostly because Kid came crashing through the door yelling at her to shut the fuck up.

Chest heaving and tears streaming from her eyes, she glared at the Captain’s large frame as he stomped up to her and grabbed her face roughly in his calloused hand. Squeezing her cheeks together, he sneered at her while turning her face from side to side, inspecting her.

Finally letting go, “Mighty loud screams for such a little thing. What’s wrong, ya miss your friends?”

Eyes opening wide and jaw dropping just a little, she hoarsely asked, “My crew, where are they?”

“Don’t know, toots. Your pal Rayleigh better have some fucking answers, or you’re gonna be in deeper trouble than you already are” he threatened her.

Rowena’s suspicious eyes bore into Kid’s for a moment before she looked away. “How long have I been here?”

“Three days.”

Her head snapped back up to him, her eyes no longer holding unease but what looked like hope.

“And you’re taking me to Rayleigh?”

“He says he has answers and I have a shit ton of questions. If I don’t like what I hear, you won’t like what happens to you. Can you move?”

She shrugged.

“Well I’m not carrying you, so get up and get dressed. We’re already docked.”

Rowena shook her arm, the handcuff rattled against the headboard.

“What’s the magic word?” Kid gave her a cruel smirk.

“Fuck you!” she snapped at him.

He blinked at her, then let out a loud laugh. “Don’t threaten me with a good time doll,” he almost purred, grinning widely.

Rowena sighed heavily and with a snap of her fingers, the handcuff fell off her wrist. Kid’s shocked eyes narrowed into a glare as he watched her. Tentatively, she moved her legs over the bed and stood up. She was wobbly but seemed to catch herself, before her legs gave out and she stumbled forward landing on her knees, the medical gown she was wearing flared around her ankles.

Kid heard her let out a tiny sniffle, before rolling his eyes and picking her up by the waist. He held her upright until she was able to stand on her own, he gingerly let his hands fall from her waist as she slowly made her way to the box next to the doctor’s desk and started pulling out her clothes. She turned to look at him as she laid her clothes on the bed.

“Can you give a woman some privacy?” she asked.

“Not a fucking chance.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Moving carefully she slid on her ruined shorts one leg at a time, using her good hand to pull them up her legs and thighs, careful to keep the gown from exposing herself to the lurking man who watched her in silence. Turning her back to Kid, she pulled the gown over her head.

Her tangled and frizzy hair was pulled aside as she took the gown off and Kid could see an intricate tattoo design in red ink on her tanned back: a magnificent foreign dragon encircled a sun, meeting its own tail to devour itself. The dragon's back adorned with feathered wings and different prints along its body. It was stunning and he wanted to inspect every detail but Rowena hastily put her torn and burned shirt awkwardly over her body - her left arm no longer in a sling but a small cast made it hard for her to move.

Rummaging through the box again she equipped her gear, leaving the stick until the end. When she picked it up, she examined its condition before quickly waving it over herself. Kid was confused at first but then he saw the impossible; her hair started to move on its own, knots and tangles gently unwinding until her hair was brushed out, yet still frizzy.

“What are you?” his eyes were twinkling in wonder.

She looked back at him before quietly answering, “I'm a Witch.”

𓏧 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏧

The journey back to Grove 13 was quiet and uneventful. Not wanting to draw too much attention to themselves - a first for Eustass Kid - he took only a handful of men with him to escort Rowena back to Rayleigh. Rowena was covered in a hooded coat to hide her injuries from busybodies. One hand was once again shackled to the handcuffs, the other half was held in Killer’s hand as they walked, flanked by Kid, Heat, Gig and Wire.

They reached the bar and Kid made everyone wait outside save for Killer and Rowena. He took the unoccupied handcuff half from Killer and tugged Rowena alongside him as he entered, jangling her handcuff with a cruel smirk. Kid had crushed the key lock so she wouldn’t be able to free herself.

Shakky and Rayleigh were waiting already but they were not expecting the fishman to also be there, Hatchan was his name. All three of them greeted the group, Hatchan used his multiple arms to drag Rowena and the two others into a giant hug. Kid dropped the cuff to allow the group their reunion.

“Explain. Now.” Kid demanded, eying Rayleigh.

“Ok so it’s a long story. The short of it is: Kuma scattered the Straw Hats to protect them from Kizaru and Sentomaru, the kids were beat down badly. I was holding back Kizaru to give them a chance to escape but when Sentomaru showed up with the Kuma Pacifista – yeah that’s a whole other thing – it all went to hell in a hand basket. The real Bartholomew Kuma showed up and vanished the Pacifista, told me he’s in the revolutionary army and that he was sending the Straw Hats to places for them to lay low and get stronger. He told me about Luffy's location but as for the others, I don’t know. They were all originally supposed to meet back here in three days but that’s obviously shot now.” Rayleigh took a swig of sake directly from the bottle.

Kid held a hand to his chin while he processed everything. After a solid minute he threw his shoulders back, chest puffed out and a large shit-eating grin on his face, “so you’re saying that one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea knows how powerful I am that only I could possibly protect your little Witch here,” he chuckled, folding his hands over his chest.

“Flattery aside, I’m a Captain not some dopey, doting mentor. You can take her back, we have shit to do.”

“Can’t do it,” Rayleigh replied, taking another swig. “I have my own doting mentoring to do.”

“Rayleigh, why can’t you train me with Luffy?” Rowena had finally spoken up, her voice hoarse and quiet. “I promise I won’t let you down, please. I want to stay by Luffy’s side. I owe him that much...I…I owe him everything.” Her voice quivered, eyes filling with tears. “I can protect him too; you know I’m capable.”

“Sorry kid, I’m an old man now. One youngin is enough for me, especially a headcase like Luffy. Listen, Kuma sent you all away to different places for a reason. I won’t pretend I understand why, and I certainly don’t know what this upstart can offer you in terms of learning, but I gotta believe that you staying with the Kid Pirates is what’s best for you right now.”

“What’s the connection between Kuma, the revolutionary army and the Straw Hats?” Kid asked, walking right up to Rayleigh standing face to face with him. Shakky, Hatchan and Rowena eyed each other nervously.

“Does it have anything to do with Monkey D. Dragon, the leader of the revolutionary army?” Everyone turned to look at Killer. Kid shot his partner a look, which Killer shrugged, “Straw Hat has the same last name.”

Sighing, Rayleigh responded. “Ok you got us there. Yes, Dragon is Luffy’s father. So by extension, Kuma is an ally to the Straw Hats and is working as double agent for the World Government. To what end, I simply don’t know but I have a bad feeling about it.”

“If he’s an ally why the fuck did he try to kill us on Thriller Bark?!” Rowena shouted, voice cracking. “He almost destroyed Zoro!” tears sprung from her eyes, falling freely down her face. “If he’s our ally why did he let Sentomaru and Kizaru beat the shit out of us?!”

The tension in the room had spiked, Rowena’s fury and despair was clogging the air and making the room feel tight. The window frames started to groan under the pressure.

“If he’s our savior why did he tear us apart?!?!” She screamed and the tension finally broke and every glass inside cracked or broke down completely. Cracked liquor bottles started weeping and the windows were adorned with cracks and breaks. Rowena fell to the ground sobbing, Hatchan wrapped her up in his tentacle arms gently rocking her. The pressure in the small bar stabilized and everyone was able to take a breath.

Rayleigh took off his glasses, smirking at a crack in his right lens. He crouched down to Rowena and gently cupped her face.

“I know you’re hurting, but there is nothing any of us can do about Kuma now. We can’t do anything to even begin looking for the crew. We have nothing to work with. We need a new plan.” Straightening up from the floor, he turned on his heel and walked right back up to Kid. The two sized each other up again, Shakky rolled her eyes in the background.

“What will it take to keep Rowena with you until I figure this out.”

Kid’s face turned red getting angry. “I’m not a fucking babysitter!” he spit out. “Unless you have something really tempting to offer me, you can fuck right off.”

“I can tell you where the One Piece is.”

“I SAID SOMETHING TEMPTING NOT A KICK IN THE BALLS! I’M THE FUTURE KING OF THE PIRATES I DON’T NEED YOU TO HOLD MY HAND WHILE YOU GUIDE ME TO THE TREASURE LIKE SOME DAMN BRAT!” Kid lunged at Rayleigh.

Rayleigh couldn’t help himself as he started laughing head thrown back, easily side-stepping Kid’s assault.

“Spoken like a true pirate! Haha ok ok. Fine, how about I bubble coat your ship, for free. You’ll need it if you’re gonna cross over into the New World. In exchange, you keep our friend here safe. Maybe she learns a trick or two from you. Maybe you learn something from her.”

Kid thought it over taking a seat at the bar. Shakky pulled out metal shot glasses from under the bar.

“Sorry about the alcohol Shakky,” Rowena whimpered.

“It’s ok sweetie. You didn’t get all the bottles anyways. Let me give you something to calm down,” she opened a dusty bottle of rum and poured the brown liquid into the five shot glasses. Shakky slid a glass down the bar for each person. Everyone but Killer downed it immediately, opting to turn around and lift his mask to drink. He was careful to place it back over his face before turning back around. He went up to Kid and whispered something to him. Kid smirked at that and slammed his cup on the table.

“Ok fine, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll consider your deal. But first, how long do I need to play bodyguard for?”

“That’s the other thing…Shakky pour us another round. So, I’m sure your aware of the impending execution of Portgas D. Ace correct?”

“Shit, Ace is in trouble?” Rowena looked worried.

“If Luffy doesn’t know already know about it, I can guess that that is his next move. Meaning the Sabaody reunion is taking a backseat. So to answer your question, I don’t know how long you’ll need to keep Rowena with you and that’s the truth.” Rayleigh knocked back a second shot, signaling for a third round.

“You all have too much drama surrounding you,” Kid complained. “We need to stay on Sabaody to let the log pose reset anyways, can't tell where its fucking pointing. We’ll give you that much time to figure out the next move.” Kid knocked back the shot. “But if she cries too much, I’m throwing her overboard,” he stood up.

Rayleigh stood too and gave out a hand to the red-haired pirate Captain.

“Deal. The coating will take a few days anyways so you’ll need to stay around the area, and as far as the log pose is concerned. Think about the direction it's pointing and then consider why you would need a resin bubble coating on your ship. Keep your transponder snail on you Rowena.”

The two shook hands.

Kid and Killer walked out the front door, Rowena lingered to hug her cohort goodbye. She walked out but before the Kid Pirates could start walking back to their ship, she tugged on Kid’s coat. He paused looking back at her.

“Can I grab some of my things off the Thousand Sunny?”

“Where is it?”

“Last time I was on it, we docked at Grove 41.”

With a groan, he ran his hand through his hair. “Fine, better than buying you new shit.”

They walked in silence until they reached the grove and they were greeted by Duval and the Rosy Life Riders.

“Rowena my love, I’m so happy to see you! We kept the ship safe from pirates trying to steal and sell it off and we will continue to guard it until the Straw Hats are reunited!” Duval bowed in front of the young Witch, holding his hand out for her. Kid scoffed and rolled his eyes at the ridiculous simp.

“Erm, thanks Duval,” she nodded walking around the blonde man. Kid was right behind her when both Rowena and Duval turned and tried to stop him from boarding. “I’m not sure how Luffy would feel having his rival on his ship,” she started as Duval began to argue as well, something about not one enemy would pass by on his vigilance.

“Tough shit,” he said, using a sarcastic tone.

Rubbing her fingers between her eyes she gave up. “Fine, just don’t break anything. Actually, I do need help carrying some things that would be useful for you and your crew if I’m going to be with you lot,” she threw glances at Kid’s crew.

“Everyone else stay on deck and keep an eye out, I’ll go with her,” Kid commanded, turning to follow Rowena into the cabin. Before they walked in she turned around and called out, “Duval can you show them to the garden on the upper deck? I need any seeds that fall and one uprooted plant of each variety, the rest will probably wilt. Pull up all the mature cannabis too,” she turned and continued walking. Duval coughed loudly, sputtering something but she didn’t hear him.

“You grow weed?” Kid asked, bemused.

“Keeps my anxiety in check. Also, a potent ingredient for my craft.”

They entered the girl’s cabin and Rowena procured a small duffel bag, using her magic to pack up what little clothes she had, some books and other small items.

“You packing to stay for life or something?” He looked at the photos pinned to the wall – a group photo of the Straw Hats smiling proudly in front of the ship; a photo of the women crew members making funny poses; profile photos of the crew doing random things; photos of locations he couldn’t place; and one faded, partially torn photo of a group of women – one in the center was holding a baby. He pulled the photo off the wall and turned it over, there was an inscription on the back that read: the birth of Cardenas D. Rowena with her mother Hecate.

“Rayleigh said he doesn’t know how long I need to stay with you, and I don’t know what I’ll need. I don’t own a lot anyways…” She walked up to where he stood and gently took the photo from his hand. “Please be careful with that. It’s the only photo I have of my family and my land.”

“Where are you from?”

“The Island of Thorns, from the East Blue.”

“You miss it?”

“Nothing to miss, its gone.”

He looked at her, eyes expressing shock and confusion. “What do you mean it’s gone?”

“It was burned to the ground years ago. I’m the only survivor.”

“Then how did you even meet these boneheads?”

“My friends. It’s a long story and not a very happy one. You won’t want to hear it.”

Kid stiffly lifted her chin up to face him, studying her eyes carefully before finally speaking, “I only want to hear it if you’re willing to tell me,” he muttered.

She swallowed hard at the unnaturally gentle touch from the Supernova; a tear welled in her eye.

“Not today, I can’t handle it. You’ll throw me overboard.”

He chuckled, “Probably, little crybaby.”

She cleared her throat and roughly wiped her eye, turning to pull down some of the group photos.

“Ok, that’s everything. That and my plants up above.”

They quickly climbed back out to the deck and found the Kid Pirates each holding a box of soil and some hastily thrown together plants in each box. Rowena looked at each one before narrowing her eyes at Duval.

“Where’s my pot Duval?”

“Well sugar, the thing is…it’s gone. We sort of uh well while we’ve been on the ship waiting for y’all, you know it gets pretty boring and so when we found your plants, we thought they might die before you all came back and it would have been a waste,” he wrung his hands nervously, his accent slipping out.

Rowena glared at him, her one hand curling into a tight fist as she menacingly walked over to the tall man, enunciating each word carefully with bitterness laced in her voice.

“I thought you said you were keeping our ship safe from plunderers and bandits. Sanji did you a favor by kicking your ass and accidentally making you look the way you are now. DO YOU WANT ME TO TURN YOU BACK?!”

With a squeal, Duval dropped to his knees and he bowed his head before the angry Witch, “Please forgive me mistress. I beg you! I – I, I kept the seeds! Will that appease you?” he asked desperately, pulling out a small silk pouch from his pocket and handing it to her. She spilled the contents in her palm counting out 17 seeds. She quickly deposited them back inside and slipped the pouch into her bag.

“I’m leaving now and I don’t know when I’ll be back. If you touch my shit again, I will turn you and the Riders into frogs and have that pervy chef serve you all up as dinner. GOT IT?” Duval squealed again, blubbering out apologies and fluff words but she didn’t stick around to hear it.

“I’m done here,” she looked at Kid who was smirking.

He nodded, taking the lead off board. The six pirates walked back to the Victoria Punk, depositing Rowena’s belongings in the infirmary once more.

“You’ll stay here for now until we hear from Rayleigh. If you need anything talk to Killer. You might be our pretty little guest but you’ll have to pull your weight around here, no excuses.”

Rowena nodded staying silent, Kid used his power to break apart the handcuff.

“Ok well its late, I’ll have Killer bring you something to eat.”

She nodded, still not speaking. Kid turned around and walked out of the room. Before he could close the door behind him, he heard her speak so quietly he nearly missed it.

“Thank you, Eustass Kid.”

He grunted out “it’s just Kid,” closing the door behind him, not turning around lest she see the soft pink blush spreading across his face.

When was the last time someone thanked him for anything? He pulled his goggles off his head, running a hand through his hair and massaging his scalp. As he was about to put them back on he stopped, a smirk tugging at his lips as he traced the tiny cracks on the lenses with his finger.

“Damn Witch.”

Read on AO3

[shoutogepi]

Midnight Masquerade

Todoroki Shouto & Shinsou Hitoshi

word count : 8.6k

[  ✘ (nsfw 18+) ] 

themes : DUBCON, YANDERE. MFM threesome, vampire!todoroki, vampire!shinsou, spanking, praise kink??... double penetration, blood play (hello they’re vampires)

bio : You attend a masquerade ball in hopes of finding a bachelor on Halloween night… only to get much more than you originally bargained for. 

author’s note : This fic was inspired by one of my fav movies when I was younger! Van Helsing with Hugh Jackman (2004), in which Dracula hosts an exquisite masquerade ball, full of masked vampires.  

side note : Happy Halloween!! I didn’t have time to edit/beta this fic, so it may be a little choppy/rough.. but I’m about to leave for my Halloween party and I wanted to get this out on time so!! please try to enjoy, and I apologize if this is not up to my usual standards. <3

 ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅈ou received an invitation to a Halloween party… and that was about all the information you had to go off of. What awaited you at this gathering, you had absolutely no idea. The envelope had simply arrived on your doorstep at the beginning of the month, no messenger in sight.

This invitation, scrawled in perfect calligraphy and sealed with the kiss of a stamp upon wax, proved to be even more puzzling when you attempted to uncover its origin. And while you had asked around to anyone you could possibly think of— your friends, family, neighbors, hell, even your mailman— you found no one who could give you any answers. It seemed that you, for some reason, had been issued this invitation, when no one in your primary social network else had.

What was even more peculiar, was that a gown and a pair of heels had arrived two weeks later, in all senses more luxurious than you had ever seen, and tailored to your exact size and measurements. Just from lifting it out of the box, you could tell it was expensive. And as if that hadn’t been enough of a gift, a necklace and earrings that dazzled nearly enough to blind you arrived just a few days following the dress. Finally a last package arrived a few days before the party, containing an intricately-painted mask that tied the whole outfit together. Each of the gifts had a card laid across the top of the tissue-enfolded contents, signed off from your inviter and now confirmed “secret admirer, S.H.”

The enigma of it all perplexed you. You liked to tell yourself that a smart girl like you would never go to such an event, considering you had no clue who had sent you the invitation, let alone such extravagant gifts. You told yourself that you had no obligation to go, that it would be ill-advised to show up without any further information than the address, date, and time.

But someone had clearly gone to great lengths to impress you, and you couldn’t just ignore that. Curiosity burned bright inside you when raked your brain for potential inviters, and as you came to more and more dead ends, your intrigue grew with every second the event stayed on your mind.

You spent every day leading up to the party thinking about it, flipping back and forth as to if you were going to attend or not. Even on the night of, you spent a ridiculous amount of time switching between deciding on going or staying home, taking short bursts of either frantically getting yourself ready, or sitting down and scrutinizing the situation.

You ended up arriving at the address scrawled at the bottom of the mysterious invitation an hour late.

Although you had planned to just hail a cab thanks to your indecision, you were surprised to find a sleek, black Rolls Royce waiting for you at the entrance to your building. The driver, donned in a crisp black and white tux, sported an elegant mask across his face, and wordlessly opened the door for you, bowing and gesturing for you to enter. After a moment of hesitance, you decided it would probably be best to just get into the car— whoever had requested your presence had already gone to such lengths as to cloth and bejewel you— it only made sense for you to arrive in a vehicle that screamed as much wealth as did your outfit.

What you had not expected was to find the location of the event to be a rather estately manor at the border of the city. The driveway twisted through an ominous wood to reach the massive home, and rather nastily-spiked wrought-iron fences guarded the border of the property, looming metal casting eerie shadows against the overcast evening sky. You found yourself wondering briefly what exact purpose the metal lattice served— both sides adorned with rough silver spikes. Traditionally gates were meant to keep things from getting in… it was peculiar to you that they were double-sided.

It was certainly curious, but your eyes were quickly torn from the gates as the car ventured closer to the maleficent abode, your heartbeat beginning to pick up as you came nearer to the grand entrance. There was a gorgeous fountain laid between two sets of curved stone staircases, both leading up to the tall, mahogany doors at the dead center of the manor. The car came to a stop just before the fountain, and you spent the small moment your driver took crossing over to your side and opening your door in breathless anticipation.

The cool, dry October air felt heavenly against your exposed shoulders, the tops of your breasts just peeking out of the neck of the beautiful, sleek gown you’d been sent. The autumn chill did wonders to calm the thumping of your nervous heart, and as you climbed the stairs, your fingers trailing along the cold balustrade, you took a deep breath. When you chanced a look back toward the car, you found it had already disappeared, and a pang of uncertainty rang through you once more. Yes, this was definitely uncharastically brash of you— you still had no idea who could possibly be the one to invite you to such a prestigious soiree— and yet, you found your nerves crackling with excitement, barely able to contain your jittery disposition.

Two more men, also hidden beneath tuxedos and blank masks, bowed as they pulled the heavy wooden doors apart, revealing the bustling affair that lay inside. You were shocked to find so many bodies within just the first glance of the interior— it was a magnificent foyer that was ten times larger than the tiny apartment you had become so accustomed to, a sea of masked party-goers that ebbed and flowed with the live, string-quartet on the stage in the far corner of the room. Countless couples waltzed and spun across the middle of the room underneath humongous crystal chandeliers, all glittering and shining with the low lighting of a thousand candles, by far more fire hazards than you’d ever seen. It was quite a culture shock to you— you had never before been invited into the fruits of such luxury, this level of wealth as mysterious to you as the cryptic sender of your invitation, S.H.

And though this was your first time indulging in the pleasures of such extravagance, you looked like you belonged. You were sure that the outfit this mystery persona had given you to wear tonight was worth far more than the rent you constantly worried about making, and so you fit in quite seamlessly with the crowd of silk-enveloped, gem-encrusted faces, perhaps even going so far as to stand out. The soft silk of your pashmina tickled against your arms as it sat snug around your lower back, curled around your elbows and seams brushing against your hips. The thick necklace— more of a collar, really— sat heavy against your chest, each diamond shining brightly, leading to a large teardrop-shaped pendant of brilliant amethyst that hung perfectly in the middle of your chest. The ornate mask you’d been given concealed the top half of your face, bright ruby gems adorning along your eyes and matching your dress’ deep rouge to an impossibly perfect degree. Initially upon receiving such gifts you were suspicious of their authenticity, but standing now before such a display of affluence, you were certain they were real. The jewels and fine linens gave you a false sense of confidence, and after a moment of absorbing your astounding surroundings, you tentatively began to make your way into the party.

For a while you wandered around by your lonesome, but you didn’t really mind the solitude. It was a refreshing change of pace, and you admired each symbol of wealth you came across. The grand room was decorated with no expenses in mind— rich velvet curtains hung across the walls, tied back with gold corded tassels to allow the cold moon’s luminescence to shine down into the hall. Massive oil portraits lined the walls, each frame depicting a different person of undoubtable esteem, each in their own respect poised yet handsome as the last.

Your eyes wandered to the last two photos on the wall, both of them shockingly attractive in their own ways. One had wild, violet locks and a sultry smirk, the others’ hair split down the middle with tousled red and white, mouth set in an indifferent line. What stood out most to you was the emotion conveyed in both their eyes— it was cold and callous, sending shivers down your spine.

As you turned away from the portraits, you were met with a server, who offered you the silver platter he was carrying as he bowed. Tiny steak tartares, garnished with a red wine sauce and a sprig of herbs; the sight made your mouth water and you thanked him as you took one with the classy little fork he handed to you. Just as you turned your attention back to the portraits before you, you jumped at the discovery of a figure standing beside you.

He was tall, your head coming just above his shoulder, even in your four inch heels. He donned a crisp tuxedo of his own, but his bowtie was left undone, strips of fabric hanging loosely around his neck. Though there was a mask covering his face as well, you instantly recognized the purple flumes of hair, your surprise evident as you let out a small gasp. He didn’t seem to notice you, his eyes set on the frames above your line of sight, but he then began to speak, his deliciously deep voice taking you again by surprise. “Rather rare,” he spoke, quiet yet clear, eyes still scrutinizing the art before the pair of you.

“E-Excuse me?” you asked for clarity, wondering when exactly this man had appeared, and why you had not noticed such a captivating presence by your side.

At the sound of your voice, he turned his gaze to you, lazy violet eyes inspecting your figure without much attempt at concealing his blatant inspection. You bristled at his audacity, but soon found yourself relaxing as your own eyes wandered the length of his lithe, cut figure. It wasn’t your fault, you reasoned— you had just been admiring this man in his photo and now he appeared before you, looking even more delectable in person.

“The hors d'oeuvres,” he explained, eyes dropping to the forgotten disc of tender meat perched at the end of your fork. He let his gaze wander across your chest before he met your stare again, that same smirk coming to rest on his supple lips. “And such beauty as yours, of course. It’s unparalleled, Miss…?” he trailed off, angling his head to the side as he awaited your response.

You thanked him and told him your name, watching as his smirk only seemed to grow, something mischievous shimmering in those enticing amethyst orbs of his. He leaned forward and ducked into a slight bow, long fingers taking your free hand hostage as he brushed his lips against your knuckles.

“Shinsou will do, for now. Delighted to be acquainted,” he murmured as he pulled back, letting your hand drop and a brief silence fall on the pair of you.

Your eyes wandered to the portrait, then back to your new acquaintance. “That’s you, right?” You inquired, looking up at him through your mask. His bored eyes pierced yours as you met his gaze, and you felt heat accumulate in your cheeks. “What incredible artwork, I don’t think I’ve met anyone that’s posed for an oil painting— was it hard to sit still while it was being made?”

“Not at all,” he replied, taking a sip of the hammered-metal chalice in his large, gloved hand. “The fruits of life sweeten with patience, anyway.”

You wondered briefly if it was his first time posing for this kind of painting. Never had you met anyone who would want— or could afford, really— to commission such a painstakingly realistic portrait of themselves. How much it cost, you could not fathom, and did not care to discover. “So this is your party, then?” You continued after he made no further attempt at conversation.

He nodded, that smirk curling the corner of his mouth again. “You’re an observant little thing, aren’t you?” He remarked, sipping again from his cup. His words were rather rude, and you frowned before you shrugged them off, dismissing them in an instant. You weren’t really surprised by his smug comment, though your displeasure must have been visible because he immediately steered the conversation in another direction. “Are you enjoying yourself? May I get you a drink, my honored guest?”

It was a little off to you how his demeanor changed just like that, a flip of the switch, really— but you were thirsty, and you were curious to see what kind of expensive refreshments were available, so you found yourself nodding with a small smile of gratitude on your lips. He mirrored your smile before he mumbled something about returning soon, his figure swallowed up in the sea of masked faces.

Finding yourself alone once again, you went back to inspecting the portraits, happily humming to yourself as you enjoyed your hors d'oeuvre. You looked around the party, searching for that same waiter, wanting to grab a few more of those delicious bites while you had the chance.

It was then that you met a distinct set of eyes across the room, a white mask with delicate swirls decorating his handsome face. However much the mask concealed his face, there was no doubting that he was the other man from the portrait behind you— his hair was a stark giveaway— half of it scarlet and hanging loosely atop his brow, the other half a shocking shade of white, pushed back to give him a devilishly intimidating aura. Your throat tightened up as he began to make his way toward you, slowly but surely closing the distance between the two of you.

You couldn’t help but wonder if either of these men were the one who sent you your invitation— if one of them was to thank for showering you with such extravagance, for allowing you to dip your toes in the enticing pool of luxury. But you were not allowed to ponder the thought, for in no time at all the man in question stepped before you.

Without even a single thought, your body automatically shifted into a curtsey, and you blinked in surprise as he bowed his greeting in return. He didn’t give you a second to question it, lithe, gloved fingers taking hold of your hand and bringing it to his mouth. His lips were cold to the touch, and your hand trembled slightly as he let go.

“Todoroki Shouto,” he introduced himself, his smooth, deep voice resonating through your body. Something about him made you feel incredibly hot, yet you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. It was strange how much he seemed to affect you— almost supernatural. At your stunned silence, he smirked ever so slightly, shifting his head to look down at your shorter figure. “Your name, love? It would be rude of me to refer to you as the most alluring woman in the room the whole night, no?”

Flustered you were caught off guard, you quickly told him your name, adding on it was a pleasure to meet him.

“Y/N, hm? A beautiful name. It suits a woman as breathtaking as you.” He continued, and you could see how satisfied he was by your bashful reaction. “I can assure you, the pleasure is all mine.”

You smiled hesitantly at the man before you, unsure how to respond to his blatant flirting. With the momentary lull in your conversation, you looked over your shoulder to eye the painting once again. Todoroki watched your curious gaze like a hawk, unbeknownst to you. When you looked back to him, you smiled as you pointed your thumb over your shoulder. “Is that—”

“Would you like to dance?” He interrupted, folding your smaller hand in his and taking a step backwards into the dancefloor.

Panic coursed through you— you didn’t know how to dance, or at least, you didn’t think your ballroom skills would be nearly as good as his and everyone else’s here. Yet somehow when you opened your mouth to politely decline, instead came out, “I would be honored.”

With wide eyes you were guided into the center of the room, his other gloved hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist. Your hands found their own way into position, one on his shoulder, and the other wrapped tight around his as he began to steer you around the room. You were shocked to find yourself matching each of his steps, your feet moving in perfect harmony with his. But when you looked into his eyes, a trickle of horror ran down your spine.

He was looking directly at you, two-toned eyes boring into yours with unbridled desire, and some other emotion mixing in to create a frightful end result that could only be described as hunger. Yes, there was no mistaking it— that was hunger in his eyes— for what, you did not know, but somehow your body was aware that whatever it was, you were in for quite the night.

“The dress looks simply appetizing on you, love,” he whispered in your ear, chilling the blood in your veins just like that. “Were you surprised to find it fit like a glove? You look so angelic when you sleep… I hated to disturb you, but it was gratifying to know how much you enjoyed my touch...” His lips brushed against your dangling earrings, and a shiver ran through your body as he inhaled across the skin of your neck.

“Y-You—” you stuttered, eyes widening with realization. Had he— had he taken your measurements? He’d snuck into your bedroom? When? Why? You didn’t even know this man— why would he have taken such an interest in you, how did he know where you lived,  and why— why was your heart beating out of your chest at the thought of him seeing you in your sluttly little pyjamas? You knew there was something off about this, but never could you imagine this would be the turn of events tonight. You were terrified, and yet ashamedly, a small part of you was pleased to know a handsome and powerful man as himself had gone to such lengths to woo you. There was no denying it… even though your stomach was tied into knots and fear sat like a stone in your belly, a white-hot, irrefutable desire had sparked to life between your legs.

“Not just me...” he murmured, the tip of his nose dragging against your temple before he dipped you down towards the tiled floor right in tune with the crescendo of the music, your back bending in his grip. Now upside-down, your heart skipped a beat as you recognized Shinsou staring the pair of you down from across the room, that same smirk on his lips as he raised his chalice in contempt. “You’ve met Hitoshi, correct?”

You were only spared a moment to piece it all together, that tight feeling in your stomach only twisting further. S.H… it wasn’t the name of one suitor, but two— Shouto and Hitoshi. Two rich and powerful men that both tricked you into coming to their home, and you had fallen for it— practically serving yourself to them on a silver platter. You were no better than a damn steak tartare! You wanted to face-palm, to smack yourself for being so naive, but you found that your body was not your own; you couldn’t control yourself, couldn’t even speak, and all you could do was continue to dance with the horribly attractive man whose trap you had strolled right into.

Had they drugged you? Was it that accursed steak tartare? But then, wouldn’t you have passed out, or your limbs stopped working? How were you not missing a single step with Todoroki right now, spinning when he led you to spin, and willingly stepping into him when he pulled you back into his embrace.

“What… What are you going to do to me?” Your voice was shaking, even though your body moved more confidently than ever as the pair of you strode across the marble floor. “How is this happening?” You added, feeling quite small as the target of not one, but two predatory gazes.

Todoroki took his time to answer you, wordlessly twirling you in his arms as the music then came to a stop, a new melody beginning just as the previous one faded out. “Whatever we want, I suppose,” he answered, his gloved fingers traveling up your back to grasp your chin, forcing you to look into his chilling gaze. “But don’t worry, love… I don’t think you’re going to hate it all that much.”

— - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

It was only an hour later that you were being led to the other side of the mansion— away from the music and festivities, and away from the false sense of protection the crowd provided. Todoroki walked in front of you, and Shinsou’s hand rested casually on your hip as he walked beside you. Your palms were lined in a thin coating of sweat, your growing fear causing your pulse to skyrocket. You knew that you were about to understand why they had fooled you into coming here, and though you had pondered what terrible fate they had chosen for you for the past hour, your mind was completely blank. You could only watch as your feet moved one in front of the other, your body once again under their spell.

Whatever it was that they were doing, they somehow had complete control over you, and they had forced your body to dance with the both of them for the entire time you’d been there so far. It had created some fake relief as whatever it was they had planned was pushed off for the time being, but you couldn’t indulge such relief, and your nerves were more heightened than ever. You reached your breaking point when you entered a dimly-lit bedroom, and the door closed behind you, lock clicking into place.

“Please,” you pleaded, your body moving to stand in the middle of the room, right before the four-poster, canopy-laden bed. “Just tell me what’s happening, I can’t move a single muscle…”

Shinsou frowned, gloved hand coming up to discard his mask. Your breath caught in your throat— God, even if he was your captor, you couldn’t deny he was handsome. He slowly approached you, fingertips tracing along your jaw before removing your mask as well. He sucked in a small breath of air, violet eyes dark with a foreign sentiment. “Relax, baby… We’re just gonna make you feel good. We’ve wanted to make you feel good for so long now…” His eyes dropped to analyze your lips, entranced by their color and plushness.

“But… Why can’t I move?” you reiterated, and your eyes widened as Todoroki’s presence noticeably pressed up against your behind. The feeling of his body against yours sent your heart hammering, and you swallowed as you considered your options here— there was really only one means of escape and that had to start with you tricking them into freeing you from their spell. Licking your dry lips, you meekly added, “What if I… wanted to make you feel good, too?”

“Fucking Christ,” said Shinsou, who took a step backward, his palm coming to run across his face momentarily. He seemed on edge, anticipation distinctly painted across his rugged features.

Meanwhile Todoroki took his time to answer, considering your choice of words thoughtfully. “We have a lot planned for you… but we need to re-energize before we can do anything, love,” he replied simply, his voice low in your ear. He pulled off his gloves, cold fingers catching on your jaw as he turned your face to meet his. You whimpered as he leaned into you, and before you could make a single word, his lips claimed yours, cutting off any chance at a rebuttal.

You didn’t want to admit how good his mouth felt on yours, but you couldn’t ignore the butterflies that burst into your stomach as he kissed you— they were not the result of any foreign spell. Shinsou groaned as he watched Todoroki’s tongue slip into your mouth, actions getting more fervent as the dual-colored man’s fingers slipped around your head, cradling your face against his. His lips attacked yours, slotting against them and tongue wandering between the gaps. You gasped when something sharp pricked your bottom lip, automatically pulling back, your hand coming up to touch your lip.

Bright red stained your fingertip, and you looked between the evidence of your injury and the cause of the wound, eyes widening as you took in how dark Todoroki’s eyes had become, canines elongating into sharp fangs. Bewildered, you stayed frozen to the spot, unable to do anything yet again as his hand swiftly wrapped around your wrist, yanking your hand to his mouth and wrapping his lips around your finger. The feeling of his tongue swirling around the digit made heat flare in your core, even as terror began to pump through your veins. His other hand gripped your hip roughly, pulling your body flush unto his.

The desire to scream out in fear came quickly, but you found no sound came out of you when your mouth opened. Your head still turned to Todoroki, you didn’t anticipate Shinsou coming up in front of you, only noticing the other man when his tongue stroked across the tender skin on your neck. Your body stiffened as the wet muscle slid along your throat, your eyes wide and petrified.

“There you go, just relax...” Todoroki groaned, leaning in to suck on your broken lip, his tongue petting over the fresh wound gently. It stung, but at the same time it felt very intimate— something you had never done before that had that heat building in the pit of your stomach.

A set of fangs pricked your neck, Shinsou’s lips fluttering up toward your jaw. You loathed how soft they felt, a distinct contrast to the sharpened enamels that suddenly descended into your flesh. You cried out, unprepared for the searing pain that shot through your body. Your skin felt like it was throbbing, sizzling from the unwelcome heat and pain mixing together.

“Shhh, love,” Todoroki cooed, laying a gentle kiss on your open mouth. “It won’t hurt for long…” He continued to suckle on your lip, beautiful eyes staring deeply into yours as he cradled your face. The thin ring of iris around his blown pupils shone brightly in the low light of the flickering candles, brilliant aqua and stormy gray contrasting, mesmerizing you and momentarily taking you away from the pain of the fangs lodged in your throat.

Shinsou was moaning against your neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he took his fill from your bloodstream. His hands were gripping your waist tightly, fingers wandering up your back to curl your body closer to his embrace. You were so out of it, so lost in the taller man’s gaze, that you almost didn’t register the growing hardness pressing into your inner thigh. Shinsou was gently rutting against your leg, pressing his crotch onto you as he held your limp body with surprising care.

The sharp pain of his fangs in your neck had transformed into a dull throb, your body slowly numbing to his bite. It wasn’t long before Shinsou drew back, tongue roving over the flesh puncture marks that laid on your throat. His tongue hurt at first, but the second and third swipe of the strong, wet muscle felt increasingly good, and you hated how your thighs twitched together at the feeling. Apparently the two of them knew you would be experiencing this effect, for they both started to move you backwards, wandering closer to the bed.

You could hear Todoroki get onto the mattress before the pair of them maneuvered your body to join his, lifting you up and setting you down onto the plush comforter before him. His hands slid to your front, down your stomach and perched on your hips, pushing them back so your ass met his crotch. Your eyes went wide as you felt Todoroki’s erection poke into your ass, and Shinsou chuckled darkly as he, too, crawled onto the bed.

Although you opened your mouth to speak, no words came out, and the purple-haired vampire before you winked as the smirk on his lips only grew. There was still a trickle of your blood tainting the skin on his chin, and his fangs poked out as he grinned at you.

“You missed some,” Todoroki stated, voice a bit rougher than it had been downstairs. Your head turned to look at him, but you found his gaze was not focused on you— he was looking straight at Shinsou, eyes darkening and teeth elongating into points.

“Saved it for you, have a taste,” Shinsou replied nonchalantly, scooting closer to you. The space between the two men’s mouths closed and you gasped as you watched their lips collide, a moan tumbling out of the man supporting your back. That horrible heat burst between your legs, your mouth watering as you saw Todoroki’s tongue slips into Shinsou’s mouth, their fangs clicking as they brushed together.

Shinsou chuckled as he pulled back, Todoroki’s tongue wandering down to trace the line of your blood that streaked down his chin. Shinsou looked at you as he grinned, clearly happy that their kiss had such an effect on you. “You taste so good, baby,” he complimented, and you whimpered as heat burst in your cheeks.

It was shameful how much this was turning you on— a monster straight out of a fairytale was here in front of you, feeding off of you, able to end your life he re really wanted to in probably just one swift bite— and yet your pussy was drooling all over your panties for him, an uncomfortable dampness collecting between your thighs. You couldn’t stop your hips from wiggling, but as you moved back from Shinsou, you pressed up against Todoroki, who let out a throaty groan. The swell of your backside pushed against his hard cock just right, and you gasped as his hands suddenly jumped to the hem of your dress, pulling it to rest at the tops of your thighs. Your pussy twitched as the cool air rushed across your sticky panties, and you mewled as one hand drifted up to squeeze your breast, the other slapping gently over your panty-covered clit.

Shinsou’s hands glided down your waist, large palms running over your hips before he grabbed your thighs, yanking you to the edge of the mattress as he fell to his knees. Kneeling between your legs, he chucked again as he inspected the wet patch on darkening the front of your underwear. His thumb met your slit and he traced it up and down a few times, grin splitting his smirk as you unintentionally let out a moan.

It was then that Todoroki’s fangs sliced into the unmarked flesh on the other side of your neck. You cried out, the pain just as stringing and intense as Shinsou’s bite had delivered. But you weren’t left to focus on it long— Shinsou pulled your underwear to the side and dipped a thumb into your soaking folds, rubbing up the length of your slit once again. The direct contact made your toes curl, your slick folds parting with ease as the ample evidence of your arousal allowed his finger to glide through without catch. He hummed as he rubbed his thumb against your clit a few times, violet eyes flicking up to see your eyelashes fluttering across your cheeks, Todoroki’s lips latched to your throat as he took his fill from your sweet bloodstream.

Todoroki’s fingers curled into the top of your dress, and he pulled it down to reveal your tits to the cool air, your nipples instantly perking up and standing at attention. The red and white haired man moaned as he sucked on your throat, his forefinger and thumbs capturing each nipple and twisting the sensitive buds.

“Fuck!” you whined, immediately embarrassed that you hadn’t been able to hold the expletive in. But neither of the men seemed to share your sentiment, the pair of them moaning softly in response to your noise of pleasure as if encouraging you to let out even more.

Shinsou smiled as he pinched the sides of your panties, yanking the material down your thighs and off your ankles before separating your legs and inserting himself between them. He gave you no warning as his tongue suddenly licked a flat stripe up your slit, rolling around your clit perfectly at the end of his journey. Your legs tensed as they closed around his head, a hot puff of air escaping you as Todoroki finally pulled off of your neck with a broken gasp. His breathing was ragged as his tongue lashed over the fresh marks, the repeated action having the same, dizzying sensation that Shinsou had elicited. Then Shinsou’s tongue was wiggling across your clit, alternating between sucking on the sensitive pearl and lavishing it in vicious swipes of his strong, wet tongue.

Meanwhile Todoroki was ripping off his clothes, revealing his broad, sturdy chest in all its glory before he yanked at the zipper on your spine, sliding your dress over your shoulders and tossing it onto the floor. Your bra was next, leaving you in just your sparkly heels and your glimmering gems.

You could feel both pairs of eyes inspecting your naked body, Todorki’s hands returning to tweak at your nipples while Shinsou thrusted his tongue inside your quivering hole. He moaned as his tongue probed at your insides, sending vibrations through your core and causing your legs to tighten around his head. Pleasure was coursing through you, overwhelming the urge to scream and run that had been all you could focus on just minutes ago. But your pussy was dripping for the both of them, and Shinsou was savoring every drop as he animatedly lapped at you— never before had anyone so enthusiastically eaten your cunt like this, and his zeal only made you leak onto his mouth even more.

You had been so focused on the man in between your legs that you only recognized Todoroki had fully unclothed himself when he moved backward, easing your head back so you lay flat on the mattress. Your pussy twitched violently on Shinsou’s tongue when you caught sight of Todoroki’s cock standing long and thick, tall against his carved abdomen, his expression dark as he shuffled forward.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he instructed and you obeyed immediately, as if you couldn’t follow his instruction any faster. Your eagerness made him smirk, and you made sure to keep eye contact as he rubbed the tip of his heavy cock against your sealed lips. But suddenly Shinsou started to attack your clit with new fervor, tongue flicking across the bundle of nerves repeatedly.

You couldn’t stop the moan that flew out of you, and as soon as your mouth was open, Todoroki pushed forward, shoving his cock deep into your mouth. You choked at the sudden intrusion, but he only grabbed your throat with one hand and thrust into your mouth even rougher than before. He didn’t seem to care much about your comfort, your heartbeat skyrocketing as the need for oxygen started burning in your lungs.

Todoroki pulled his cock out just in time for you to gasp in a few breaths before he rammed his cock back inside, powerful thighs pinning your head to the mattress as he leaned forward with hands on either side of your waist and head hung while he uttered a quiet moan. “That’s right, love. Go ahead and suck my cock… I want to hear you choke on me, naughty little thing.”

A wanton moan slipped out of you, his cock filling your throat to the max, and his rough, determined thrusts causing your pussy to flood even more. Shinsou was still licking at your cunt purposefully, tongue sliding around your folds and over your clit as he sucked and flicked it to your liking. You started to become more vocal as pressure began to build in your stomach, your hips writhing wildly underneath his pinning grip as Todoroki used your mouth to his liking. Your eyes rolled back as you felt your high approaching, unaware of Shinsou slowly but steadily undressing himself while he suckled at your puffy folds.

Todoroki’s thrusts became slower but deeper suddenly, and you swirled your tongue around his swollen tip when his hips receded. You were caught off guard when Shinsou’s lips left your cunt and instead his teeth sunk into the soft skin on your thigh, taking another sampling from your veins. This time, the initial pain was much duller, and it quickly faded into something concerningly pleasurable. There must have been some higher-level effect at play here— there was no way that such gleaming fangs stabbing into you and feeding from you should feel that good. Yet it undoubtedly made your toes curl, bliss spreading through your body like wildfire through dry grass. It only increased when a long finger slipped inside of you, a second entering with ease as they began rubbing inside of you gently. You could feel Shinsou moan into your pillowy thigh, the noise only making your cunt itch for his attention again.

You let out a desolate whine when both of the men suddenly pulled away from you, your pussy hotter and wetter than ever, and your cheeks dribbling with your saliva as a result of Todoroki’s face-fucking. It was then that you realized Shinsou was naked, too, your mouth watering at his visage; his cock stood thicker and shorter than Todoroki’s, but both of them were punching well above average, muc to your delight.

Todoroki slipped off the mattress and Shinsou walked around the edge of the bed, the pair switching and settling in reverse positions. Shinsou stroked your cheek sweetly, capturing your attention as he smiled down at you. You craned your neck to press a kiss to the leaking tip of him, your tongue poking out to swipe the salty bead of pre-cum that lay there. Your eyes went wide when you felt the telltale smoothness of Todoroki’s cock splitting your slick-drenched folds, his hands settling on your hips before he grabbed them, rutting his own forward and causing his cock to push halfway into your tight hole. The stretch made the both of you gasp, your wet, little hole hugging his large cock snug as he began to move his hips.

Shinsou had enjoyed the intimate moment but found himself getting impatient, slapping his thick, oozing cockhead over your lips to grab your attention once again. You looked up at him with wide, starry eyes, your mouth opening for him to glide his cock into your mouth. “Good girl,” he murmured, eyes fixating on the way your lips wrapped around his girth, the way his thick veins looked rolling against your tongue. Your cheeks hollowed in attempt to satiate him, but you instantly cried out when Todoroki’s hips slapped flush against yours, shoving his cock inside of your cunt entirely.

The impossible fullness that bloomed in your stomach was delectable, and Todoroki began to thrust into your slippery cunt at a reliable, hard pace. He let out a guttural groan as he watched his cock disappear into your slick folds, the heat of your pussy overwhelming him. He lifted both your legs over his shoulders, making sure to grab one of your ankles and pulling it upright so your leg was fully extended. Then, his fangs broke the smooth skin on your calf and you whimpered at the feeling. It felt so good to have him suck on your skin— to feel your blood flowing out of your body and into his eager mouth. It was sick, but you couldn’t think about it at the moment— couldn’t find any fault with the two monsters that were taking you to cloud nine.

“Fuck, just like that,” Shinsou mumbled, eyes flicking up to watch a rivulet of your blood strike down your outstretched leg. When he looked back down towards you, your eyes were closed and your brow scrunched, an indication of the pleasure that was ebbing through your body thanks to the cadenced swing of Todoroki’s hips. “You’re such a good fucking girl,” Shinsou praised as he threw back his head, his fingers carding through your hair and tugging gently at your roots.

Just as the three of you seemed to find a rhythm, Todoroki pulled out abruptly, making your mouth part in a whine, Shinsou’s thick member springing out of your wet cavern and into the cool, still air. The purple-haired man hissed in annoyance, gritting his teeth as he looked to the other man to scold him, but quickly his irritation melted as he watched Todoroki flip you so your stomach lay flat on the sheets. Then, he hiked your ass into the air, your body moving along with him with such cooperation that the pair of them shared a look, haughty smirks stretching on both their lips. It was their secret that they had stopped using their mind control on you, and it seemed you were the only one that continued, blissfully unaware. Perhaps you didn’t even realize… perhaps you didn’t care.

It didn’t matter, really— Todoroki lined himself up with your dripping cunt, taking no pause this time as his cock speared inside you once again. You moaned as you reeled forward, your fingers gripping into the duvet harshly as your body tightened up from the delicious intrusion. His long, thick cock felt like magic inside of you, each thrust brushing a soft spot nestled deep inside of you and stimulating you further.

Shinsou jerked himself off lazily as he watched your facial expressions, trapping his bottom lip between his sharp teeth as he registered the erotic ecstasy painted across your beautiful features. After a minute of allowing you to focus his accomplice’s hard cock, he pressed the tip of his own to your lips. You immediately opened your mouth, taking the flushed member between your lips with restless reception, tongue rolling around the swollen head. Shinsou sighed, half-lidded lavender irises watching you begin to eagerly bob up and down his length. He thumbed over a drop of blood that had rolled down your throat, catching Todoroki’s eye and offering his finger to the other man, who happily took the digit into his mouth and sucked, tongue soaking up your life essence as his hand wrapped around Shinsou’s wrist to steady himself. They both chuckled as you moaned loudly, Todoroki’s free hand clapping across your ass cheek and causing your cunt to clench down on his cock.

“You like that?” he teased, grabbing your flesh and shaking it, watching your ass jiggle before striking you again, a few smacks in succession. You could only gag and moan in reply, Shinsou’s cock thrusting into the back of your throat. The purple-eyed vampire gripped your chin with his calloused, cold hand, keeping your head in place as he began to fuck your face. Suddenly Todoroki spat onto your behind, his saliva wetting your puckered hole before he shoved his thumb inside of your ass, the unexpected stretch sending fresh bliss through your body as his cock dragged against it through your walls. Tears were beading on your lashes, the combination of the lack of oxygen, the attack of your g-spot from Todoroki’s cock, and the sharp pain of his hand across your ass all sending you hurtling towards your high.

With a shriek you came on his cock, your cunt wringing snug around the heavy member that just kept pistoning into you, angling your hips so the head pounding into that sensitive, spongy spot again and again. Todoroki groaned, taking his finger out and both his hands now squeezing at your hips as he continued to fuck you, offering a few more slaps to your ass as you trembled in ecstasy. While your head was still filled with the euphoric fog of your climax, Shinsou pulled out of your mouth, nodding to Todoroki, who wordlessly understood. The mismatched vampire hooked his arms around your knees, heaving you up against his chest and spreading your legs far apart enough for Shinsou to slide between them.

You were still catching your breath as Shinsou reached for Todoroki’s cock, slotting his thighs between the other man’s and positioning his length so that his slick-covered head rested right at your asshole. You gasped, your arm bending to dig your nails into Todoroki’s shoulder as you looked behind at him, catching his lustful gaze down at you. Shinsou then began to sloppily kiss your throat, his cock rubbing against your glazed, ravaged opening as his hands ran across the curve of your ass, landing on Todoroki’s waist behind your hips. The both of them entered you at the same time, your vision dotting with white spots as the stretch from both sides took your breath away. They both managed to slip inside, fully seating you onto their laps as you trembled, your stiff nipples brushing against Shinsou’s toned chest.

Todoroki nibbled at your ear as he began to pump his cock inside of you, filling your ass with each thrust and stimulating you as he rubbed himself against Shinsou’s cock through your walls. “So tight, love…,” he murmured in your ear, the prick of his sharp fangs on your cartilage sending shivers down your spine. His tongue wandered out and he traced the tip of it against the column of your throat, brushing over the leaking puncture wounds that laid there. “So sweet… can’t help myself,” his words turned into a savage moan as he sunk his fangs into your skin, the pain washing away abruptly as Shinsou, too, started to push his hips into yours.

Shinsou groaned, one hand coming to caress your chin as he claimed your lips with his own. His tongue entered your mouth and wrestled with yours as his tempo began to pick up, his cock stretching your cunt wide and sending waves of pleasure through your core. When he pulled back, you were both panting, your breasts heaving with the rapid rise and fall of your chest. It was then that Todoroki pulled away from your neck, gasping in a breath of air as his fangs glistened scarlet. Shinsou took one look at him and crushed his mouth to his, your holes clenching around their lengths as you watched your blood be exchanged between their ravenous tongues. The pair of them were moaning, and so were you— unable to keep the noises of pure pleasure inside as you watched them make out.

Your blood was dripping down Todoroki’s chin, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching over and grabbing his jaw, ripping his lips away from Shinsou’s and instead placing your mouth on his. He growled in approval against your lips, his tongue battling yours as he sought to dominate you, the distinct flavor of iron filling your mouth as you tasted your own blood. Shinsou took the opportunity to sink his cuspids into the other side of your throat again, and your jaw fell in response, Todoroki’s tongue seizing control of yours immediately as he grasped the upper hand. Both of them were full-on fucking you now, your holes warm and wet, quivering around their thick cocks as the brought you closer and closer to your high yet again.

Only the sound of your heavy breathing and the slapping of your skins filled the air in the room, the music of the party drowned and far away as the three of you were otherwise occupied. Before you knew it, you were clenching on them again, your body seizing as your orgasm ripped through you, all the air in your lungs vacuumed out of you and your toes curling into the air. Your fingers fisted Shinsou’s wild violet locks, your nails digging into Todoroki’s jaw as you tumbled through the throes of your climax, euphoria rushing through your bloodstream and straight into Shinsou’s awaiting mouth.

The sweet taste of your oxytocin, your drug-like ecstasy, sent him straight into his own orgasm, his hips pushing flush against yours as he roared and his cock spurted thick white ribbons deep into your womb, his seed pouring into you and filling you to the brim. His chiseled body trembled as he emptied himself inside of you, his fingers bruising your skin while he gasped and moaned. Your holes clenched as you milked his cock, and suddenly Todoroki, too, groaned loudly behind you. His hands squeezed your flesh as his cock spurted hot cum inside of you, his abdomen flush against your ass as he crushed your body to his front.

The three of you sat there on the bed, your bodies covered in sweat and remnants of your blood, breathless and still as you came back down to earth. Shinsou’s lips trailed along your neck, Todoroki’s fingertips sliding across your skin with gentle care as they pulled out of you. Their seed dribbled down your thighs as they maneuvered your boneless body back onto the pillows, your eyes fluttering closed from the pure exhaustion and the lack of blood in your veins. Each of them laid back on either side of you, their cold hands wandering over your skin and causing goosebumps to rise, their eyes roaming your body in pure adoration.

“You did so well, baby,” Shinsou murmured into your hair, pressing his face close to yours as he sighed and inhaled the sweet scent lingering from the blood on your skin.

“So well-behaved for us,” Todoroki added, wrapping an arm around your middle as he, too, nestled closer to your limp body. “Go to sleep, love… you deserve some rest.”

You hummed at their praise, tired butterflies flapping their wings in the pit of your stomach. Your head was fuzzier than ever, bliss weighing heavy in your bones as your breathing steadied. Filled with post-orgasmic content, the idea of fleeing that seemed so wonderful just an hour ago now sounded distasteful, your body comfortable lying on the silken sheets, pressed between your two lovers. As you faded into a blissful sleep, you could hear the pair talking lowly, making plans to keep you here with them in hushed voices.

 ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

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so sorry if that was rushed at the end!! hope you enjoyed, and Happy Halloween!! be safe out there <3

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[skzsauce01]

A Good Man

Anniversary Request Special

Description: Seungmin loves you so much so that he wished he was the one left behind in the plane crash, not your late husband.

Warning: guilt, plane crash, death

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: fem!reader x Seungmin

Chan was a good man— loyal, loving, reliable. Seungmin is a good man too, but Seungmin is not Chan, and he knows it. He knows it well.

He approaches you, bouquet in hand. You turn and smile when you hear him.

“Hi, Seungmin.”

“Hello, Y/N. Where’s Miyeon?”

“I left her with her grandma. She isn’t quite old enough to sit still for stuff like this yet.”

“I see.” He set the flowers by the picture of his late leader. “I should leave the two of you alone then.”

“No, wait, Seungmin,” you stop him. “Would you like to have dinner with us this evening?” 

You’re inviting him to dinner? His eyes slide to Chan’s framed smiling face. No, he mustn’t get his hopes up. There probably isn’t something more to this invitation. You probably just don’t want to be alone on your late husband’s fifth death anniversary. “Sure. Where? I’ll see if any of the boys are free too.”

“No, I meant just the three of us at my place,” you clarify. “I… I have something to say.” 

Seungmin can’t stop his heart from accelerating even though he knows it’ll hurt more later. “O-okay.”

You nod and turn back to the memorial. Seungmin watches as you whisper something into the single white carnation in your hand and set it on the altar before he himself turns to give you room.

He finds it ironic that he was actually the reason why you and Chan were together. You were his classmate whom he reunited with when Stray Kids did a reality show at a site you worked. He was even the best man at your wedding. He remembers that day clearly— that day when he saw you walking down the aisle dressed in white. He’d never felt so sick as he did then when realization and regret hit him all at once. He loves you. Since when, and for how long, he didn’t and doesn’t know, but it was and is too late. 

He finds it even more ironic, however, that he is the reason you two are now torn apart.

He raises his finger and presses the bell. Within seconds, the door is thrown open wide and a bubbly five year old greets him. “Hello, Uncle Seungmin!”

He automatically bends down and scoops the child up. “Hi there, Miyeon. Have you been a good girl today?”

“Uh-huh! You can ask Mommy!”

As if on cue, you pop out from the kitchen. “Yes, she’s been a well-behaved angel. Welcome in, Seungmin.” 

You take the melon he’d brought while he takes off his shoes. Seungmin’s a bit surprised to see three lit candles on the dining table when he walks in, but says nothing of it. He does, however, raise an eyebrow when you off-handedly mention you baked his favourite chocolate cake. He knows the recipe calls for red wine, and for a single mother such as you, anything that does not involve your child usually does not fit into your schedule, let alone cross your mind. 

After dinner, you take your daughter to her playroom upstairs with a large plate of cookies that are obviously meant to keep her distracted for a while.

Seungmin watches as you scurry back downstairs afterwards. You’re wearing a skirt. He doesn’t remember you wearing a skirt since you gave birth. He thinks you’re gorgeous in anything, but the effort you put into looking nice makes him blush a shade darker.

“Shall we?” you dramatize, pulling out the dessert.

Seungmin helps lay out two plates while you serve a slice onto each.

“You mentioned you have something to say?” he asks as you both tuck your chairs in.

Are you blushing, or is it just the heat from these candles?

“I, uh… Let’s eat first.” You smile sheepishly. “I haven’t had this in so long.”

Despite having his favourite dessert, Seungmin cannot concentrate on its taste at all. He watches as you cut through the moist cake with your fork. He can tell you’re nervous by the way your joints are turning white by your grip on the utensil. He’s used to being the anxious one, so this is new. What could have gotten you so on edge?

At last, you’ve scraped every last drop of cream you can procrastinate with into your mouth. Seungmin takes the plates and sets them into the sink before sitting back down in front of you, waiting patiently.

“What I want to say is,” you begin carefully. 

He nods once and leans forward, letting you know you have his attention.

“We’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we?”

“Yes, why?” Goodness, this sounds like a line from every other friends-to-lover romcom skit. Not that he would mind. As long as you tell him you feel the same way he does, he wouldn’t care if you quoted “Twilight” verbatim. Oh, to be in a lighthearted romcom with you, Seungmin dreams of nothing more. Then again, he reminds himself, these are just dreams.

“Ever since… ever since Chan passed, we grew closer, and I depended on you a lot. You’ve been my cornerstone, and I wanted to say ‘thank you.’”

He nods again, but doesn’t say anything. He knows you enough by now to recognize you have more on your mind.

Indeed, you continue. “And over these past five years, my heart has—”

“Mommy!” A sudden cry sends you both to your feet. 

“I’ll tell you later,” you toss over your shoulder to Seungmin who’s running right on your heels towards the cry.

“Miyeon!” you gasp, seeing the state of your daughter. Somehow, she has managed to squeeze through the gaps between the railing of the stairs and is hanging from the second floor. Below her, her stuffed monkey lays sprawled out on ground level.

“I’ll pull her up,” you decide, but Seungmin stops you.

“It’ll be hard to fit her back through those rails, and she’s crying too much to cooperate.” He stands under your daughter and extends his arms upwards. “Miyeon? Miyeon, let go. Uncle Seungmin will catch you. You’re going to be alright.”

The little girl stops wailing for a moment and looks down only to cry again from the intimidating height.

“Sweetie, it’s okay. You can do it. We won’t let you fall,” you add in. “You trust us, don’t you? You trust Mommy and Uncle Seungmin?”

She quiets down again and sniffles as she looks at you and Seungmin now instead of the floor. Her tiny arms are shaking, and you brace yourself, knowing she’s going to fall soon whether she wants to or not.

Miyeon whimpers once more and closes her eyes. She then finally releases her grip and lands squarely into Seungmin’s awaiting arms.

“Oof. There we go. Safe and sound,” he assures her. 

Once she’s set on the floor, Miyeon again begins to bawl from shock. “Mr— Mr. Bananas wanted to climb. Mr. Bananas wanted to climb!” she sobs, gripping the stuffed animal you’ve returned back to her arms.

“Okay, okay, we understand. Still, no more climbing for you or Mr. Bananas, alright?” hushes Seungmin.

You pick up your daughter and bounce her on your shoulder. “I think she’s learned her lesson. I didn’t think we still needed baby rails, but I guess you can never be safe enough.”

Seungmin reaches for Miyeon. “Let’s put her to bed. She must be exhausted after all that.”

You nod and let him carry the five year old up the stairs once more. You have him wait downstairs though as you change the child, so he heads back down and makes himself comfortable on the couch. On the lamp table beside him, there’s a photo of you and Chan excitedly holding up an ultrasound. It is the only picture of the three of you together.

He runs this thumb over the other man’s face, wiping it free of any dust. “I’m sorry…” he whispers. “I know it’s not worth much, but I’ll keep Y/N and Miyeon safe and happy. I promise.” 

He quickly sets down the picture and stands when he hears you closing the bedroom door. 

“Is she alright?” Seungmin asks when he sees your head appear from around the corner.

You nod, descending the steps quietly. “She’s sleeping now. She’ll forget all about it by tomorrow morning.”

“I wish I could say the same when I get hurt. I can’t even sit in certain positions anymore,” he jokes.

You laugh lightly. “I’m glad you were here, Seungmin. Things could have been a lot different if it were just me.”

“I’m always happy to help. I should get going now though. You must be tired too.”

“Wait.” Your voice stops him at the front door. “The accident… I’m thankful you were here, and I realized it had to be you. You had to be the one to do it.”

His stupid hope is rising again. He can feel it in his chest. “Y/N, what are you saying?”

“Miyeon, she wouldn’t have trusted anyone except you. She needs you, and I… I need you too.” 

Is he hearing incorrectly? His silence and bewilderment prompts you to explain. “The thing is, ever since Chan passed five years ago, you were the only one who’s been by my side, supporting and caring for me, and slowly, I’ve fallen for that. Seungmin, I know I come with a lot of baggage, but would you be willing to give us a try?”

He wants to jump, he wants to cheer, he wants to accept your confession, but none of this makes sense to logical Seungmin, so he restrains himself.

“Y/N, do you realize what you’re saying?”

You nod. “I-I know it’s sudden, but I like you, Kim Seungmin.”

“But you love Chan.”

You hesitate but nod in agreement anyway. “I’m not going to put you second. I—”

“Y/N, I killed Chan. Don’t you see? You should hate me instead. If it weren’t for me, you’d still have your husband, and Miyeon would still have a dad. If I hadn’t stood under that propeller after the plane crash, Chan wouldn’t have had to push me and get crushed in the head. I killed Chan, and no matter what I do— no matter how much I love you too— I can never stand in his place.”

You take a moment to stare at him, trying to read his body language after that confession of insecurity. After a while, you straighten your back and look him right in the eyes.

“You’re right.” He’s startled by your sudden firm tone. “You can never be Chan. You’re not a music-producing insomniac. You’re not Australian. You’re not born with curly hair.”

He swallows and hangs his head.

“But,” you continue. “I’m not looking for another Chan. I’m not looking to replace him; I’m looking for you.”

“Y/N…”

You soften your voice. “When I found out how he passed saving you, I knew I was going to be okay. I knew Chan wouldn’t leave me and his unborn child to fend for ourselves. He saved you because he knew he could count on you, and it’s why I trusted you from the beginning and why I let myself fall in love again.”

You walk up to him and take his hands. “Let me ask this again. Will you, Kim Seungmin, stand by my side, not as Chan, but as someone who loves and is loved?”

His heart pounds in his head, yet he cannot take his eyes off of yours. His throat is tied into knots, yet he cannot stop the words from tumbling out.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he breathes. 

You smile and wrap him in a hug, which he finally returns. Just then, footsteps thump down the stairs and a five year old child waddles into view.

“Mommy?” she calls. She then takes a moment to look around before her eyes land on Seungmin. “Daddy?”

[captaincravatthecapricious]

If That’s What it is

A difficult reunion.  cw for strained friendships.

Tim doesn’t remember how to be friends.  

The was never the one…  He could fake it… once.  Or maybe he really was like that.  Was he ever as friendly as people seemed to think?  Was he just filling a roll?  Covering for his hurt?  Where does the facade end?

It doesn’t help matters that this is Jon.  Jon.  How can he rebuild bridges long set on fire then torn down then had both sides bricked over and a cemetery developed between the halves.  

Sat on opposite ends of the couch in the quiet of a London flat.  

The distance of a few handspans may as well be a journey of a thousand steps.  

It may as well be made of pages of misdeeds, or the longest novels written stacked end to end and must be read to cross.  

Why is he even here?  

It was fine when he… what did he even think?  

That Jon had gone full monster?  That he intentionally ended the world?  That he died trying to prevent whatever the fuck that was?  That he simply died years before, maybe when Tim supposedly had.  He doesn’t know what he thought but he had deniability, for whatever that was worth.  

Jon keeps opening his mouth, as if to speak, but shuts it tightly every time.  

This isn’t the first attempt.  Nor is it the second.  

Just… the most awkward, as hard as it was to beat the previous encounters.  

Encounter one:

Scene: the grocery store.  

Enter Tim, minding his own damn business with his headphones in.  Loud enough that he can actually hear it, even if it means just about everyone else in the store can hear it too.  Probably should be paying more attention to his surroundings as he runs into someone when he’s trying to buy peanut butter.  The someone probably says ‘oof,’ but Tim can’t hear it.  

“Sorry, mate.”  He offers a bit of an apologetic smile.  (Smiling has gotten easier, but… But not as easy as it was.)

He doesn’t plan to meet the eyes of whoever he ran into, but even he can hear the squeak when the someone, Martin, catches sight of him properly.  

“TIM?”  

Oh shit.  It’s Martin.  Martin Blackwood.  Martin K. Blackwood.  Archival assistant.  (Does he count as a one night stand if the “one night” was over two weeks on in the nightmarish magical mystery ride of the Distortion’s hallways?)  Friend?  Abomination apologist.  Friend.  …Yes, a friend who thinks Tim is very very dead.  

Martin’s shopping is on the ground, and without thinking, Tim has helped Martin to the ground and is pushing his head between his knees to stave off what is shaping up to be a panic attack.  

Tim hasn’t even paused his music.  

It’s still blaring something irritatingly of the wrong mood into his ears.  

Once Martin has his breath back, he starts signing furiously.  

And Tim has to stand back stunned at the barrage affection and anger and resentment and relief, and off balance that Martin still remembers the sign he learned for Tim. 

He leaves without his peanut butter, and with a coil of guilt deep in his gut, with nothing to curb the ringing in his ears because he can’t tolerate music right now, and an address and a number ‘only if he is ready to step on his anger and listen to Jon, for once.’  He hadn’t even gotten a word in.  He hadn’t even told him that Sasha was alive.  

Just been yelled at in a grocery store.  

Encounter two:

Scene: A Living Room, night.  

“Jon isn’t here.”  Martin tells him this before even letting him in.  “He knows you are, but he isn’t here.  He’s having dinner with some other teachers in his department.  It’s just us.”  Martin’s signing this.  

Tim is wearing his hearing aids, but Martin is signing anyhow.  Maybe it’s easier for him to get it out through that halfway-to-icy expression on his face.  Maybe it’s out of coldness, but Tim can’t help but feel a warmth deep in his chest that Martin remembered the BSL he labored over when he was assigned to the archives.  

Tim swallows hard around the hope and bitterness and anger and regret and longing.  He nods.  “Thanks for having me.”  He signs quietly.  

Martin ushers him in, and hands him a cup of tea.  It’s still hot.  It’s just how Tim takes it.  And he’s sat on a squashy couch, staring at a squashy cat who is glaring at him.  

Well.  That seems fitting.  

Cat glaring.  Martin… almost glaring.  No, not glaring.  He’s got his own tea.  And he is sipping it, giving a very chilly look to the poor wall.  

Tim takes in the photos on the wall, while avoiding Martin’s eyes.  All Polaroids.  There’s Jon and Martin in Martin’s ratty looking jumpers (ones that were significantly more new when they first met) standing in the countryside squashed together and laughing their assess off.  Jon in oversized wellies, covered in mud, facing off against a cow.  Jon standing in the shallows of a pond, looking peacefully into the distance.  Martin asleep, in a rustic bedroom, golden morning light spilling across his lax and happy face.  There is a frame containing the Litany Against Fear from Dune.  A frame with a page from Slaughterhouse Five.  …A frame with a picture of a young and unsecured Jon looking grumpy, a young and happy and probably drunk Tim with an arm slung around him, and an arm around Sasha who is giving a blushing Martin bunny ears.  That one has a place of honor.  It’s a little worn looking, but in a way that makes it clear it survived a lot… the end of the world, in fact.  

Seeing it hits Tim square in the chest.  It hurts.  

Martin finishes his tea and turns towards Tim.  

“So.”  

Tim puts his nearly cool tea down on the coffee table.  The squashy cat keeps glaring at him from an equally squashy arm chair.  He faces Martin, but can’t quite meet his eye.  Martin is waiting for him to talk.  

“Didn’t die.  Thought I would.  Thought I had.  Didn’t.  Walked away.  Got a job.  I… I uh.  Found Sasha.  Stranger had fucked her up pretty badly, so don’t be mad at her for not calling, she had a lot of trouble remembering and being remembered.  Survived the apocalypse.  Got on with life, or tried to.  Got some therapy.”

He braces himself for the impact.  He’s mentioned Sasha over text, but still.  Not to mention, it’s all a lot.  

Martin’s jaw tightens.  

“Thought you could just, let me think you died?  Tim, the only person who came back from the Unknowing was Basira.  The only one.  Call me selfish, but you died, Jon essentially died, we thought Daisy had died.  Then my mother died too.  I know you had your head up your ass, but do you know what that did to me?  Yeah, sure, great, you got out.  Whoop-de-fucking-do.  You could have called.  Or texted.  Or sent a letter.  Anything!  And you know what?  Partly it was a relief, because at least I thought you were happy.  Or at peace.  Or at the very least you wouldn’t be there to harass Jon anymore.  But you all died.  It was just me.  Everyone I cared about was dead.  Six month Jon was dead.  And no, don’t you dare get on Jon’s case about that.  He mourned you.  He still is mourning you.  He’s been walking on air since you and Sasha…  Tim, I swear, if you hurt him… If you hurt him again, you will regret it.  You will only see him if you are ready to listen.  You don’t have to forgive, but you are not allowed to be cruel.”  

Tim doesn’t have a single doubt.  “I…  I’ve missed him.  I’m sorry.”  

“No yelling, no grabbing, no sudden movements, nothing passive aggressive.  And I will be in the next room and so help me, if you scare him…”

Martin lets the threat hang.  

It hurts.  It isn’t anything he’s ever gotten from Martin.  Didn’t think Martin had enough of a spine for it.  …But.  But he guesses when everyone dies(? he has a lot of questions, but it doesn’t look like Martin is in the right headspace to answer them, and Tim might not be either.  His breathing is uneven and his face is hot and he isn’t sure if he wants to break something or cry or scream or maybe just repaint his and Sasha’s home all in one go.)…  Well… he doesn’t have to guess.  He knows exactly what that can do to a person.  And it isn’t pretty.  He feels the guilt coiling again.  He wants to tear it out and stomp on it.  But… but he guesses, the guilt can guide him.  He needs to do right by the people that used to be his friends.  The people he’s missed every day since he got his head on straight with extensive therapy and a variety of coping mechanisms.  

The scene: The same squashy couch, in the same quiet flat.  

The squashy cat is in Jon’s lap.  The cat is glaring, and Jon is staring at him with those giant, hopeful, tired, guilty eyes.  Haunted and rimmed in shadow, as ever.  

He knows Martin is in the next room, ready to step in if he needs to.  

All Tim needs to do… is reach out.  

[angel-tries-to-write]

This is not how you pay your debt

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan Rating: Explicit Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoë Word count: 4507 Genre: smut, fluff

A little idea I came up with while watching Junior High. Hanji is in debt to Levi, but gets a very unique idea of paying it.

They/them pronouns for Hanji.

"I'm not treating you. Make sure you repay me later."

These words were still ringing in Hanji's ears, even though Levi spoke them in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He said it only once, but Hanji knew he meant it every other time, just by the look he was making. That was the funny thing about Levi: he was a mystery, a real enigma to everyone except for Hanji. They always knew what was on his mind, they were studying him for long enough to be able to see through his façade and even explain it to the others. They would lie if they said he was easy to read, but they were somewhat proud of this relationship. None of them knew actually what they were, the two of them never spoke about it. Hanji knew fully well that Levi was someone way more than just a friend to them, even though they didn't know what he thought about it, this thing about him remained a secret even to them. But that meant that maybe, just maybe, it was worth to try taking their relationship on the next level and them being in debt to him was a pretty convenient excuse. It wasn't an easy decision to make, if he didn't feel the same way, this friendship can be ruined, but if he did... Well, life is too short to waste this opportunity, especially in this world and Hanji has always been a "ride or die" person, especially when it came to Levi. It was worth trying.

The opportunity arose on its own, actually. One night Hanji was busy in the lab when they heard a knock on the door frame. They looked up from their notes and saw Levi, dressed very lightly and casually. Hanji themself was wearing light clothes, but it wasn't as contrasting as it was in his case. They usually were way more casual than Levi, who just had to look neat and elegant. This time, however, was different. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he had trouble sleeping.

“Do you want me to help you fall asleep or do you just want my company?” Hanji asked straightforwardly, not trying to pretend they didn't know what he was doing there.

“How about both?” he asked quietly and closed the door while Hanji sent him a careful look from above their glasses.

“My, my, Levi Ackerman openly saying what he wants” they teased him and stood up when he made an irritated expression, ready to leave. For once experiments and science could wait. “What a beautiful day to live.”

“Don't make me change my mind and leave, four-eyes” he even sounded annoyed. Hanji knew they were about to test their luck and strain his trust, but it was now or never.

“Like hell I'd let you” they said and before Levi realized what they intended to do, he was pinned against the lab door. The distance between them was nearly nonexistent, yet the man didn't protest or push his friend away. “Say, Levi” they reached up and caressed his cheek tenderly “what would you say to collecting my latest debt in a slightly different way?” they asked with a soft, sweet voice, their hand slowly wandered down his body.

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully, his breath hitched at their touch.

“Oh, you know, I have this new idea about how can I repay you.”

“Yes. Simply give me the money back” he said, trying to keep his composure.

“Or I can help you relax” they offered with a smirk and their fingers barely brushed his crotch. Levi's eyes widened and his face reddened as he finally realized what kind of idea it was. At this moment Hanji could clearly see through him and almost all of his barriers. They could tell he was in kind of conflict with himself, he was torn and didn't quite know whether he wanted it or not.

“Oh really? And what do you have in mind?” he teased, trying to get his emotions under control, even though his own body betrayed him. The thought of what Hanji could do to him in context they suggested made his cheeks burn even more, arousal shot through his spine right to his lower abdomen and he panicked a little, feeling his penis hardening slowly. He thought he buried this ability deep down, things like love or lust seemed impossible to experience for someone who had this terrible life and carried such a huge trauma inside. Yet again, Hanji Zoë proved to him that impossible wasn't an option. Their chaos completely ruined his perfectly ordered life, yet to his surprise, Levi didn't mind it that much.

“A lot, actually” their eyes twinkled with satisfaction when they felt Levi's erection. Their other hand that was leaning against the door above the man's head, fell softly to his hair and slid down to the cheek. “And I promise you're going to love it, but I need you to trust me” with every word their voice was getting quieter and more sensual and it was doing its job. When their thumb caressed his lips, it was the last straw. Levi grabbed them by the collar and closed the distance between the two of them, sealing Hanji's lips with a hungry kiss. He wasn't quite himself, but his friend wasn't complaining at all, on a contrary, they loved this side of him.

Well, just like any other one. Hanji was probably the only person in the world who knew everything about Levi and who loved him despite his terrible personality. He just was to understand it yet.

“I do” he whispered, breaking the kiss. “I trust you.”

Hanji smiled warmly, they knew it, technically, but hearing these words was something quite different than just sensing them. They slightly pulled away and started unbuttoning their shirt, then shrugged it off. As they did, Levi shyly put his hands on their muscled body. Hanji wasn't as strong as he was, but enough to be good in fight and they had quite nice muscles either. His fingers traced their abs, then toyed with the hem of Hanji's sport bra that kept their small boobs in one place and helped to keep their chest comfortably flat.

“Should I take it off?” Hanji teased, knowing fully well that his answer was a yes.

“Please” he breathed and that somewhat surprised his partner, they didn't expect to hear such a need in his tone. They stripped of the bra faster than they first intended, letting Levi stare and then touch their breasts. It wasn't the first time he was doing that, after all he was the only one who would make Hanji take a bath, sometimes in a quite violent way, but it was the first time the situation was sexual. They let him play for a while before pushing him harder against the door and capturing his lips in a kiss. Levi let out a small whimper when he was denied the boobs, Hanji only chuckled at his reaction.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you” they said with amusement, unbuckling his pants.

“I was having fun too” he protested, pulling them closer and kissing their neck. Hanji gasped as he suckled on their pulse point, they tugged the fabric of his pants, drawing Levi even closer. Finally they managed to free his cock and the moment their fingers touched it, their partner was gone. He stopped kissing their neck and bit down his lower lip, fighting a moan.

“Oh, you like it already? But I didn't do anything yet” Hanji laughed and slightly pulled away. They took their glasses off and put them away.

“I swear, four-eyes...” Levi panted with irritation, but his voice died in his throat when Hanji kneeled down in front of him. Immediately he covered his mouth with his hand, muffling any noises he was making. They were right, they didn't do anything yet and he was already done. He closed his eyes as they moved closer, kissing softly the tip of his member. He had to use all of his strength and willpower to not cum that soon.

“Tell me if you want me to stop or if I do something wrong, okay?” they asked, but all Levi could do was to nod a few times, his eyes still closed, cheeks flushed and mouth covered, which was necessary, because he nearly screamed with pleasure when Hanji took his cock in their hot, wet mouth, carefully testing every move and observing his reactions. Almost as if they were doing an experiment. Levi's free hand clenched on his partner's hair, not wanting them to stop, but he also minded to not enforce anything. Every lick and suck, even the slightest move, was pushing him closer and closer to his climax, apparently Hanji could use their mouth to pleasure him as well as they were using it to talk. Their tongue was impressively swift and the deeper they tried to take him in, the more he struggled to hold on. He could have probably lasted longer, but he made a huge mistake: he opened his eyes. The sight of Hanji kneeling down and looking up at him with their messy hair, flushed cheeks, bare chest, beautiful dark eyes and mouth full of cock, was enough to send Levi off the edge. He came suddenly, surprising Hanji who choke a little, some saliva mixed with sperm escaped their mouth and fell on their chest, but they managed to finish him off, swallowing all they could. When they let go of him, Levi didn't move, staring at them with unfamiliar feelings and trying to calm down.

“Hanji, you look gorgeous” he whispered half consciously as they wiped their chin and licked their fingers.

“Does that mean you liked my payment?” they smirked. Levi dropped to his knees and kissed them hard, pulling them by the hand he still had tangled in their hair. He could taste himself on their lips, but to his surprise, he didn't mind.

“Hell yes I did. You were amazing” he panted, leaning his forehead against their shoulder.

“I guess you can tell I have PTSD: Professional Talent for Sucking Dick” Hanji joked and Levi managed to let out a chuckle. He suddenly felt hands on his neck and back as his partner hugged him. “Do you want to go to sleep now?” they asked, but he made a sound of protest.

“No, just give me five minutes.”

“For what?”

“For round two. If you think you can suck me off and not expect being fucked later, then you should re-evaluate your knowledge about me.”

“I never knew this side of you, but I like it. I guess it's not too late to get to know it better” they smiled and slowly slipped their hand under his shirt to massage the skin on his back. They waited patiently and when his breath steadied, he kissed them first on their lips, then jaw, neck and he moved lower as he reached their breasts again.

“I see now why did you decide to undress” he smirked, licking his semen off their skin.

“I knew you would make a mess. What an irony, usually you despise it.”

“Oi, you're asking to be punished.”

“I can think of a few ways you can do that, but at the same time I'm not sure if you're actually capable of doing that. A few minutes ago you were completely at my mercy. Who knew you could be this submi—” they gasped loudly when Levi caught their nipple between his teeth, then sucked, and rolled the other between his fingers. He smirked, looking up.

“You were saying?” he asked triumphantly and pulled away to take off his shirt. Hanji reached for their own one and placed it on the floor, so they could lie down a little more comfortably.

“I feel tempted to tease you more and check what else you can do to me” they admitted, wriggling their boots and pants off.

“You might regret it” he simply said, following their lead. “If not tonight, then tomorrow. And it won't be worth it.”

“We can discuss it once we're done” they pulled him close impatiently and kissed hard. He pushed them down, so they would lie on the floor. “It's cold” they winced.

“I'll warm you up” he assured, pulling away and looking at them loosing their hair. He never thought he would think that, but Hanji was freaking beautiful. They were intoxicating him in a way no other human being could.

“You're staring, Levi” they chuckled. “Are you stunned by my beauty?” Hanji joked, unknowingly saying exactly what he had in mind.

“Actually, yes, I am” he admitted and caressed their thighs. Laugh died down their throat, their eyes widened in shock as they looked at him.

“What?”

“I don't know how or why, but you look so fucking good right now, I've never seen a more attractive person” he admitted, kissing their stomach and going up. He had no idea why suddenly he was so honest and open, he would usually keep his guard up, not counting rare moments when he was breaking down in Hanji's arms, the way they were in his. But even then he wasn't talking much, they just knew. This night was so different, he was doing things he didn't think he was capable of and to his surprise, it wasn't terrifying him, he actually enjoyed doing it all.

“You think I'm beautiful and attractive?” Hanji stared at him dumbfounded. They clearly couldn't believe it.

“Of course I do” he answered, kissing all the way up to their breasts while his fingers brushed their sex. Hanji gasped at his touch and clenched their palm on his shoulder, sensing a nasty scar under their fingertips. He had way more scars than they had, but Hanji knew almost every one, just like Levi knew theirs. Both of them tended to their wounds, they were the only people the other trusted to take care of them. Of course, Hanji was more open and they could let Miche or Nana do the job, but they preferred to leave it to Levi. It was a way to gain his trust, he would never let Hanji take care of him if he couldn't take care of them in return. Just like he was doing now, fingering them with a skill he didn't quite expected he possessed. Yet it was there and it allowed him to give more and more pleasure to his lover. He watched them carefully, observing every reaction and the first thing he noted was that they were much quieter than he was, but it didn't mean he was doing something wrong. At least he hoped so, judging by the way they were moaning his name intertwined with "yes" and "just like that". It took him a while, but he finally made them come all over his hand and if he thought they were beautiful before, they looked fucking gorgeous now, all sweaty and panting, with neck and breasts covered in hickeys and bite marks, eyes closed, limbs spread and lips curved in a smile.

“That was amazing. You were amazing” Hanji praised him, caressing his cheek. Levi just looked at them with a glint of mischief in his eyes and never breaking eye contact, he put his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean, observing the growing desire in Hanji's eyes

“I'm just getting started” he said and climbed up their body to place a hungry kiss on their lips. Both of them moaned as he positioned himself and the tip of his penis brushed Hanji's entrance.

“Do you really want this?” they asked and Levi looked at them, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do. I wouldn't do that if I didn't want it.”

“Good. I do too and I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“Why?”

“Consent is sexy” they shrugged. “Besides, after all we've been through, I really wouldn't want to ruin our relationship by making you do something you don't want to. You deserve all the best and I want to make sure you get it.”

Levi froze, looking at them with shock, disbelief, but also hope, deeply moved by their words. He kissed them, slowly pushing his member inside. He might have been inexperienced, but he wasn't an idiot, he knew what to do to not hurt his partner. Hanji winced a little when his cock stretched their inner walls.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing their hair out of their face.

“Yeah. Well, you are short, but your dick clearly isn't, so I need a moment” they chuckled.

“Don't make me regret it” he sent them an annoyed look. Only Hanji could crack a joke about his height when he was balls deep inside them.

“Sorry. I'll behave, you can go on” they promised and kissed him. Levi sighed heavily, absolutely done with them and pulled out, but as he thrusted back in, any bickering and jokes were left forgotten. Both of their brains went blank, not caring about anything besides their mutual pleasure. They had no idea for how long did their act last, it seemed like an eternity of thrusts, kisses, touches, moans and overwhelming pleasure. When they finally reached their orgasms, Levi simply collapsed on top of Hanji, knowing fully well he could do that and he wouldn't crush them. If it wasn't for his insomnia, he would have had more strength, but for now he was exhausted. Hanji embraced him and kissed his sweaty forehead.

“Thank you” he whispered, when their breaths steadied.

“It was my pleasure” they smiled, playing with his hair.

“I've always thought sex was dirty and disgusting. I don't know how did you do that, but you managed to prove me wrong” he said, apparently even Levi Ackerman confirmed theory that people after sex are more open and honest.

“Well, we're quite messy right now, all sweaty and sticky” Hanji pointed out, but made no sign indicating they were bothered by that.

“I don't care.”

“You? A clean freak? Don't care?” his lover looked at him with disbelief. They never thought he could say such thing. “Are you even alright?”

“More than alright. Tonight I'm just doing things I never thought I was capable of. Being dirty, having sex and actually enjoying it. Feeling this warm and fuzzy inside. That's so strange to me, it's nice, of course, yet I can't help but think about...” he didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't have to. Hanji knew him and understood like no one could.

“She wouldn't want you to feel bad. She did what she had to do.”

“Do you think she would be proud of me?”

“Of course! She would be very proud to see everything you've achieved. I'm sure you are someone she wanted you to be. Someone who lives a better life than her. I've never met her, but I'm sure she loved you more than anything” they assured him. Levi rarely spoke about his mother, it was very personal to him and no one but Hanji actually knew the whole story. They were the only person in the world he could open up to.

“Hanji, what am I to you?” he asked suddenly, his voice almost cracking because of the emotions. He pushed himself up, so he could look them in the face.

“What do you mean?” they were surprised by his sudden question.

“How do you feel about me? Please, tell me” he pleaded. Levi Ackerman never pleaded, he was never desperate and he never cared about other people's feelings. Except for Hanji's.

“You're my best friend” they started and a flash of disappointment crossed Levi's face. “You're the one I can deeply trust and I can always rely on. You're the first person I think about when I wake up and the last when I go to sleep. And if we were given a chance to live a peaceful life, you're the one I would share it with. I just love you, Levi” they confessed and his eyes widened with shock.

“You do?” he whispered barely audible.

“I do. I have for a few years by now. I just never thought you could feel the same about me. Tonight... well, let's say I was tired of being uncertain and I had to make a move.”

“I love you too” he blurted out and it was Hanji's turn to be shocked. They never expected him to actually say it. “For a long time I couldn't admit it, maybe I didn't want to, because I was scared. Everyone who ever loved me and whom I loved, are dead. I don't want you to die” he admitted. Hanji stared at their lover, processing everything he said, then moved up and kissed him hard.

“I can't promise that I won't die, but you know you can't get rid of me easily.”

“I know but—”

“No 'buts'. Stop thinking negative. I know you've been through so much, but you have to move on. You have to live a better life. For your mom. For me. For yourself.”

Levi thought about their words, he knew they were right. He nodded, defeated. One last time. Just once, he would let himself love and be loved. He would risk his heart being shattered once again. He knew Hanji was tough, they survived for this long, they could certainly live through much more. So he was safe for now. At least he wouldn't live in constant "what ifs" invading his mind anymore.

“Alright.”

“Great. Now let's call it a night, shall we? As tempting as staying like that sounds, I'd rather not give Moblit a heart attack in the morning” they snickered.

“Fine. Let's take a bath and go to sleep” Levi pulled away from them with a slick sound.

“Yeah, for once I won't be arguing” Hanji said, looking at the mess between their thighs. They both got up and got dressed, made sure to not leave any mess in the lab, went to their rooms to take fresh clothes and met in the bathroom. “You know that if the others find out, they're never going to let us live?” they asked when the two of them undressed once again and proceeded to clean themselves and each other.

“They don't have to find out.”

“You think so? This thing is way harder to keep a secret than any other thing we've said or done.”

“They know we help each other fall asleep, so even if they would catch us sleeping together, it's not the first time.”

“And you were furious when they saw us for the first time, now it's our advantage.”

“Yeah. Good thing it was in common area, it was easier to explain.”

“Let's hope we're lucky enough to keep it secret.”

They finished their bath reminiscing old times. When they left and got dressed, they headed to Levi's room where they fell asleep as soon as they went to bed. Both of them had trouble sleeping recently, yet the presence of the other one was soothing and calming enough, to let them peacefully sleep for all night and even longer than that. Because when they finally woke up, it was almost noon.

“Hey” Levi spoke, his voice was even deeper and lower than usual.

“Hey” Hanji smiled and rubbed their eyes. “Did we oversleep?”

“Seems like it. But I guess we deserved that much sleep.”

“Yeah... You look way better than yesterday. I mean, healthier, not more handsome and beautiful, that's physically impossible.”

“I can say the same thing” he brushed away Hanji's hair, taking it out of their face, then leaned in and kissed them.

“I KNEW IT!” Nanaba's sudden scream made the couple jump away from each other, as much as they could, being limited by the bed and their embrace. “MICHE, ERWIN, I WON THE BET!!!” she shouted and Levi furrowed his brows.

“What the fuck?!” he yelled at her.

“Yes, Nana, what the fuck?!” Hanji echoed. None of them got an answer, because Miche and Erwin appeared by the door.

“You didn't win shit, just because they share a bed it doesn't mean you won” Miche protested, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Besides, they're fully clothed and they slept together in the past” Erwin noticed. “It means nothing.”

“I saw them kiss, I swear!” Nanaba realized she didn't think this through, as she had no proof to convince them.

“Oi! What's that supposed to mean?” Levi yelled, sitting up, his partner followed his actions.

“Nana was convinced you're dating, while we were pretty sure you're not. So we decided to bet. If she found out any proof in a week, she wins, if she won't, we win” Miche explained. “But since we know you two have huge trouble sleeping and the only person who can help you is the other one, we don't count that.”

“Technically it's against the rules, but I can either allow that or risk getting two of my best people get themselves killed, because of sleep deprivation” Erwin admitted. “And since you said you're not dating...”

“Of course we're not dating” Levi scoffed.

“And that's why Hanji has hickeys all over their neck?” Nanaba pointed out triumphantly. The couple exchanged looks, they didn't expect to see anyone before getting out of bed, so they didn't mind less covering clothes. Which meant that most of the marks Levi has left on his lover's body were visible.

“We're not dating yet” Hanji precised, giving up. There was no point trying to lie, the evidence was obvious. “Last night we talked about our feelings, but we didn't figure out the status of our relationship yet. Also we would like to have our privacy respected, thank you very much.”

“So did we win or not?” Miche wondered, apparently that was his priority.

“I'd say under these circumstances we can say none of us wins or loses. The bet is cancelled” Erwin decided. “Now let's get back to work, you two, get out” he pointed to Miche and Nana “you two, get up” he pointed to Levi and Hanji “and we're never talking about it again, that's an order” he commanded and the three left.

“So much for keeping a secret” Hanji sighed, resting their head on Levi's shoulder.

“That's not what I wanted to do. But maybe it's for the better” he admitted, wrapping his arm around his partner and kissing their head. “We don't have to bother whether someone sees us or not.”

“Really? You're going to ruin your reputation of unavailable idol only to be able to kiss me in public?” they joked.

“Like I ever cared about my reputation” Levi rolled his eyes. “But there's one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“While I enjoyed the way you paid your debt last night, don't get used to it or I'll stop buying you anything” he said and Hanji couldn't help but burst out laughing.

[gallickingun]

stardust in our bones {constellations on our skin} || i.m.

SUMMARY: Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain, his masterpieces hung in the form of scars and freckled skin. Sometimes he is overwhelmed by the very public display of his failures, unable to be dismissed even from far away. But you are always there to remind him that even if he is a little damaged, he will always be beautiful in your eyes. And maybe he can come to learn that his scars are but reminders that even if you break, you are not broken. 

This is essentially a few different scenes/scenarios all rolled into one fic about Izuku’s freckles and scars. I hope you love it!

PAIRING: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: mentions of blood, language, smut, dom/sub scenes, scars, mild violence mention, breeding kink, daddy kink, etc. WORD COUNT: 28.4k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is in the replies of this post! message me to be added/removed!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the labor of love that i have produced for my other half @freckledoriya ♡ i hope that this meets your expectations, as it is probably one of the only midoriya fics i will ever write lol. katsuki baby i am so sorry also big shoutout to @k-atsukidayo for making this beautiful header image for me and always reminding me that i’m not as garbage as i think i am ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

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Some call him disfigured or discolored.

They focus much too heavily on the outer turmoil taking its toll on his skin instead of the implications of what is happening within his body – the struggle in seeing himself this way and coming to terms with all that he has lost, marked on his body forever in the form of scars.

Marred flesh, crooked knuckles, gnarled bones.

He relives his trauma every time he looks in a mirror, another cut turned to pinkened scar, another use of his quirk marking his body permanently with a plethora of the color red. He wonders for a moment if he will ever feel whole again, or if he will always see himself as this patchwork thing that the universe toys with by ripping apart just to sew it back together again.

Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain.

And yet, despite all his physical fallacies, you still find him beautiful.

You watched on in horror as his body took on the tolls of being a hero throughout his time at Yuuei. You were but a young, quirkless teenager, begging for a hero who reminded you of what hope used to taste like. Now, after All Might’s demise, your tongue turns sour and anything that might have resembled hope burns to ash in your mouth.

Then Izuku Midoriya became a Pro Hero at the very agency you’ve been working at and you felt that familiar warmth of hope starting to take root in your chest, driving out that darkness that settled once the world lost All Might.

Deku is kind, much kinder than the average man. Or hero, for that matter.

He stops by your desk at least once a week, with either coffee or something sweet, in addition to his paperwork. He’ll chat with you, leaning over your counter with those sparkling emerald eyes, and you start to realize you can get lost in him. He is a gentle reprieve from your otherwise mundane day.

And in the beginning, you saw sun-kissed skin littered with a dark sprinkling of freckles, like little constellations burned into him by the sun. His cheeks are like the expanse of the night sky and you wonder to yourself when he leans in close if you might could find some stars you recognize.

As you grow closer, minutes turned into hours turned into lunch outings, you realize that you truly misjudged how deep his scars run.

They are not just on the surface, but rather cutting deep into his soul until he is marked at the very essence, clouded eyes ever present when he recounts a tale that brought forth yet another scar. You want to reach out and brush his cheeks, but you must restrain yourself because he is a Pro Hero and you are but an office manager, quirkless and insignificant to him.

You busy yourself with memorizing the patterns on his face and neck. You allow your mind to wander from time to time, trailing your gaze down to his exposed collarbones or torso, depending on how rough a mission might leave his suit. When it’s torn at the thighs, you can’t help but to see the smattering of pale freckles against his otherwise tanned skin.

Izuku is kind, you remind yourself as he approaches you with paperwork tucked into his side. There is no other explanation for his long, drawn out talks at your desk, or the flowers currently adorning your countertop.

“Hey, sorry,” he unfurls the bundled package of papers and lays them flat on your desk, “this week has been insane, lots’a villains on the loose. Which I guess just means more paperwork for everyone, huh?”

You chuckle at him, thumbing through the first few sheets to make sure he’s got it all in order. There really is no doubt in your mind that it’s all laid out exactly how it should, that’s just how Deku is, but you want him stationary at your desk for a little while longer, so you check it anyway.

“And more bruises for you heroes,” you smile, tilting your head upward so you can catch the glint in his eyes. “How are you today?”

Midoriya begins to rattle off a long string of muttered words while you check the paperwork. You don’t mind that you can’t necessarily understand everything he’s saying, just to hear the sound of his voice is enough to satiate you for the rest of the day. You smile and nod when you think you should, the smell of the flowers on your desk more intoxicating now that he’s here.

“-I, well, you see, I guess that since I saved their shop, they said I could have unlimited meals, and I, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go?”

You bite your lip, reigning yourself in because of course he just wants to go out for lunch. There’s nothing more to it. You have been to lunch with him several times, extended breaks thanks to both his hero status and your extra hours you work here and there.

“Sure,” you answer, “we can go over the new manual, I have a few-”

“No.”

You cock your head, brow furrowing, “B-But -I”

Deku shakes his head, green curls bobbing against his forehead, his undercut even more obvious now, “N-No, I mean, I want to go, but like, I want you to go with me.”

“I would be-”

“Without the paperwork.”

“Oh.”

The two of you share a look for longer than necessary and now the flowers’ perfume grows stronger, almost sickeningly sweet as your stomach flips. You rack your brain for the words to say, but each syllable dies on your tongue, sparking against a taste bud. You want to pinch yourself to ground your mind into this version of reality where Deku wants to go on a date with you is the current situation, but you can’t move, frozen in place by his expectant stare.

It must take you too long to respond because Izuku launches into another muttering rant, apologizing profusely as he blushes from head to toe. Your lips tug into a smile at the sight of his freckles against his reddened skin, and that little break from your psychotic prison allows you to reach forward and grasp him by the hand.

Deku’s jaw snaps shut, eyes widened as he looks down at you, gaze piercing through you as if he had slung a spear through your soul. He’s got a hold on you, he has since the day you first met, but now you know that he’s had you hook, line, and sinker and there was no way you could ever come up for air.

Not that you’d want to.

“I’d love to,” you tell him, voice soft.

His smile matches your own and he squeezes your fingers, the scars on his hands rigid against his otherwise smooth skin, “It’s a date.”

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As time passed, the bruised ribs and shattered bones multiple. The Pro Hero, Deku, is well-known for his gnarled hand, knuckles swollen, and scars carved into his body like veins in a slab of marble. He finds you after each mission, wrapped in gauze and taped back together, and you are the one left to mend the untouchable pieces of him once the surgeons have done all that they can for the surface wounds.

“You should be more careful,” you warn him, hands reaching for his face to palm over his cheeks in worry.

Midoriya laughs, but it is cut short by a wince as he grabs for his rib cage. You lurch forward to steady his frame, but it is of no use, his palm already outstretched to keep you at bay. The frown on your face only deepens at his motions, your brow furrowing together to wrinkle the skin of your forehead.

“I’m fine,” he reassures you once he can stand up right to his full height again, “thank you, for coming and picking me up.”

The pads of your hands find his face again, thumbs pressed into his cheeks, fingerprints grazing over the speckled skin. It’s as if you’re counting them to make sure that none of them have been wiped away from the last time you saw him; like you could keep track of them like inventory if you tried hard enough. The furrow in your brow tells him that he hasn’t done a good enough job at reassuring you, so he steps closer, a knee between your thighs, “I promise I’m okay. They patched me up! All better now.”

All better now.

The words seem shallow, like they can’t possibly touch all of the broken pieces between the two of you. Every time he bares his soul on the battlefield, he comes away changed, a different person than you last saw. He won’t show the world, but at least he will show you.

“Yeah?” Your voice is cutting, patience wearing thin, jaw quivering under the sheer force of the bite of your teeth, “And what about the next time, when they can’t fix you?”

Deku does not have an answer for you then, the question weighing between the two of you like the world caught between your shoulders. At least the answer he can think up is not one that he wants you to hear, let alone one you might take in stride.

Instead of trying to babble on about the efficiencies of agency surgeons and statistics and whatnot, he takes you by the wrists, circling his fingers around your pounding pulse. A gentle laugh bubbles in his chest and it makes you forget about the pain he has to be in for but a mere moment as he looks you in the eyes.

“I’m a hero,” Izuku answers, voice grating against his throat as his eyes bore into you like he’s telling you some enormous secret you must keep to yourself, “and the hero always wins. No matter what.”

As much as your bleeding, apologetic heart wants to believe him, to lap up every word that he’s spewing to you like syrup, your mind can’t quite agree. You’ve spent too many late nights lying awake, wondering when you’ll get the call that he has fallen prey to a villain’s decaying touch, or when he will have been captured and tortured to the brink of insanity, a shell of the man he used to be all that’s left when they find him. Every horror story has played out on the back of your eyelids when you fall asleep, and yet you know there will never be anything you can do to put him back in the little box you first found him in, to protect him and keep him safe.

You push all of those thoughts away, knowing that they will only dampen your spirit for now, and you’d much rather focus on his darling freckled face while you take your afternoon walk. He insists, despite his injuries, that he won’t miss an afternoon walk with you. And it appears that he’s healing even as more time passes, the lingering effects of Recovery Girl’s quirk in combination with quirk-laced drugs mending his body after he’s left the operating room.

Taking in the sight before you – this beautiful, Adonis-like man, with golden cheeks and an innocent sheen in his glittering green irises – you’re overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, so you charge forward and do just that. Your hands find his neck, searching for the hairline lightning strike scars that litter his body from past injuries and fights.

Unbeknownst to him, you keep your eyes open so you can watch as his translucent lids flutter, orbs moving beneath the skin as he’s unsure of what part of you in his imagination to settle on. This way you’re able to see as the apples of his cheeks slowly start to burn deeper shades of red to match his ears and neck.

As you pull away, falling back onto your heels, you drink him in as the light glimmers down on his skin, making him look almost golden in the afternoon sunshine. There is a string connected to your heart that tugs whenever you see the man standing before you, and now is no exception.

“C’mon,” you slot your knuckles between his, tenderly brushing your thumb over the large expanse of scar tissue on the back of his palm, “let’s go.”

Izuku pulls you closer and it’s like another piece of him has fallen into place, your body slotting just right against his side, like you were made for each other. One to match the other, a balance to end all imbalances.

A complete set.

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The knock on your door makes you jump, shuddering beneath your fleece blanket.

You rub your eyes and stand to your feet, leaving the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It’s late, so you imagine it’s most likely just a package delivery.

You’re beyond surprised to see a bleeding Izuku Midoriya slumped forward, using his forearm to hold himself steady in your doorway. You gasp, your blanket dropping away from your shoulders to pool at your feet, launching yourself forward to catch him before he can topple to the ground.

“Izuku,” you gasp, tucking yourself beneath him so he can use you for support.

He laughs, but it turns into a wheezing string of coughs. You help him hobble through the threshold towards the kitchen, sitting him down close to the sink so you can clean him up. Tilting his head back, you look into his eyes and pray that they dilate. When his pupils shrink, you let loose a breath held captive in your lungs.

It’s hard not to think about the reality that this will add another scar to his tally. His whole body seems like a counter, really, with strikes and slashes marring his skin, turning it pink and keeping track of every battle.

Midoriya reaches up to cradle your face in his palm, fingertips brushing over the smooth skin of your cheeks, directly contrasted with his own rough complexion, “I needed to see you.”

“No,” you shake your head and squat down in front of him, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as you try to take in every part of him that’s bleeding, “you need to see a doctor!”

Before you can protest him any further, Izuku leans forward to crush your mouth beneath his own. He whimpers in pain as he kisses you, but it doesn’t stop him. In fact, it almost stirs him forward, spurring him to cup your face with his hands as tears track down to cut through the crimson lines on his cheeks.

Izuku Midoriya is nothing short of an enigma. Here he is, bruised and bleeding, but he wrought his way to find you despite all of the pain. You wish you could burden some of it on his behalf, taking up the mantle of his own personal Atlas, meant to shoulder the weight of his existence so he can catch a quick breath.

His forehead touches yours as he pulls away, a sobbing gasp parting his mouth, “I’ll be fine. I just need you.”

You brush his hair away from his eyes, forcing him to look at you with the tender turn of your wrist. His right eye is bruised and swelling itself shut, blood caked from his brow to his jaw, pouring steadily from the wound he’s got split open on his head.

The only thought running through your mind, creating a path of worn ground against your cerebrum, is that this will be but another one to add to the collection; another piece of art to hang in his mausoleum. Judging by the amount of blood caked in his hair and brow, and the depth of the wound, it will surely leave a tattered scar of flesh behind.

An errant thought crosses your mind then – will he have such painful memories of this specific wound? Or will he recall this one to be the scar that brought him back to you?

You can’t help it when your lower lip trembles. You can never be surprised at the story of this scar’s origin – it will be engrained in your mind forever. Despite your adoration for the hero, you share in his pain, your own body wincing as a new trickle of crimson stains his temple. You tense your jaw, the muscles in your neck quivering under the strain of your ministrations. Even if he remembers this night fondly, you know that every time you glance at the healed section of his body, you’ll remember his tears, his debilitating pain.

“I’m calling Toshinori,” you grit your teeth, steeling your will, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“I let him know I was coming.” Izuku inhales in short bursts; it’s all his chest can handle before splintering pain streaks through his lungs like lightning. He winces as he shifts, one hand drifting to your hip. He dips his thumb beneath the fabric of your top, a shirt he recognizes as his own based on the size of it as it fully engulfs your figure. His logo is on the center, bright green text in stark contrast to the dark grey fabric.

A wave of pride swells within him, starting at the base of his back and building upward like effervescent champagne bubbles floating to the surface. He opens his mouth to set them free in the form of smothering kisses, his lips traveling to every available expanse of your skin he can find.

Deku is a force of nature, a whirlwind you cannot reckon with, so instead you succumb to him.

You allow him to swallow you whole for the first time, diving deeper into the eye of his storm until he is swirling around you and suffocating you. But you do not care. If this is how you have to go, with his tongue holding you hostage, hands like anchors on your hips, dragging you deeper until all you know is the darkness, then you are fine with that.

You’d gladly drown as long as he was the one holding you down.

But Izuku Midoriya is not the dark. He is anything but.

So, instead of burning your breath with his own oxygen, he fills you to the brim with light. He is a sunbeam incarnate, pushing through every crack in your bones to cement them with his kindness. His fingers, while biting into your hips, send a singing sensation up into your skin until you can’t help but smile into his kiss. They are rough with tattered flesh, scars of the past and present plaguing his body like a parasite, eating away at his skin until no longer has anything left to give.

Deku doesn’t wince when you sink down on top of him, settling your body against his thighs. Instead he wraps his arms around you to give you some kind of solace, palms searching your shoulders for the perfect place to rest. His fingers are warm beneath your shirt as his fingers seek out the curve of your spine.

The pure thickness of his body is not lost on you, not now. ­Your hands travel over his shoulders, his muscles rippling beneath the pads of your fingers. You shiver when he holds you closer, your chest flush with his, the tactile pleasure from his rough skin making your toes curl.

His shoulders are riddled with tiny, slicing scars, a light pink color in contrast to his standard tanned skin. You look for scar after scar, appreciating the damaged parts of him just as much as the smooth ones. You moan when both of his hands squeeze your waist, the pure size of him a gentle reminder as his palms engulf your ribs, his knuckles counting the bones as he runs his hands up and down.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs as he disconnects his mouth from yours, tears settled in his irises, making them glassy, “the villain I-I fought, th-they had a canceling quirk, and they almost got me.”

You know that got me is the safer, calmer equivalent of killed me. His kindness oozes like honey into every facet of him, filling the cracks like veins of marble. Your heart squeezes within your chest at the reality that he could have been lost to you, and suddenly the wounds on his body matter a little less.

No, now it is all about having him here, dense and hot beneath your body. Your fingertips tremble at the thought of him being a ghost of the past, something you once had a hold of, but now is nothing but a memory. You feel hot tears drip over your lashes, clumping up at the base of your eyelids as they flow freely. You sniffle, your hands finding the back of his head to cradle tenderly.

Izuku’s voice is soft, his cheeks gleaming red as he admits his next words, “You were all I could think about.”

Your voice breaks with a sob and you hold him tight around the neck, surging forward to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Izuku wraps his arms around your whole body, holding you snugly as he tilts his head for a better angle. You relish in the warmth he provides, his solid presence giving you comfort as you try to drink him in, pushing aside all the thoughts of potentially never having him like this again.

It’s not even about the way your stomach turns as his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, or how hot your body grows as he engulfs you like a flame. No, it is something beautiful and pristine, something that curls around your spine and bolsters it, holding you upright with confidence. Izuku has given you something you haven’t had in so long that you almost can’t put a name to it.

Peace.

There is an undeniable calm that washes over you whenever he is around, whether it be by distance or severe closeness. He suffocates you in his light no matter how far away he is; purely by knowing that he is alive, your heart quiets in your chest. You feel safer as you walk down the streets, the very notion that he will always be there, watching from wherever he may be, builds your bones stronger so you can walk with confidence.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” you gasp, coming up for air. You don’t go far, your nose nudging over his cheek as you pant quickly, your chest heaving. “I-I can’t do this without you.”

“Hey,” Deku’s voice is calm, his palms reaching up the back of your shoulders to cover you entirely in his heat. All you want is to coat yourself in him from top to bottom, let him claim you however he needs to, so you never have to let this go. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You open your eyes as he nudges his nose over the bow of your lips, kissing your chin tenderly. Your pupils dilate as you take in the smattering of dark freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks, painting his skin erratically so that you know he must be a work of art, a gift from the gods down to mankind. He is too perfect to be anything else.

Your forehead drops as you let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself with your grip on his shoulders. “I-I know, I just…”

Izuku repositions his hands so they’re beneath your top, the warm pads of his fingertips leaving a blazing trail of fire behind as he maps out the curves of your body. You watch as his ripped costume falls in tattered shreds on his shoulders, giving way to the pretty expanse of skin usually hidden beneath it.

The sight of his flayed skin, coated in scars and painted with beauty marks, makes your spine rattle within your frame. Your fingers drift to the bared parts of his body on instinct, a primal need settling in the pit of your stomach, and you trace over the white, lightning-like scars. Your thumb brushes over his collarbone, as if you could sweep away his freckles to leave behind unmarked skin.

Your mind wanders, thoughts branching out to wonder if there even is a patch of his skin that is pure, unmarred by any form of markings.

Izuku must follow your train of thought, because he peels his hands away from your body to tug his costume at the waist, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the floor before he pulls his shirt over his head, or what remains of it. The tattered fabric is in a bloody, dirty heap on the floor, but you barely have the wherewithal to notice when he is bared in front of you.

A gasp parts your mouth when you take in his nude torso. He is a plethora of contours and shadows, sinew holding his muscles together in a taut fashion. Your hands are hovering in front of his chest, darkened nipples piqued under the cool air blowing from the vent above. You have to force yourself to swallow, pent-up tension making your throat bob.

“See?” Izuku’s voice is hoarse, as if he’s holding himself back from tears, “I’m right here.”

Your eyes try to find a part of him that isn’t doused in speckles, the darkened patches of skin making him look even tanner. He has them sprinkled all over his body, clumps of them gathering together like tiny nebulas. Your gaze slowly drags down from his collarbones to his abdomen, the freckled dots like destinations on a treasure map, leading you to one central location.

When you make eye contact with the trail of dark hair that starts at his navel, thin and then growing thicker, you feel your stomach turn over. You lick your drying lips, a heat beginning to build up in your core. You would clench your thighs together, but the way you’re straddling him currently makes that impossible. Instead, you roll your hips forward so you can scoot further up his lap.

It’s like you don’t believe what you see in front of you – that he’s truly here, open and bare in front of you, vulnerable in every sense of the word. The wound on his head has stopped bleeding, but that doesn’t mean that he’s okay.

“Touch me.”

You tilt your head, confused by his forward command. Your cheeks burn bright with a blush and he chuckles at the sight of you so flustered. Midoriya takes you by the hands, guiding your touch to his chest first.

The tips of your fingers blaze when they find a ragged scar that stretches across the entirety of his pectoral, “I have so many of these ugly things.”

“How many?” you find yourself asking, the filter hard to find when he has you about ready to come undone like this. You feel yourself go lightheaded, hazy at the feel of his rough skin, his heart beating irregularly beneath your touch.

His voice is heavy when he answers, “I lost count.”

Your eyes snap upward to find the usual playful green color of his irises has faded to a pale jade shade, “Izu, hey-”

Deku swallows an emotional lump in his throat, eyelids fluttering at the pain of it before he inhales a full breath. His chest brushes up against yours and you have to withhold the whine that desperately wants to slip from your lips.

“I don’t understand why people are so fascinated with them,” his tone is teetering on the wrong side of angry, lips curled in a downward snarl. He glances south at the rest of his body, pale scars in stark contrast to the rest of his tanned body. “They’re just reminders of my failure.”

You are forceful when you pull his jaw upward, yanking him to face you before you kiss him harshly. Your intense kiss makes him gasp, his hips rolling up into you despite the pain he’s in. Your palms are bruising on his cheeks, but you don’t care because at least he’s kissing you. Deku’s fingertips finally make their way to your hips where he seeks purchase against your ribcage. His digits are tantalizing as he roams the expanse of your midsection.

“You’re my hero,” your voice is breathless and broken when you release him for oxygen. “Don’t you ever call yourself a failure again.”

Izuku’s throat bobs as he basks in your ferocity – eyes ablaze and fingertips harsh as you hold him in place. He finds himself nodding without really knowing what you’ve said, but he supposes that’s just the effect you have on him. You have taken root in his soul, the galaxy in your eyes blacking out everything else in his mind, allowing him not even a moment to let self-doubt creep in and steal away his faith.

After all, in his eyes, you are his whole world, shattered stars and all.

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“You picked dinner, so I get to pick the movie,” you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, your palms splayed against his chest as you press kisses into his shoulder blades.

You’re obsessed with his back, like some little secret you don’t get to see very often. Tonight the two of you were doing yoga before you ate dinner, so he’s currently clad in only a pair of compression pants that reach his mid-calf, leaving his entire upper body for you to appreciate with your gaze and explorative touches.

You nose over the curve of his spine, kisses open-mouthed as he washes the dishes in the sink. You hear his breath hitch and you wonder if now is a good time to start experimenting with how far you can go. Your eyes roam to the base of his spine, the two small dimples at the start of the swell of his ass making your mouth salivate. You relinquish one hand from his chest to dip your thumb into the cavity his muscles have created, brushing against a cluster of freckles.

It has been some time since you’ve seen him with his shirt off, and many times since then, but you’ve never been able to discover what’s below his belt. Your mind wanders as you suppress the itch in the base of your fingerprints, like the very code of you is designed to strip him down to nothing. You want to know how far his freckles truly go.

In your mind, you believe that he is sprinkled with stardust, paler patches of freckles sporadically placed along his body. He is a canvas, fresh and ready for the constellations to burn into his flesh. You want to swirl your hands over the galaxies imprinted upon him by the gods themselves; as if he were made of marble, ready to carve and curate however they may please.

You take a leap of faith when you dip your fingertips beneath the tight waistband of his joggers. The aborted stutter of his hips combined with the sharp intake of breath from his throat tells you all you need to know.

From here you can see clusters of freckles on the globes of his ass, concentrated mostly near the top, where sunlight can penetrate when he’s not in his hero suit. You have to catch yourself before you drip drool onto his curved backside.

The hand on his chest roams until you find his pebbled nipple, the crevices of your palm washing over the flesh until you hear a muted moan shake his throat. You lean forward, forehead tucked between the cartilage of his shoulder blades so you can feel the heat radiating from him even closer now.

“Can I-”

“Please.”

You’ve never heard him beg before, at least not like this.

It has been some time since your first date, since the first kiss, since the first confession. Your hands start to sweat at the thought of touching his salacious side, pricking with anticipation as you slowly make your way around his hip towards the bulge in his pants. Your tongue stills within your throat as you brush your thumb against the thick tufts of dark green hair at the base of his stomach beneath his navel.

His body is like a roadmap leading you to one desolate place, his skin singing with heat as you grow closer. You can almost make out a whine that he’s clamped his teeth down on to suppress, but that does nothing to deter you from finding a dozen other ways to elicit an infinite number of those same prurient sounds from his lungs.

When the outside of your palm brushes against the throbbing thickness held tight within his spandex, you feel your whole-body tense. Izuku gulps audibly and you have to hold in something that is a mix of a gasp and a giggle.

You reach your free hand down from his chest to pull at the band of his pants, freeing his cock from the confines of the fabric. You can hear the bob of it against his stomach and you let out a heated breath that spills down over his spine. He shivers and you think that maybe you have him just as captivated as he usually has you.

The thought is thrilling. It bolsters your confidence and allows you the audacity to lean forward and slowly trail your fingers along the base of his cock, tickling him in the most tentative way possible. He grits his teeth and you can feel his buttocks clench in front of you as he tries his hardest not to buck forward and ruin your moment.

You kiss the smattering of freckles near the top of his right shoulder, lavishing the area with your tongue as you trail your thumb up the base of his cock until you reach the tip. You can feel the bead of pre-come beneath the print of your finger and you collect it with the ridges of your digit before dragging it downward to coat him before you begin to pump your hand.

He is thick in your hand, unforgivingly hard as his cock pulses within your grasp. You can tell that it’s taking all of his restraint not to throw his head back and release obscene sounds from his throat, like his desire is caged within his chest, begging to be let out with each erratic heartbeat.

Your tongue licks over his shoulders and you know that he must be imagining what your mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock based on the mewling whimpers that leave his tongue. You can hear him panting, but you want to see him, desperate and whining, so you tug on his waistline with your free palm.

It takes him a moment, his eyes glistening with bliss and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, but you manage to get him turned so he’s facing you. Your eyes drag slowly down the entire expanse of his torso, catching on his pert nipples, bright and pink as they shrink beneath the stinging touch of your fingertips. You catch onto the constellations of freckles drifting along his torso – if you look hard enough, you swear that they move. Your eyes cross when you look too closely, so instead you allow your attention to drop lower.

Izuku’s mouth is wide open as your eyes fall to the vee of his hips, the paler freckles placed there making you smile. You lower yourself to your knees, semi-uncomfortable thanks to the tile of the kitchen, but you don’t care. Right now, your focus is singled in on one thing and one thing alone.

You lick your lips and the closeness of your tongue to his cock makes Izuku blush in expectancy. There is a little line of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth if you blink your eyes free of lust. You pump him another time in your hand, collecting the new wash of pre from his tip to lubricate his cock. As you do so, your eyes drift to the base of him where his green pubic hair collects in a dark tuft. You can’t decide which part of him to focus on because it’s all too much.

Somehow, he has a scar that runs from the innermost part of his thigh upward, just beneath his balls. You wince at the thought of what had to have caused that, and how much it hurt. You allow one hand to drift over the scar as your eyes come into contact with the patch of freckles hidden beneath the trail of dark, coarse hair that is usually hidden by his clothing.

As you pump your hand down to the base of him, you use your thumb to brush some of the hair away, curious as to how dark the freckles are there. Izuku is completely maddened by your touch, fallen under the enchantment of your hands. He doesn’t even mind that you’ve taken a break from dragging your soft hand around his dick, his mind already blitzed from the short burst of ministrations you have already administered.

You hum as you kiss along the taut skin of his lower abdomen, dragging your lips and tongue towards the thick trail of hair that leads you to his cock. It’s almost like the freckled areas taste different, although you’ve probably made all of that up in your mind. And yet, you don’t mind that it’s more of a fantasy instead of a reality, relishing in the sweetness, nonetheless.

“Fuck,” you hear from above you, one of his hands hung in midair, unsure of whether to grab you or the counter. The other palm grips into his hair and the scalp, tugging to keep himself grounded so he does not float away at the gentle caress of your tongue against his skin.

The bow of your lips purses as you kiss upward to the head of his cock, bright red and teeming with pre-come. The silvery, pearlescent bud of arousal makes your mouth water and you find that you can’t help yourself as you encircle your lips around the tip of him.

Izuku is immediately broken from whatever resilience he was able to gather, his hips bucking forward as he slams both hands into the counter. Little broken bits of marble fall into your hair but you don’t care, instead indulging yourself in watching his reaction to your movements. Midoriya’s pupils are blown wide, completely taken over his usually wide irises. The green bleeds black, lust like a cloud misting in his line of sight.

As his upper body tenses, you’re able to see every contour of muscle, every cord of sinew, and you can’t help it when drool dribbles down your chin onto the tile floor. You moan against the head of his cock, taking another inch of him in as you slide forward to get more comfortable. The sound of his nails creaking against the countertop makes your cunt flutter from within the cotton of your panties, clenching around nothing as you imagine the thickness of him in your mouth against your glutinous walls, squeezing him for all the come he can produce.

You trail one hand around the curling scars on his thigh, thumbprint finding the ridges of the expansive scar, the raised skin making your heart ache for a moment before you refocus on his dick. Your eyes almost cross as you try to focus on the freckles now hidden once more by the thick green hair at the bottom of his belly.

As you retreat backward, your line of sight continues down the length of his cock to realize that he has a littering of freckles of varying shapes, sizes, and colors, scattered all along the entire shaft of his dick, and even a few on the tip. You can’t help it when you smile, licking at them as if they could be removed if you lapped at the skin harshly enough.

It is the small things such as this that make your time with Izuku Midoriya so enjoyable. You are learning something about him every day, something even more interesting and exciting than the last.

Before you can slip your lips further down his length, his hand reaches up to clean the debris from your hair, a broken apology parting his lips momentarily. You look up at him, the tenderness in his touch making your heart go soft.

“H-Holy,” his hips buck forward when you blink up at him, the base of his throat bobbing as he curses, “shit.”

As you pull away from his cock, Izuku’s chest shudders as he tries to regulate his breathing. He shifts his feet on the tile beneath you trying to keep himself from pushing up onto the balls of his toes so he can keep some semblance of control as you pleasure him.

Izuku turns away from you and you whine, your tongue licking the underside of his cockhead before you ask, “Why won’t you look at me?”

He can barely force the words out of his throat as he gazes down at you briefly, the sounds coming forth berated and bedraggled, as if he’d dragged barbed wire across the syllables, “I can’t, damn it. I-I’m gonna-”

You take advantage of the line of sight he has on you, opening your mouth wide and taking him in one fell sucking motion.

Midoriya chokes on his own drool, a little silvery string of it falling in midair until it creates a droplet on the crown of your head. He can’t even find the focus to apologize, his knuckles white as he grips the countertop to keep himself sane.

The word he squeaks out next makes you smile, your teeth grazing his dick: “-come.”

You take it as a challenge, gripping his thighs with your nails, digging crescent moons into his pretty tan skin, adding the shapes to his star-like freckled skin, creating a whole galaxy with a simple bruising touch. Izuku can’t help it as his hips stutter forward, the tip of his cock bucking into the back of your mouth to make you gag.

He’s not sure how you do it, with his cock jammed all the way into the back of your throat, but somehow you have the wherewithal to cup his balls in one hand as the other uses his leg like an anchor to stay hovering on your toes. You never cease to amaze him, even now as you’re on your knees and worshipping his cock like your life might depend on it.

“Touch me,” you whimper as you come up for air, “if you won’t look at me, touch me, please.”

Izuku licks his lips and barely has it in him to pull his hand from the counter, but somehow, he manages it. His hand threads through your locks, fingertips buzzing with a mixture of adrenaline and desire. The lust has his whole being singing with anticipation as you bring him to the precipice of arousal. He knows that he won’t last much longer, especially not with you drooling around his cock and bobbing your head in perfect rhythm. And now that he can feel you beneath his fingers, he’s not sure if he’ll even be able to speak coherently when this is all over with.

His hands are exploratory in your hair, dipping in and out of your tresses like waves, finding your scalp to scratch lightly, eliciting a husky moan from your throat. The vibrations of your sounds make his cock pulse, twitching against your tongue as you suck him deeper. Izuku isn’t sure how there is anymore of your throat for him to fuck, but when you hollow out your cheeks, he slides further in, and the pleasure starts to coil around the base of his spine as he’s worked towards his high.

“Baby, I-I’m close,” Izuku manages to blurt when he’s coherent enough, your tongue sweeping down the vein on the underside of his dick. He gasps for breath, his head hanging forward, so his dark curls sweep over his lashes to hide his pretty orbs from you. He grunts, as he ruts up into you, “Real close, hell.”

You take it as a challenge, stiffening your posture so you can force your head up and down, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto your pants, but you don’t care. The way his hands grip into your scalp and the quivering of his thighs as he holds off his own release are but a war cry for you, begging your body to go further, to force that release from within his body.

“Come for me, Izu,” you whimper against his cock, the words muffled by the thick skin of him. You try your best to pout, looking innocent with eyes blown wide, “Please, I wanna taste you. So bad.”

His jaw falls slack, and you know that he’s close, his tip is practically rock hard against your teeth. You hollow out your cheeks and moan as you slowly suck him as hard as you can manage with your jaw starting to ache from the stretch of him. Your pussy clamps around nothing, begging for his girth within your walls.

A few heaving breaths stretch his chest, the muscles of his pectorals rippling in strain as he tries to hold himself back, to respectfully come undone instead of sputtering out like a teenager. You nod with his cock still in your mouth, your tongue padding over the sensitive underside. A wuthering whimper breaks within his throat and you feel his thighs clench one final time before he’s coming apart between your cheeks.

You try to breathe through your nose, his cock buried all the way in your mouth so his come hits in spurts against the back of your throat. You use your hands dug into the plush flesh of his ass to steady yourself, his body uncaring to the pain as long as he’s bucking up into your mouth. His hand in your hair goes tight before falling slack, gentle fingertips wafting through your tresses aimlessly.

You tilt your head back as he begins to soften within your lips, trying to keep his come from dribbling out the corners of your mouth. You catch most of it, the slightly sweet taste of it helping it to go down smoother. You suck him one more time, trying to pull the rest of the arousal from his slit, and a high-pitched whine breaks through the calm of the air like shattering glass.

“S-Sorry,” he moans as his eyes screw shut, one of his palms latching onto the countertop again.

A content laugh turns your lips upward and you kiss the head of his cock before he helps you rise back to your feet. Before you’re upright again, he bolsters forward to kiss you square on the lips. His tongue delves between your teeth, mapping out the curves of your gums as he tastes his spend in each crevice of your mouth.

The moan that reverberates from his chest makes your toes curl, your hands curling to fists against his chest as he presses further into you, trying to be flush with your entire body. You can barely breath as he suffocates you lovingly, bringing stars into your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands spread out over the plane of his chest, the tips of your fingers searching for his scars, the placement of them burnt into your mind like a map.

Deku pulls away with a panting string of apologies mixed with appreciation, his irises overtaking his pupils now that he’s come down from his high. His hands search your face and then your arms, taking in every inch of you as he kisses all over your face.

You giggle, wrapping your fingers around his neck to play with the sharp hair at the nape of his neck, the undercut style making his locks dense and coarse up to his ears where the straight line runs.

“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask breathlessly, scrunching your nose as he kisses the tip of it.

Izuku is winded when he nudges his nose against yours, a laugh on the tip of his tongue, “I don’t fucking care.”

You roll your lips together, pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss his mouth chastely, “We might have to do that more often if I’m going to get whatever I want each time.”

The thought of you going down on him makes his heart stutter within the cage of his ribs, stars spread out and blinding against the backs of his lids. He can already imagine the sight of you on your knees, your lips around him as you moan and writhe while he holds your hair tight within his fist…

“Earth to Izuku?” you pat his cheek playfully. “You with us?”

His voice is stuttered as he answers you, a blissful glassiness still coating his irises, “Y-Yeah, I’m right here. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

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“C’mon, Princess, you can take it, I know you can,” he murmurs into midair, voice stern but breathy, sending a shiver down your spine.

You lick at the head of his cock, engorged and bright red, beads of pre-come bubbling out of his slit, awaiting you to catch them with your tongue. You lap over the taut, pinkened skin, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of him – a fine combination of salty and sweet. You can’t help the draw of your attention to the tanned splotches covering him like stardust, mapping out what would seem to be a different set of constellations every time you look too long.

Izuku’s hand is woven into your hair carefully, so he does not pinch your scalp, but he can still hold onto the makeshift ponytail he’s created with his fingers bunched around your tresses. You whimper, eyes torn from his freckled skin, as he guides your mouth closer to his cock, the head of him brushing against your closed lips.

His voice is thick with restraint, his throat bobbing at the sight of your pretty, jeweled irises looking between him and his cock, wondering how you’re going to take the thick of him between your plush little lips. Your eyes are almost crossed as you try to count his freckles, as if you could pay that close of attention when he’s got you on your knees.

“Gonna be a good girl for me, Angel?” Deku is patronizingly kind as he brushes his knuckles over the curve of your jaw. Your eyes zero in on the scarred stripes along his palm and forearm, your fingertips reaching up to slowly drag across the pale lines that tell a story you’ve heard a dozen times. Izuku makes an audible noise of consideration at your marveling, “You were just beggin’ me for my cock, and now you won’t even open your mouth for me?”

He sounds like he’s pouting, lower lip jutted out just enough for it to look convincing. You swallow your inhibitions, throat bobbing when he brushes his cock along the hollows of your cheeks, the head of him smearing what remains of his pre onto your skin. He chuckles as you gasp, your jaw hung open just enough for him to rut up into your mouth.

You gag around him, lurching forward as tears coat your lashes. You whimper, looking up to him like he might save you from what’s to come. But no, you asked for this. You begged him to let you taste his cock, to have him spill his fullest load onto your tongue and force you to swallow.

“Such a pretty girl,” his words turn to a moan as you take him to the base, forcing yourself to breathe evenly so you won’t gag around him again. His hand in your hair tightens and you take a deep breath, the short, stubbled pubic hairs surrounding his cock doing little to hide the freckles on his smooth skin.

You’re not sure why you love them so much – the freckles.

They are such a distraction that you don’t notice Izuku yanking you by the ponytail until you come off his cock with a loud pop. You whine, keening forward to try and lick at his tip, “I-Izu-please.”

“Uh uh,” he cinches his hand around your hair even tighter, tugging your skin backward until it burns. A smirk lilts his lips, “What’s my name, baby girl?”

Your eyes go wide, pupils swallowing your irises whole. Deku almost misses the color, if it not for the fucked out look that takes their place, telling him exactly what he’s done to you. He bites down on his lower lip, half-hooded lids considering you, “You’re already a mess for me, aren’t you baby? I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Your cock,” you whine, squinting your eyes so you don’t have to feel his authoritative penetrating your very being. Your thighs tense, pussy clamping down around nothing but thin air, wet with arousal and begging to be full of him. Before Izuku can tell you to correct yourself with a simple syllable, you repeat yourself, “Your cock, Daddy.”

A satisfied expression smooths his features, the red of his cheeks doing little to hide the smattering of freckles to match those littered across his cock and thighs. You brush your nose against his navel, kissing the gentle swell of muscle beneath it. Izuku licks his lips, hips rolling forward so his cock brushes over the length of your throat.

“That’s’a good girl.” Deku purses his lips as you kiss down his shaft, your tongue lapping over every inch of him. Your eyes are level with his pubic bone, searching for the tanned droplets of sunshine incarnate on his skin, hidden beneath dark tufts of jade hair curled around the base of his cock.

Before you take him between your lips, you lick a stripe from the underside of his shaft up to his navel. You can’t help yourself as the dark smattering of freckles call out to you, a reminder that even though he is tainted by the war of the world, you still have these small victories to come back to. You worship his taut skin with your lips and tongue, the muscle parting your mouth to lick at his body.

Izuku’s fingers weave into the hair at the base of your head, eyes watching you closely as you pay special attention to the various patches of densely packed freckles. You nose over his hipbone, breathing slowly, the wash of warmth prickling his skin and forcing him up on his toes as he reacts to it.

There is a large part of him that wants you to stop. Not because he’s selfish enough to force you to pay attention to the throbbing heat between his legs, but rather because your praise is something that makes him feel even more unworthy. He is self-conscious of his body, both the discolored spots that he’s never able to be rid of in tandem with the ragged rips in his flesh that you seem to love so much. He has never understood your fascination with his body, but you are relentless with your affections.

It comes in many forms. At times it is the way you run your fingertips over his shoulders when you’re laying together, and other times it is your mouth finding his knuckles when you think he’s asleep. You are unashamed to lavish his body with unending passion, and even the smallest of deformities that he believes are his secret, you manage to find.

You loll your tongue out to let the collected spit pool over his length, sucking at the head when you get to it. Deku rubs his thumb against your neck, fingertips searching your hair for purchase. He’s taken aback when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him deep into the heat of your mouth. His eyes go wide, but he’s thankful you can’t see with the way his head is thrown back.

“Fuck, baby,” his hand twitches against your scalp, “fuck, this mouth.”

He starts rolling his hips forward, pumping himself in and out of your mouth like he might your pussy. You feel drool seeping out of the corners of your lips but you don’t dare break away, because that would bring forth a punishment, and your cunt is already sopping wet with the anticipation of his cock buried deep within you. Deku grunts, his chest vibrating with the sound, and he holds you still with the hand against your head.

You reach up to find his free palm, lacing your fingers together at the knuckle, using him as some sort of an anchor to reality as the subservient headspace begins to take over. It washes through you like a balm, a warm sensation that feels like home.  Your eyelids fall over your irises, hiding your expression from him, but he can tell the way you feel by your ministrations against his hand and on his cock. You are desperate for him, one hand clutching his thigh until your nails dig in and leave tiny crescent moon prints behind.

You like to think of his freckles as stars, your marks making him more like the night sky with each grip. You moan as you hold yourself at the base of him, tongue lapping around his length from within your mouth. Your thumb finds a familiar scar on the back of his hand, knuckles marred from battle and bravery.

It’s times like these that you want to cry for him, for what his body has endured. It’s the reason you want to worship every inch of him, to give him what he deserves because god knows the world will never give him back what he’s due. So here you sit, perched in front of him like a little dove, eyes blown to hell and your metaphorical wings spread wide as you take him for all he’s worth.

Izuku can’t take it any longer – the tenderness of your touch mixed with the obedient look in your eyes. It’s all too much, making his head spin at your sincerity.

“C’mere,” he whispers, tugging you by the throat, gently but firmly.

And you follow him, like you would follow him anywhere.

You step forward dumbly, blindly going wherever he tells you. He guides you to the bed, turning you over so your face is pressed into the coolness of the sheets, your bright red cheeks thankful for the change in temperature. You angle your ass upward perfect, round globes ripe for his hands to lay into.

“Such a sloppy little pussy, baby,” he murmurs against the skin of your lower back as he kisses down your spine. His middle finger runs up and down the length of your slit, collecting the silvery strands against his digit, “All this just for me?”

“All for you, Daddy, all for you, promise,” you’re whimpering out, cunt desperately clenched as you try to trap his finger in your heat. “Please, I want you so bad, need your cock, Daddy.”

Izuku pushes his finger into your core, curling it up towards that special spot that it seems only he can find. His finger is thick, knuckle curved in just the right way that it drags along your walls salaciously, eliciting a loud, careening moan from your mouth. You muffle your sounds into the mattress, but Midoriya is having none of that.

He yanks you by the throat, fingers digging deep into your skin until you’re sure that you’ll have bruises, “Nah uh, little one. I want to hear you scream for me.”

Midoriya pumps his finger into you mercilessly, your arousal coating him down to the palm, making your thighs slick. You whimper, your lewd sounds echoing off the walls. You can feel the tip of his cock against your ass, throbbing with heat, and there’s nothing you can do to stop yourself from imagining it in place of his fingers.

“I know you can be louder, slut,” Deku pinches your neck tighter in his grip, “I want the neighbors to know my name when we’re through.”

You try to protest but it’s cut short when his finger rams into you, two knuckles deep, a sharp cry splitting your throat wide open. The sound morphs into a whimper, tears stinging in the corners of your eyes.

Deku leans forward to kiss between your shoulder blades, his voice hoarse with want when he speaks, “That’s my girl. Do it again.”

He relinquishes your throat to start slapping your ass, his eyes unable to fall away from your pretty skin marked red from his ministrations. You grit your teeth together so you can better withstand the pain, giving yourself something else to focus on besides his unrelenting spankings.

“Daddy, harder,” you whine, your ass stinging but not so much that you can’t follow through on your plea.

A dark chuckle reverberates throughout the room, Midoriya’s smirk from earlier returning. If you could see his eyes, you’d notice the way his pupils have completely overtaken his emerald orbs, giving way to the parts of him that want to make you hurt only so he can be the one to soothe you all better.

He indulges you, palm stretched wider so he can land harder smacks to your cheeks. Now he’s got two fingers in you, filling your cunt with his knuckles, the scars against them giving you friction that makes you see stars. He pumps you in time with his spankings, slow but merciless. Deku is careful not to go too far, no matter how difficult that might be with the lust that clouds his vision, painting his sight bright red.

“Good girl,” he rewards you by stopping, grabbing your plush ass in his fingertips, digging blunt nails into your skin so it stings even harsher.

You rut your hips back against his hand at the sudden jolt of pain, tears dripping from your eyelids to the mattress, staining the sheets a darker shade. You whimper, your mind unable to focus on any one stimulation – your ass, your cunt, or your throat.

“You think you’re ready for my cock?” he asks, although you know it to be rhetorical.

You’re nodding your head anyway, desperately begging inaudibly for him to stuff you full, your cunt suffocating around his cock as he pounds into you. Deku slowly drags his hand from your pussy, words dripping just like your core, “What was that, Princess? I couldn’t hear you.”

Now you’re foaming at the mouth to force syllables from between your teeth, blubbering around tears. You sniffle, frustrated with your own headspace and timid with the thought of punishment for not answering quick enough, “Y-Yes, Daddy. I-I’m ready.”

“Hey,” he runs his hand, searing from the spankings, up the length of your spine, fingertips mapping out each vertebra, “you still with me, baby?”

You turn to look over your shoulder when he brushes his thumb over the little blooming bruises on your neck, evidence of his fingers claiming you for his own, “Yeah, I-I’m right here.”

A smile tugs on his lips, his fingers finally pulled from your sopping heat to coat his cock in your slick. You whimper at the loss of contact, cunt fluttering around nothing as you beg for him to fill you up again, any way he chooses.

And he obliges you, bottoming out within the first stroke.

You can’t help it when a fresh set of saltine droplets track down your cheeks, your head thrown back in pleasure as he holds himself steady, his pelvis flush with your ass. It still burns, the stinging of skin-on-skin doing little to quell the ache from his spankings. You lick your lips to try and soothe yourself in some way, your throat already crackling from use.

Licking your lips, you gently move back against him, encouraging him, “Daddy, I want you to fuck me. Please, won’t you fuck me?”

Deku sounds like he’s trying to hold back some sort of salacious sound, a strangled noise caught in his throat like barbed wire. You look back at him, chin pressed against your collarbone. It’s the sight of you that does him in, that wants to claim you for every ounce of what you’ve got to give. He wants to mark your body until there is no color remaining but bright purple and blue and red, bruises and scrapes alike adorning your pretty body, letting the whole world know exactly who you belong to.

The thought of sinking his teeth into every available spot of skin that he can find makes his fingers curl tighter around the supple skin of your thighs until you’re crying out for him. You writhe beneath him as opens his eyes, baring even your soul with his stare. His body squirms as he withstands the desire to launch himself at you, feral and promising with his teeth finding your pristine body and marring it for his own selfish cause.

At least then your bodies would match in their markings.

You’d be his own little galaxy; he muses as his hands massage into your thighs to keep himself busy, so he doesn’t follow through on the yearnings rolling around in his mind. He can see you stood next to him, your body littered in affections – hickeys that are blown out all around your body, little nebulas and planets with their swirling colors of purple and blue; long lines of bright pink scratch marks that streak forward like shooting stars curling around your muscles; pierced tooth marks that scatter across your body like stars.

Even though he’s the Number One Pro Hero, Izuku has never felt so whole until he’s balls deep in your pussy, the tip of him tucked up against your cervix so much so that you swear you feel him in your spine. He takes one palm to gently brush over your stomach, the bulge of his cock making his pride swell almost as much as your belly. You are his whole world, whether or not you are just as bruised and battered as he is. He will bear the burden of the scars if it means he can have you like this forever.

“Take me so well, Princess,” he murmurs into the skin of your shoulders, leaning forward so his chest is pressed flush with your back.

He is hot, but not unbearably so. Almost in a way that reminds you he is still there, an anchor for your soul to latch onto in the darkness of the room, holding you firmly to tether you to this version of reality. You grasp the sheets in your hands, desperate to feel him but unable to from this position, so you settle for the thread count instead.

“Please, Daddy, I want to feel you,” you beg him again, whimpers bubbling up into your chest like champagne bubbles. The effervescent feeling is almost too much, too overwhelming, as it rushes to your head quickly. You have to close your eyes, so you do not get dizzy. You see stars as your lids come down over your pupils and the sight of them reminds you of Izuku’s body. So much so that you want to look up at him again, begging him with your words, “Want to touch you.”

Deku obliges you, slowly pumping his tremoring cock in and out of your heat, coating himself in your slick before twisting your body around so you can peer up at him through half-lidded eyes, “Look at this slutty, sloppy pussy. Such a pathetic little mess for me, aren’t’cha?”

“Yes, Daddy, all for you.” You nod, blinking repeatedly to try and keep your eyesight clear so you can make out his beautiful travesty of a body. Despite the absolute adoration held in your pretty orbs, Deku notices that it is not his face you seek out when you first are turned to look at him, instead your eyes drift to the bared parts of his body that he hates most.

It would seem that each time you find him this way, with your hands mapping out his torso underneath your touch, you find a new part of him, a new marking that you don’t remember being there before. Your breath shudders from your lungs and it feels like thunder erupts in your chest when you breathe, “Please, Daddy.”

You are pouting as you start to run your touch up his arms, starting at his wrists where his palms are pinning your hips into the bed. You swirl your thumbnail around the familiar scars of his hands, those old marks from his time at Yuuei, pushing himself to be the best young hero-in-training there ever was. You recall watching the Sports Festival in his first year, the fight with Todoroki Shouto like a burnt ember settled in the back of your mind. You see the fire and the ice, the shuddering arena shaking with the imminent power of the teenager prodigies.

A hum buzzes in your throat as your fingerprints map out the way to his elbows, finding lengthy scars that make you shudder. Your tongue lolls out against your lips as you wish you could patch his body up with your kiss. You know that he does not marvel at the sight of himself in the same way that you might; you put him up on this pedestal, scars and all, and yet he only sees them as a weakness.

The rough patch of tarnished skin on his right bicep has begun to lose its rigidity as time passes. It was one of his first scars and has been worn down with time. Your hand still finds it, though, even as your eyes are screwed shut and he is angled away from you. It’s like you have a map of his body burned into the back of your eyelids, memorized from all of the times that you’ve fallen apart beneath him or comforted him with your touch.

He is patronizing when he speaks next, eyes blown to hell at the sight of you so far gone for him when he hasn’t even brought you to your first orgasm. He can feel you spasming around him, cunt flexing to try and coax him closer to the edge. He is nowhere near the precipice, holding himself off for your sake, wanton to see you come undone around his cock.

Your pupils try their hardest to focus, begging to be drawn to his bedraggled skin, the stark contrast between tan skin and pale scars heightened even further in your blissed-out state. Your palm flattens against the marking on his bicep, the flayed spot even more expansive than your hand in its entirety. You gasp as he ruts up into you painfully quick, your fingers digging into the rugged flesh, nails biting against the ridges.

When he stills within you, it gives you a moment to slacken your hold and trace the corners of the scar, pretending that he is a patchwork quilt, an antique that you’ll never be able to get enough of. You take a breath and use your free hand to find his chest, a lightning-bolt shaped scar that runs from his collarbone down until it fizzles out into a small scratch near where his taut pectorals meet.

Midoriya trails his thumb downward to your clit, brushing the rough pad of his finger against your sensitive bud. You mewl into the mattress, face turning sideways into the pillow as you no longer are able to hold yourself upright. You beg him to fuck you harder, faster, with something more that you know he has not given you yet.

“What do you want, baby girl? Tell Daddy exactly what you want me to do to this pathetic, slutty little pussy.”

You gasp out words, but he cannot make sense of them as they’re lost in the fabric of the sheets. He slams into you once before dragging his cock outward, slowly skimming the tip between your folds, “Louder. Or else I’m spanking you again.”

He thinks for a moment, tilting his head to consider you as he looks down his nose at you, “And I’m flipping you back over.”

“N-No, please, wanna-” You are begging for breath, your inflamed lungs burning with the lack of oxygen, and you can’t make syllables coherent enough for him to understand. You whimper, squeezing your eyes closed as the brunt of his hand comes down hard over your ass repeatedly until you’re screaming.

Izuku is holding you by the ass, both hands dug deep into the plush skin, “Did I fucking stutter?”

You are able to behold one last gaze of his ethereal body, skin marked like the night sky, before he has you with your face dug into the pillow, his cock and hips jackhammering into you from behind. He does not give you but a moment to breath, the fabric of the pillow stuffing your throat as you try to inhale through your mouth. You cough and it causes your cunt to squeeze around his dick. Deku stutters forward, a choking sound echoing in the back of his throat.

“Holy hell,” he mutters, leaning forward to drape himself across your back, reaching around with his hands to pinch at your nipples. “So fuckin’ tight, little one. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”

You whimper out something that sounds like a response, so he takes the lead and starts rutting into you again, the obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing off of the walls. You can’t help the drool that spills from your tongue, wetting the sheets and sticking to your chin. You’re practically in tears as he abuses your pussy with his cock, it only growing as you feel the buildup of his power starting to swell from within him.

The air turns electric, but not nearly hot enough for you to know that he’s turned his quirk on. You force a glance over your shoulder, mewling out something that sounds like a pleading cry for him to turn you back so you can gaze up at him again.

“But I like taking you like this, Princess,” Izuku runs his thumbs over your ass, using the cusp of his power to strike small lightning bolts of seafoam color against the skin of your backside. You jolt at the pain, bucking your hips back into him and he moans, “There you go, baby.”

You whine, curling your toes against his hips from your position. He chuckles at the sign of desperation, sweat glistening down your back from exertion. His hips slam forward again, and you’re sure he’s bruised your cervix this time with how deep he has buried himself into you. There are ridges of scar tissue around his hip bones that you can feel even as he fucks into you from behind, the raised skin making your ass burn from where he has slapped you with the strength of his quirk.

“Daddy, I wanna,” you are panting like a puppy into the sheets, your pussy dripping onto the mattress beneath you. You huff out a breath and squeal when he splits your pussy open again with a particularly rough thrust forward, “Daddy!”

Deku pinches your backside with both hands, the biting touch of pain making your eyes water until tears are coating your lashes and staining the pillowcase, “What, huh? What more do you want, Princess?”

You know that Izuku is a sucker for your needs. If you whine hard enough, he’ll give you anything you want. So, with that in mind, you pout to give your demeanor an even more innocent aspect, “I-I wanna kiss you, p-please.”

As expected, he stills his hips from where he is bruising your ass with his scars and bones alike. You wonder for a moment if the imprint of his marred skin will leave an impression on you if you could carry around a little piece of him always.

However, this time when he yanks himself from you, a squelching sound echoes throughout the room in tandem with your mewling whine at the loss of heat, and he does not reenter you immediately. You are about to stutter out something akin to a protest, but you feel his fingertips dip into your sides and instead you let loose a yelp.

Deku takes you by the hips, easily yanking you upward and flipping you around so your back is flush with the mattress, the sweat on your spine making the sheets stick to you. Your eyes are wide, hands gripping into his marred biceps like claws sinking into his skin.

“What?” he is smirking as he nudges his nose against yours, the heat of his cock pressed into your folds but not penetrating just yet. “I like this angle better.”

He nips at your skin before pulling himself back, his hand groping your breast with purpose. He is tweaking your nipple under his touch while his other hand runs his cock against your slick heat, teasing you mercilessly. He watches the lips of your pussy tense when he gets close, wavering at the anticipation of his cock dredging into you with force.

“Plus,” Deku tilts his head, palm reaching up from your chest to grab your face between his fingers, “you never answered me.”

His thumb finds your clit again, dick teasing you by resting between your thighs, throbbing and dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his pre. His fingers are intense as they squeeze your cheeks together, lips ballooned out pertly. Deku chuckles at the sight of you, red in the face and begging him for more with the subtlety of your eyes.

Something twinges within him as he can’t keep your focus on his eyes, but rather on his body. He should feel pride swell in his chest at your adoration of his finely tuned body from years of hard work, but he knows that you are focused on the scars of his body and it gives him a sour taste in his mouth.

The thoughts in his mind flee from your pert chest and smooth stomach and instead he wonders what it is about his skin that you find so enticing. You run your fingertips over each ridged scar, finding the different colors of worn skin beneath the pads of your hands, showing them immense affection with just a gentle touch. His whole body shudders at the feel of you appreciating him with massaging motions and tracing, but he wants to ask you the questions he’s been begging silently for months, years even.

You are trying to form words, but the only thing coming from your mouth is spittle, drool seeping through the cracks of your lips until it coats your chin, cool beneath the air conditioning. Slowly your eyes roll forward so you can look into his darkened pupils, the middle of his irises resembling the darkest beauty marks that he has littered throughout his body. You smile at the sight of his intense irises seeking you out.

Midoriya laughs as the heel of his hand sops it up, smearing it back against your lips before cleaning his palm on the bed sheets. He leans forward, his cock sheathed fully within you as he grows closer to your face. Your palm reaches out to cup his jaw, the tips of your fingers finding the familiar pale lines of his skin to trace like it were a nervous tick.

“C’mon, now,” he kisses your nose, an innocent gesture in stark contrast to the intense motions he’s administering to your clit. “Tell Daddy.”

Your mouth splits wide open with the three words, a confession you know that he’s heard you utter before, but it does not come any less lascivious from your lips the more you beg, “One for All.”

He does not respond immediately, pupils dilated as he glances down at you. Your body squirms beneath his lack of movement, begging for some sort of friction on any part of you. The skin of your ass tingles as he presses you down firmer into the mattress, and you want to cry out but all you can blubber is those three words, again and again, as you plead for him to use his quirk on you.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you swear to him, nodding your head enthusiastically, “I want it so bad, Daddy, please, I want you to-”

Your begging is cut short by a sizzling in the air, the familiar popping of his quirk activating making your skin pebble with goosebumps. Your mouth runs dry at the sight of his skin lighting up with those familiar red lines, power coursing through his veins and making his hair stand on end.

Reaching up, you run your fingers through it, nails scraping at his scalp so you can feel the heat of his energy sparking against your fingertips. You arch your back upward to try and catch some of the wayward sparks, the salacious stinging of your skin only furthering the copious amount of slick between your thighs.

Deku tilts his head up to look you in the eyes, pupils shrunken down so his sea green irises can shine bright, glowing in the darkness of your bedroom. The entire room is aglow with his power, the very strength and resilience that has allowed him to build up so much intensity a conduit for your pleasure. His cock pulses against your thighs and you find yourself clenching around him, your body begging for him to stay close, too frightened at what might happen if he were to pull away.

“This what you wanted?”

His voice is deeper now, a rumbling timbre in his chest that makes your toes curl. You are panting at the expectancy of it all, sweat trickling down your temples and spine from the sudden change in temperature. The heat rises the longer he uses his quirk, so much so that you wonder if you could burn from it. The thought excites you, lights up your eyes until you cannot hold it in anymore.

You lean forward to kiss him on the mouth, slotting your lips between his. Pops of electricity stem from his entire body, sparking in midair before fizzling out with a gentle wash of ash. Deku licks at the seam of your lips, pressing his tongue between your teeth to map out every bump of your gums.

“Please,” you whimper against his tongue, “fuck me, hero.”

You have no more than spoken the words when his cock slips into your heat, coated with your arousal as quickly as he can rut forward. He grits his teeth to keep his composure, body trying to crumble between the use of his quirk and the feel of your tight cunt. You can’t help but notice the way he stretches you out even more so now than before, and you know that it’s in part to the fact that his girth has widened even further after he’s summoned his dormant power.

Deku reaches forward to press his glowing palm to your chest, rolling the bud of your breast between his fingertips as he starts to fuck into you. Your body is racked with effort, practically a ragdoll beneath him, all weak joints and jellied bones. And yet he is as powerful as ever between his mouth and his hands and his dick, every part of him built for your utmost undoing.

Lines of electricity fly from his body, bright green lightning strikes making the air pop all around you. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth when the first one stings your skin, lighting up the room in a flash of intense voltage. Izuku pauses, his hips stilling, “Baby?”

“Again,” you are panting, eyes half-closed as you revel in the pleasure from the shockwave. “Please.”

Deku has to focus on the electric side-effect of his quirk, closing his eyes so he can control the power radiating from his body. He starts to roll his hips into you slowly, once he feels settled with the coursing energy brought on by One for All.

You peel your lids back so you can watch as energy rushes through his frame, lighting up his body in such a way that reminds you of the pure power that he keeps hidden from the world most of the day. The light coursing just beneath his skin only serves to further draw out the beauty of his marred skin. His freckles are stars painted against the bright red and green patterns of electricity surging around his body like lightning bolts. You reach up to brush your thumbs against the apples of his cheeks, sucking in a breath at the sheer heat he’s radiating.

The reality that you have the very universe under your touch does not go unnoticed by you. You marvel at the constellations splayed out before you on his skin, giving you a small drop of the milky way right here in your home. It is overwhelming, the thought of it all dizzying as the heat thuds against the back of your eyes. And despite the boulder that sits on your shoulders at the burden of having to hold up his universe, you feel a jolt of exhilaration with the responsibility settling in your belly. You will be the one who he can crumble into when he’s tired of shining out for everyone else.

After all, a star can only be born after a nebula collapses.

Deku’s arms are strong around you as he holds you in place, cock sliding deep into your heated core, collecting your slick and his pre for easier lubrication, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft making you shiver as it drags against your walls. His biceps flex with the use of his quirk and the effort of holding you in midair to keep you snapped up into him and your hands are drawn to his bulging muscles all over again.

There is no doubt that he could keep you safe from any harm – one flick of his fingers, and a villain is rendered to a helpless annoyance.

The notion makes you shiver, reaching your hands up towards his shoulders, caressing his arms to feel the protruding cords of muscle rippling under the stress of his quirk. Your fingerprints find scars, puckered pink and marring his pretty tan skin. Other people might think that these markings make him weak, proving that he is fallible, mortal. But you think that every line on his body is a visible reminder that he has given so much to those who might not ever give it back. He has been beaten, bruised, and broken, and yet here he still stands, tall and proud in the face of danger.

Izuku knows that look in your eyes – wonder, awe, respect.

It swells his pride even further, his chest taut as he puffs himself up at the sight of you with adoration like stars in your irises. His thrusts are more intense now, guiding you closer to the cusp of pleasure, begging your body with the pulse of his cock to come undone.

“I-Izu, please.” You’re pushing your face into the pillow now, the burning hot pool building up steam in your belly becoming too much. He doesn’t even care that you’ve slipped up, not when he’s got you wrapped around him like a coil, working you from the inside out to drag the licentious sounds from your throat.

“Please what, Princess?” His hand sparks electricity around your chest, your nipple now pert with the fizzle of electricity as it creeps beneath your skin and into your veins. “Look at me, c’mon.”

He smacks the side of your breast, watching as the round flesh ripples under his ministrations. He breathes heavy, his chest inflating rapidly as his hips drill mercilessly into you. You clamp around him, quietly pleading with him to stay buried to the hilt so you.

When you don’t respond by turning your head, Midoriya grabs you by the cheeks, dominantly forcing your vision back to him. He’s almost regretful when you whimper, a shining trail of drool spilling from your mouth to pool into the pillowcase. The damp spot draws his attention and his cock twitches within your pussy, brushing up into your cervix and making you cry out, throat so hoarse that your voice cracks.

Izuku blinks hard, pulling his eyes away from the dark circle on the pillow to focus on your face, slipping his thumb into your mouth to press down on the center of your tongue. He smirks, his free hand holding you by the ass now, digging blunt nails into your flesh to create a conduit for his electricity to flow straight to your backside.

You whimper around his digit, the sound muffled by his finger, “G-Gonna come, Daddy.”

“Are you now?” he asks proudly, tilting his head to consider you. “Did I say you could come?”

You’re shaking your head as he grabs your ass harder, bringing tears to your eyes at the immense pressure combined with the raw feeling from his spankings earlier. As if to challenge you, Deku starts jutting forward, driving your hips deeper into the mattress until you feel like you might fall through.

The use of his quirk makes him so much stronger, his corded body trying to restrain from using its full power on you, despite calling all of it forward. He grits his teeth down so hard that you think you hear his jaw creaking, but you hardly have time to notice before you’re having to ward off your own pleasure. Using every ounce of One for All, Izuku bruises your cervix with the engorged head of his cock, the quirk enlarging every part of him.

You beg him with blurred words and hazy vision, whining and keening, until he’s leaning down close to your face, his hand now moved from your mouth to your throat, wet fingers wrapped around your neck.

“Good girl,” he murmurs with his nose against your cheek, lips dancing along your jawline to place feather light kisses, much in contrast to the otherwise bludgeoning intensity of the rest of his ministrations. “Such a pretty little thing.”

Your eyes find his face as he leans back to look down at you, the freckles dusted over his cheeks stark beneath his bright red streaks symbolizing the use of his quirk. You reach upward to tuck your palm against his cheek, cupping the skin burning hot with the coursing energy of his power. Your thumb brushes over the roundest part of his face and his eyes shudder closed at the feeling.

He kisses your wrist, bottoming out into your cunt with a harsh thrust forward. Deku turns his gaze to you, electric irises finding your soul through way of your pupils, “You gonna come when I tell you?”

“Yes, yes,” you’re practically foaming at the mouth, little spit bubbles at the corners of your lips at the thought of coming around his cock, your arousal mixed with his seed as he fills your core with his come. “Please, Daddy, I wanna come for you.”

Izuku nods, kissing your wrist again before falling back on his thick legs to grab you by the thighs, lifting you up off the mattress. It is just a display of his strength, his biceps bulging with effort, but it does what he intends for it to do when he feels your dripping arousal slipping from your slit down to drip onto the mattress.

“Fuck, look at your sloppy little pussy, Princess,” Deku moans at the sight of your silvery slick pouring out of you. He runs his thumb against the curve of your backside to catch what he can, running it over your clit before sucking his digit between his teeth.

Using his damp fingertip, Izuku begins to work at your clit, his other hand still pinning your thighs up in midair. He licks his lips at the sight of you on the cusp of pleasure, your body begging to come undone with the way your pussy clamps around his cock.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes you with a kind voice, electric pops crackling in the air like fireworks. “Come for me.”

You quit holding back, letting your body rush with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure. Every part of you is on fire, from his touch mixed with the searing heat of his body and the green lightning that strikes your body to leave tiny pink pucker marks. The sight of you marked up by his teeth and tongue and quirk bring him to his own heightened arousal, unable to hold back when he feels you gush with come from within the confine of your walls.

The glowing iridescent light making the room fluorescent fades into the dark with every spurt of his come into your cunt until he is no longer using One for All.

“Good girl,” he kisses your cheek, “now let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

You’re not sure what flips the switch within you – whether it’s the tight look of his uniform showing off the peaked buds of his nipples and the engorged head of his cock, or if it’s the blush on his freckled cheeks, making him look so much younger than the twenty plus years old he is now.

Whatever it is, it makes your mouth water and your fingertips buzz.

“Bedroom. Now.”

“B-But, the pad tha-”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Izuku’s thighs spasm at the authoritative tone of your voice and suddenly he feels about two inches tall despite towering over you no matter the situation. He tucks his head downward as he walks past you, down the hall towards the bedroom the two of you now share. Usually he is the one speaking those words as he stands over the top of you, his hand stinging red from spanking your ass as he orders you around, but the way they sound from your tone of voice makes his entire body quake.

The soft click of the door as it slips shut makes goosebumps rise on his skin, the stubbled hair on the back of his neck standing as upright as possible. There is a grunt from your mouth and a shuffling of your feet on the carpet as you kick off your shoes.

“B-Baby, I-”

Somehow you have shoved your foot into the crook of his knee, toppling him over onto the bed so he’s face first into the mattress, his ass perked upward as he tries to balance himself so he does not fall over. The globes of his backside are stretched tight within the spandex of his uniform, and you know the beautiful expanses of freckled skin that lay beneath the material.

Izuku looks over his shoulder, attempting to protest or ask you what is wrong, but you don’t want to hear it, so you lean forward and press your palm against his cheek, “You don’t speak unless spoken to, do you understand?”

He’s whimpering under your harsh touch, but the way his pupils dilate tells you that he’s enjoying it at least enough to test it out. You shove yourself backward, centered between his ass cheeks as your knees dig into the edge of the mattress. The tips of your fingernails run over the plush flesh of his backside, digging in to make him gasp and writhe beneath you.

Your heart hammers in your chest at seeing the up and coming Pro Hero wriggling like a frightened animal under your ministrations, and you’ve barely laid a hand on him yet. You run your knuckle up his spine, “Take your top off.”

The way he balances his head on the mattress and grapples with his shirt in an attempt to take it off is almost comical, so you crack a smile, thankful that he can’t see you. You lick your lips and drag your hand back down his back to rest at the base of his spine as he scrambles to take the shirt off, but he’s too flustered and it ends up bunched up around his neck and shoulders.

Finally, he gets so frustrated that he rips the fabric in half, shreds of thread falling against his skin and the sheets. You feel heat flood to your core, your spine white hot within your body, the tingles of heat spreading from the center of you outward until your fingertips and toes are blazing with fire.

You hum in appreciation at the sight of his rippling shoulders and trap muscles, his body shifting to dip back into the mattress, balancing all of his weight on his forearms as he leans forward. Your touch drifts from his shoulders to his obliques, the bumps of muscle corded beneath your digits. You watch as his body ripples with a shiver, every one of his muscles tensing as your fingers pad over his freckles, finding patches of darker skin to administer affection to.

It must be the pure anticipation that has his frame tense and quivering, the smallest of muscles twitching as you work your hands around his body. You settle your palms at his hips, flattening your hand against the expanse of skin at the center of his torso, “Baby, relax.”

You lean forward and kiss the dense smattering of freckles between his shoulder blades, “Now be a good little hero and take off your pants.”

The way you say it sends another wave of pleasure straight to his cock, the already throbbing organ about ready to bust from arousal and you haven’t even disrobed him yet.

Your feet pad against the carpet as you find your way to the edge of the bed, stripping out of your outerwear until you’re left in only a dark lace set, the filigree bringing out the beauty of your skin. Izuku goes dumb at the sight, turning his head just enough to get an eyeful of your chest area. His eyes about bug out of his head, wide and blown with lust as his tongue lolls over his lips, dripping a silvery string of drool onto the bed sheets.

“C’mon, Deku,” you force the word to come out in a patronizing tone, “strip for me.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing, but somehow manages to push through the aroused haze clouding his judgment to wriggle himself out of his tight-fitting hero suit. The bright green fabric is left in a pool on the floor, tattered clothes just the start of your destruction.

The head of his cock is bright red and there is a part of you that falters, wanting to beg him to take control and absolutely demolish your pussy with his harsh, controlling movements and his filthy mouth. It lasts but a moment, and yet he can still see it. There is a shift in his eyes, the way he considers you, and he leans forward to say something, but you’re grabbing him by the face, cheeks between your fingers, before he can speak.

“Roll over.”

Izuku does as told with little hesitation, flopping his shoulders around so his ass is once again in the air, primes and ready for your palm to lavish with spankings. Your breath shudders from your lungs and you lock your thighs in place by tensing them, centering yourself between his knees. The balls of his heels come into contact with your hips as he sways slightly, his mind dizzy from the promise of pleasure.

“How many?” you ask, your voice low and sultry, surprising even you with the depth of it.

A choking noise can be heard, but it’s muffled by the pillow. You chuckle, patting his ass prospectively, feeling the flesh ripple beneath your complacent prodding. Dipping forward, your chest falls flush with his back as you press feathery kisses over his midsection, finding the freckles like little gold pieces, adding each one to your treasure chest as you kiss it.

Izuku manages to spit out a number, something reasonable, and so you add a few more on top of it in your mind, smirking even though he cannot see you. You run the pads of your fingers down from the tops of his shoulders to the globes of his ass, the perky, round muscles making your stomach flip. You can’t wait to see the way his bruised ass mixed with the dark brown freckles of his skin – how beautiful the colors will be, how it might actually look more like a galaxy with shades of purple and blue as an accent to the brunette freckles dotting his skin like the night sky currently.

You reach your hands back and start to lay into him, counting the spankings in your head without keeping track of them aloud. You stop after you’re satisfied with his whimpering cries, his face buried deeper into the pillow with each endearing smack.

An errant thought crosses your mind and you can’t help but to dwell on it. If Izuku is already blubbering, how much farther can you take this before he’s crying into the pillow? The idea that you can bring one of the strongest men in the world to tears sets off a string of dynamite in your heart, the fuse triggering something akin to pride in your chest. You feel your whole body swell at the thought and you know that you must make it a reality tonight.

“How many was that?” you ask patronizingly, digging your nails into his ass to hear him squeak.

Your hands are already raw, burning at the feel of slapping his muscled backside repeatedly. Still, you knead your hands into him to elicit a pained whine. He writhes under you, his hands curling around the sheets until they’re beginning to rip under his tight grip.

“I-I dunno,” he blurts, a curt sob breaking his words. “I’m sorry!”

You chuckle and it comes out much darker than you originally intended. You release his ass, the thick of it jiggling as you let go. The pads of your fingers are gentle as you wash your touch over him, appreciating the way the redness of his freshly spanked cheeks brings out the deep color of his freckles, the splotches even more prevalent now that his body has been momentarily abused.

“Oh, you’re gonna be sorry, baby,” you kiss each of his ass cheeks, flicking your tongue out to tease the heated skin, “you better start counting.”

Just as you punctuate your sentence with a sigh, your hands begin to strike him repeatedly. You struggle to keep count, desperately wanting to listen to his moans and whimpers as he gasps, mewling with both pain and pleasure as you lay into his backside. Midoriya is already misty-eyed, the feel of your domineering touch just enough to bring him to a subservient headspace, his spirit wallowing in the pain that your hands are doling out.

You barely have time to stop before he’s blurting out the number that matches the one you’ve counted. You smirk, leaning forward so your nipples scrape against his skin, “Good job, baby.”

The heels of your palms are what is stinging the most, so you can only imagine how his ass feels. You have a momentary relapse in thought, wondering if maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, if maybe you’re going to push him to an edge he can’t come back from.

Although, when too much silence has passed and he is turning to gaze up at you over his shoulder, every inhibition you have flies directly out of the room through the crack in the door. His eyes are blitzed, lust making his pupils swallow the color of his irises, forehead crinkled in desperation as he attempts to form words to beg you back to him.

You rub at the pert skin, brushing your thumbs over the smattering of freckles on the roundest parts of his ass. Deku is whimpering beneath you, calf muscles fully flexed as he rocks back and forth in anticipation of your next slap.

“Such a good little hero,” you murmur, massaging your hands into his glute muscles. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Izuku whines, toes curling up beside your hips. He huffs but you can’t see his face to notice how fucked-out his eyes have become. You dig your fingernails into the flesh of his ass, and he preens, eyes bulging out of their sockets at the sudden stinging sensation.

You answer him with a resounding smack on his backside, making sure that your fingertips are curved just right, along with your palm, to make it sound much worse than it truly is, praying that you can manipulate his mind into believing that you’ve marked him for longer than a few moments.

The way the freckles on his skin trail from the top of his body to the bottom is nothing short of enticing. It brings about a certain innocence to him, something hidden that only you are allowed to know of. Your eyes can’t stop trying to put together a map of his body, begging to know just where the freckles begin and end. He is littered with them, his body darkening from time spent in the sun.

“P-Please,” his whole body is convulsing in pleasure. You can see his cock throbbing between his thighs and the mattress, his balls weighty with the impending excitement of his release. The bedsheet have a damp spot near the tip of his cock, most likely from his pre dripping at the sudden shakes of his body from your spankings, “I-I want more, Princess. Please!”

You smirk, hand hot from repeated spankings, “What’s your number?”

Deku pants, digging his nose into the mattress as if that might save him from having to answer. His hands are clamped around the sheets, nails threatening to rip into the thread count mercilessly, “I-I dunno, I don’t know!”

Your hand comes down over his ass repeatedly, unrelenting in your ministrations as you mark his backside bright red. You know that there will be little busted blood vessels to mix along with his freckled skin, purple lightning strikes that serve as a reminder to the way you broke down his resolve and conquered his body.

“P-Princess,” he whines, voice cracking in the midst of his sentence as he tries to beg for repentance, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

You curve your fingernails into his skin, uncaring to the way his body fully tenses, dips and curves of muscle and sinew on full display as he lays completely bare against the mattress. You want to strew yourself across him to feel the ripples of his muscles as he tenses under your touch, to know the reactions of his body as they are happening firsthand. A chill tremors down your spine at the thought of him, all dense and thick beneath you, and how you have complete and utter control over him. You hold his pleasure in your hands, he’s entrusted himself to you in this very vulnerable situation, and the reality of it almost brings tears to your eyes.

Instead you focus your energy into snarling around your teeth, sneering his name like slander, “C’mon, Deku, be a good little bitch and tell me what you think you can handle.”

He is verbally silent, the only thing you can make out from his face smushed into the sheets is mewling whimpers to match the way his body quivers. You teasingly stroke your thumbnail over the blushed skin of his backside, bouncing your touch from freckle-to-freckle as you scrape your nails into him.

Another couple of seconds pass by before you snatch your hand from his ass so you can slap him again when he spurts out an answer, “Th-Thirty!”

“Fifty it is,” you chuff, digging your fingertips into his buttocks in a massaging motion, preparing him for the next round of spankings. He pants, rutting his hips forward into the mattress for some sort of friction against his throbbing erection, balls weighty with his release as they slap between his legs.

You tap his hip, letting him know that you want him to readjust himself. Izuku bends at the waist, seething as the bruised skin of his bottom stretches with the motion. You resituate yourself between his knees, ass directly in front of your face. A gentle kiss is pressed to either of his cheeks, eyelashes daintily brushing over his throbbing flesh, and he jolts his hips back into you until your teeth graze his skin.

“Eager little thing,” you tut your tongue, grabbing him harshly by the hips.

You selfishly want to mark him up, to remind the world that he belongs to you no matter how much of himself he gives away every other moment of his life. When the sun goes down, when the bright sky bleeds into the night, he comes home to you and the both of you fall asleep under the stars, wrapped in one another’s arms.

Izuku’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, sweat dripping down his spine as you press up into him, “Such a slut for me, huh, honey?”

The next time he backs into you, you pinch his ass between your fingers on one side and on the other cheek you bite down hard into his skin. Midoriya bucks forward at the sudden jolt of pain, only worsening the scratches left behind by your canines. He grinds his face into the mattress, pressing the mix of his tears and sweat into the sheets, begging for a cool release from the heat of his body as he searches for it in the mattress. You swear that he sobs into the pillow, begging you for something, but you can’t quite make out all of the syllables.

You line up behind him, your lower abdomen flush with his round, freckled bottom, “You ready, baby?”

“Princess, please,” his voice is hoarse now, all jagged around the edges as he begs you for more, “I-I want you to be rough with me, please? I wan’ you to mark me up.”

On command, your fingernails dig into the flesh at the curves of his shoulders, raking down the length of his back in one elongated swoop. He cries out, throwing his head back so his green curls brush the piques of his shoulders, and he grinds his hips back into you. You can’t help the low growl that claws at your throat as you trail your index finger down over the ghostly sight that your nails have left behind. He seethes through his teeth at the burning sensation lighting his back on fire, but he still does not complain.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you handled, okay?” Your hands find purchase on the curves of his obliques, fingernails burrowing into the taut skin of his abdomen, crescent moon patterns left in the wake of you. “I’m gonna make sure all the other heroes know who you belong to.”

Your name bubbles from his lips, a prayer he’s pushing to the heavens, blessing the stars with his babbling. In the midst of one of his mutterings, you begin your next round of pert spanks to his ass. You give him little reprieve, counting in your head as you go along.

He’s a blubbering mess, all mismatched syllables and grunts and moans tearing his throat apart until he’s crying for you to mark him as yours, to claim him in a way that leaves no question as to who he belongs to. The echoes of please, please, please bounce off every wall, a cacophony of sound making the hair on your neck stand erect.

When you finish, your hands are stinging profusely, but you make sure to soothe your palms over his bottom, the flesh bright red and angry. His freckles look even darker now that his skin has been accented with the beginnings of purple bruises and crimson handprints left behind. You coo, leaning forward to kiss the center of his back, pressing your body into him so you’re flush with every inch of him that you can find, “What do you say, pretty boy?”

When Midoriya turns to look at you over his shoulder, his eyes blissed-out so his pupils swallow his viridescent irises whole, he gargles the words, “thank you,” in a cracked whisper. You nod, trailing a row over kisses down the dip of his spine, nudging your nose over his muscled body, silently telling him to relax.

“You want more?” you ask him quietly, your hands digging into any surface of him that you can find to try and release some of the tension built up from the time spent together. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Please, Princess, please,” he’s blubbering out the words, thick and heavy with the emotion pent-up in his throat, “I just wan’ be good for you, whatever you want.”

You tilt your head, brows furrowing in playful contemplation, “Whatever I want, huh?”

He’s nodding ferociously, his chin knocking into his chest with his enthusiastic actions. You know part of it is to make up for the lack of words that he can’t force through his teeth, so you merely chuckle and give him one final spank to his backside, “Roll over then.”

The speed with which he fumbles into rolling over onto his back is comical. You watch as a flurry of limbs wind together only to come apart again when he’s on his back. Izuku is wincing, the glassiness in his eyes reminiscent of tears and he’s trying his hardest to come across like he’s not in pain, although you see the way that he favors putting more of his weight on his shoulders instead of his ass so he’s bent at an odd angle.

“Whatever you want,” he is gasping the words out, puffs of exaggerated but necessary breath forcing his cheeks to inflate. “I’m yours.”

The words make your whole body puff up, heat starting in your core and creating steam that rises from your esophagus to your brain. It becomes muddled and you’re hazy now, drunk off of the power that he has given you with those five words. You reach forward and slide your thumb against his piqued nipple, licking your lips as you think of what you’re going to do to him not that you have him to use however you please.

“All mine?” you ask, your voice grating against the front of your throat harshly. You hum, “What do you want me to do to you then, baby?”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose now, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, “I w-want you to use me, please, Princess, want you to use my pathetic cock to make yourself feel good.”

You reach forward and guide his scarred hand towards your cunt, “Touch me.”

Izuku is eager to please, so he’s fumbling forward until his thumb finds your clit, ministrations errant and disastrous. It’s adorable, really, the enthusiasm with which he seeks you out only doing further service to your ego. You feel your head grow dizzier as your core turns with tumultuous heat. You know that you do not want to drag this out too far as you already can feel the twitch of an impending crest of pleasure building from within you.

His thick finger slides up into your heated core and it takes all of your self-restraint to keep your moans between your teeth, holding the sounds captive like they might tell all of your secrets if you let them loose. You bite your lip, sucking the skin into the bite of your teeth, tilting your head back so you can close your eyes and enjoy the pleasure as it comes.

“Maybe if you touch me just right, I’ll let you feel my pussy on your cock, huh?” You have to face him, have to see his reaction, “How does that sound?”

Midoriya is bobbing his head, agreeing to whatever words you’re speaking, he can’t quite make out any one syllable with the way his brain is drowning with the sight of you straddling him. He’s not sure what it is about you, but he absolutely adores the idea of you holding your own against him, wrapping your body around him and denying him of whatever control he normally possesses.

And maybe that is what gets you wet too, because you know that he could fling you off of him with a simple flick of his wrist, and yet here he is, letting you demolish every last shred of his self-respect.

You can’t help it, with the way he’s already beginning to drool and the sight of his eyes drinking in your semi-naked body, you have to feel the soft heat of his mouth around your fingers. It is too quick, the way you jolt forward and press the pads of your digits against his soft mouth. He moans, realizing just what you’re trying to do because he’s done it countless times himself, and opens his mouth wide.

Your fingers slip inside the seeping heat of his tongue and cheeks, the muscle lapping at your digits until they’re soaked and knuckle deep. You lean down so you are but inches from his face, the squelching sounds that your pussy and his mouth make together doing little to still the erection pressed against your ass from behind and the absolute waterfall between your thighs.

Every muscle in your body is screaming at you to sink down on top of his twitching cock and let him have his way with you, to rock yourself along his length until you’re both finding that beautiful high together. But you know that if you wait, if you drag this out and force him to bend to your will, then it will bring you both to your knees.

“So pretty with my fingers in your mouth, Izu,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth.

He attempts feebly to kiss you, turning his head, but your fingers catch on the corners of his lips and stretch the pink skin until it is pale. Your eyes flicker toward the bow of his mouth where a thin, white scar resides. You remember seeing this one when you first kissed him, and the memory of it makes you nostalgic, the years you’ve spent together built up much like his scars.

You lick a warm stripe up the column of his neck, feeling the muscles and veins throb underneath your ministrations. The heat of your breath combined with the slick of your spit makes Deku’s hips jut upward, his balls slapping loudly against your ass as he ruts into you painfully.

“Did I say you could move?” You are leant back now, your fingers still in his mouth but otherwise you are parted from him. Deku’s face pales, eyes widening in fear as he shakes his head, apologies tumbling in tandem with his spit from his lips, drool seeping down his chin until it is shiny.

The heel of your palm comes underneath his chin, so you have your hand wrapped around the lower part of his mouth, controlling his head with the simple turn of your wrist. You tilt his head upward so he can no longer see you, and pick up your hips to reposition yourself so you are hovering above him, just enough so you can start to tease the head of his cock against your slick slit.

He’s whimpering, “Please, Princess. I wanna touch you so bad, please, I wanna make you feel good.”

You let him beg for you, pumping your hand up and down his cock while you brush the angry red head over the gathering silver slick at your entrance.  You chuckle as his hips shuffle in the slightest, his discomfort obvious as he is practically vibrating with the desire to take over.

“What is it, baby? Eager?” You sink yourself down far enough to take the head of his cock within your walls, clamping down hard enough to make him whine. “I can’t wait to fuck myself on this pathetic little cock, Izu. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow.”

Another round of blathering drivel is boasted into the air, his words muffled by your fingers, but he still forces them out, nonetheless. His tongue continues to curl around your knuckles and lavish the pads of your digits, sucking on them in between heaving breaths. You let a small moan shake your throat, rolling your hips forward to take another bit of his dick but not all of it, not yet. The enjoyment you’re getting from his stuttering whimpers and moans only heightening your senses and arousal.

“Princess, please, I-I think I’m gonna-” An aborted rut of his hips dies when you rake your nails down the entirety of his chest. Your fingers catch on the rigid edges of some of his scars, but otherwise you turn lines of his tanned flesh red from your scratching.

Izuku whimpers, his body arching upward as he tries to take it all in stride. In doing so, he sheathes his cock completely within you, the base of his shaft now flush with your lips. You cry out at the sudden stretch, throwing your head back in pleasure as a wave of white-hot arousal makes your thighs glossy with a new wash of slick.

When you come to, you lean forward to place a palm on either side of his head, holding yourself up so you are loitering over him like a shadow, praying that you are as every bit as menacing as you’re attempting to be. You grit your teeth and roll your hips several times, unbending to even his hands on your body, relentlessly fucking his cock until he’s screaming for you to stop.

“C’mon, little hero, I thought you’d be better than this,” you take his earlobe between your teeth and tug, “I thought you’d have more will power. You’ll never be number one if you can’t even last this long beneath me.”

Izuku shakes his head, “I-I can, I can do it, I-I promise. Please, just let-”

“I don’t think you understand,” your voice is low, menacing as you nudge your nose against the bridge of his face, nuzzling the freckled skin. The intimate act is far more tender than your tone, and it gives Izuku chills that you can display such dual sides of yourself simultaneously. “I’m not letting you do anything.”

His eyes go wide as he realizes that there is nothing that he can do to change your mind, at least not in this setting. Deku’s hands still on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circular motions into your skin in a way that seems to be grounding him as much as it is stimulating you. You press a chaste kiss to his mouth before beginning to snap your hips upward and then back down onto his cock, clamping your walls around him when you feel the head of him press into that spongy spot hidden all the way in the back of your core.

You kiss all over his neck, finding clumps of freckles and stranded singular ones, lavishing the same amount of affection over each of them. Your mouth finds scars, both tiny, hairline fractures in the marble of his skin, as well as large, patchy ones that mar large splotches of his skin.

Even in these moments when you are the one doling out commands, you still find ways to appreciate his body. Your touch roams along the dips and contours of his torso, the rough ridges of your fingerprints searching for the matching ragged lines on his skin. You sigh into his throat and he slips a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, begging for you to come undone around his cock, praying that you’ll let him please you.

One of your hands wraps around his throat until you hear him choke, and then you speed up the pace of your hips until he’s begging through wheezes for you to relent. You lean back and he hikes up his legs so you can rest against his thighs, your body on full display in front of him. His eyes do not know where to land and neither do yours as you map out the various textures and colors of his skin – from the pale lightning strikes of his scars to the darker scattered splotches of freckles.

Izuku Midoriya is a vessel for the travesties of the world.

But you will spend the rest of your life trying to make up for its mistakes.

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One day it slips.

You don’t think much of it, because in the heat of the moment, with him buried at the hilt and you crying for release, the words don’t stick out very starkly against the other filth spewing from either of your mouths.

“Gonna stuff that pretty pussy full of my come, baby,” he bites your earlobe as he ruts into you mercilessly, “You’re gonna be so round and full of me.”

At the time, you thought he meant that you would be full of his cock and come, but after he starts to show particular attention to your stomach during sex, you wonder if there’s something else going on.

When he has you beneath him the next time, you drag his palm to your belly and look him in the eyes, “I want you.”

His freckles burn beneath his blush, much starker against his tanned skin thanks to the flush of warmth. Izuku tilts his head, the dark curls framing his forehead bobbing with the motion, “You have me, baby.”

You shake your head and whine at the lack of contact once he’s stilled. You bite your lip and push the heel of his palm into the gentle swell of your belly beneath your navel. He swallows, gulping so hard that his throat bobs. You lick your lips and take a short breath as he shifts above you, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of your body.

“I want you to come in me,” you murmur, tugging him downward with the gentle grip of your hand on his neck. You kiss him square on the mouth and his fingers reach to find your folds, middle and index finger parting you so they can slip inside to curl against your heat. You whine, the sound amplified as his tongue searches your teeth, “P-Please, Izu.”

Midoriya’s fingers thrust forward in you so intensely that he can feel his fingertips bulging your belly with the palm that’s pressed against your navel. His eyes widen at the sensation and it only spurs him into kissing you more fervently, teeth and tongue clashing as he tries to overwhelm every sense you possess.

You protest as he pulls his fingers from you, your eyes screwed shut as you whine. He tuts his tongue against his teeth, nudging his nose along the curve of your jaw as he places biting kisses along the bone, “Hush. Do you really think I won’t give you what you need?”

The authoritative tone in his voice brings you to silence, eyelids fluttering open so you can look him in the eyes as he leans back to balance himself on his thick thighs. Your touch is pulled from him as he goes further away, your fingers aching in midair for something to ground yourself with. Otherwise you just feel like you’re going to float away, your mind hazy with the effervescent bubbles of euphoria that travel up from your throat.

Before you have another moment to keen at the loss of his heat, he’s piercing your pussy with the head of his cock, butterflying your lips wide open so he can rut up into you with ease. The combination of his bubbling pre-come and your already slick arousal dripping from your cunt make the slam of his hips easier to take, easier to beg for.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Izuku coos in your ear, dropping his head to your shoulder to suck on the skin of your collarbone.

The jut of his cockhead into your core makes it difficult to think, let alone form fully coherent sentences. Izuku seems to relish in this, though, because he does not slow the drag of his cock or the flow of his words. He continues to goad you into begging for his release, for what you truly want, and it’s maddening. Your eyes cross beneath your lids at the overstimulation of it all until you’re blurting out the first thing on your mind.

“I wan’ you to breed me, Daddy!”

Izuku falters for a moment at the brashness of your words, but you barely have time to feel bashful before he’s rolling his hips again, growling near your ear with a ferocity you’ve never felt from him before.

“That’s my good girl,” he mutters while trailing his lips down to your breast. He lavishes your nipple with the rough pad of his tongue, lapping over the skin carefully so you’re begging him for more. “How am I supposed to breed you, honey? Tell me.”

The patronizing tone of his voice tells you that he knows exactly what you want, but he would rather hear the request coming in the form of panting words and wanton moans from your lips. You sniffle, your eyes watering at the bruising pace he’s setting. His hands drift down the tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing against the innermost part where your skin is the most sensitive. Your cunt clamps down around him, fluttering at the ghostly feel of his tantalizing touch.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unable to think of something to say to fill the void. You bite your lip as his mouth works at your chest, tonguing your nipple before biting at the mound of skin to drive a yelp from your lips. “I want you to c-come in me, Daddy! I want you to stuff me full o-of your come, please!”

He pouts around your nipple, leaving the small space he’s just sucked a hickey into in favor of your pert bud, “I already come in you, baby girl, what do you really want me to do?”

You bite your lip and fist the sheets at your sides when you feel frustration and embarrassment wash over you. Izuku nudges his nose along the swell of your chest before leaning up to kiss your chin, hovering like a menacing shadow. His smile does little to quell the bubbling intensity in your belly.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” he’s gentler now, breaking his more dominating side so he can reassure you, “I know you can. Just tell me what you want.”

The shining in his irises makes your knees weak but bolsters your spine to force you into uttering the next words, no matter how uncomfortable they might sit in your belly. You take a breath and look up into his eyes, “I want you to put a baby in me, Izu.”

“Good girl,” he manages to muster out the words with restraining the growl that aches at the back of his throat.

His hips cant forward, fingertips now just under your knees. Your breath comes in shaking pants, your chest shuddering under your confession. Izuku kisses your cheek and then your nose, positioning his hands while he has you distracted. His mouth ascends down upon your own as his fingers dip into the supple skin and muscle of your thighs, bruising the underside with the ghost of his fingerprints as he pushes your knees back until they’re almost touching your chest or the mattress.

You gulp in pain as his cock stretches you out in a whole new way with your body flayed out like this. You look like a butterfly, your wings spread so he can smother you with his movements. Deku licks at the seam of your lips and you gasp, your mouth parting so he can delve his tongue inside. Your whole body shakes at the intensity of his thrusts, your irises swallowed whole by your pupils as they dilate at the feel of your cunt trying and failing to clamp around his cock to keep him still so you can adjust.

“Say it again,” Deku encourages you, his voice breathless as he ruts you into the mattress.

Your shoulders and the curve of your ass are pressed so deep into the cushion that you swear you might fall through to the floor. You curl your toes and try to angle your hips forward to no avail. He has you fully enraptured in the way he wants, his body practically controlling the movements you’re allowed to make with how he’s pressed and holding onto every part of you.

“I-I want you to put a baby in me, Izuku,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

A pert slap lands on the outside of your thigh and you whimper at the thought you’ve done something wrong. Your eyes water and you look up at him, emerald irises glowering down at you with a mix of primal need and control.

His voice is nothing short of a growl when he commands, “Who am I?”

Your eyes go wide, forehead creasing at the realization of your slip up. You can’t form the words fast enough, scrambling within your subservient brain to find the right phrase. You bite your lip as his hips still upon your silence, practically begging him with your body to keep going.

The echo of another smacking of his palm against your leg resounds in the room, sending a shudder down your spine. A new wave of arousal coats his cock from where he’s buried within you. He smirks, “Such a sloppy pussy, baby girl. You’re so filthy, getting off on me smacking you around.”

He leans close into you, removing one hand from your thigh to frame your face, his thumb dug into the soft flesh beneath your chin so he can force you to look into his eyes. “Now, I’ll say it again, who am I?”

You gulp, your lower lip trembling at the sight of him, and your voice cracks when you speak, “D-Daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

Izuku kisses your bottom lip before showing the same affection to the top. His gentle ministrations are rather contrasting to the way your hips sting with the memory of his spankings. You blink slowly, taking him in from this close angle.

He’s so pretty, you know this even though your mind is hazy with subservient want. His freckles and scars stand out so pertly against his skin, showing you a roadmap to someplace you know you’ll get to someday. You reach up to frame his face with one hand, thumb brushing over the speckled spots along the bridge of his nose and cheek, marveling at the sight of his beauty.

Deku turns his face to kiss your wrist, “What’re you thinking?”

“You’re pretty,” you blurt, voice almost childish in the way you say it with such wonder.

The phrase stills his nose against your palm, his breath hot as it rolls down your wrist and forearm. You feel your pulse beat harshly within your veins at the change in temperature, emotion swelling in your throat until your neck bobs as you try to swallow it.

It’s not the stereotypical compliment that he might receive, however that does not change its weight. Izuku takes a short breath before he begins to kiss down the length of your arm, nuzzling your elbow once he’s pressed there. He looks up into your eyes and the absolute adoration that is settled into your irises, bejeweling them until he is wondering if they might actually be gems, gives him the effervescent sensation all over again.

Pretty.

The word plays on loop in his mind, until he has dissected all six letters of it down to their very essence. The combination of your tone and expression as you admit what’s truly on your mind causes his heart to tear into his rib cage with the speed at which it beats. He breathes in short, heaving gasps, the warmth of his breath spilling over your chest, nipples pebbling beneath him.

If you were to try and pin down his appearance, you might say it were bashful. You have seen several sides to Izuku, but the bright red tinge on his cheeks, creeping up his neck until his ears are burnt with the color, makes him seem much younger, much more innocent. It’s hardly innocent, the way that he’s bludgeoning your cunt with his cock, but you take this moment to remove yourself from that fact entirely, instead focusing on the wobble of his chin and the mist in his eyes.

In addition to the shyness, you also see doubt, conflict.

You push your fingers into the hair behind his ear, beckoning him closer so you can appreciate him closer. Your opposite hand presses against his cheek, the scar that runs along his jaw ragged under your touch. Midoriya’s lips part, the tip of his tongue hidden just behind his teeth.

“Pretty,” he echoes the word, unintentionally, you believe, by the way his face screws up once he realizes he’s said it aloud. Midoriya reels back from you, sitting back on his thighs, the tip of his cock twitching from within your core.

Your face goes bright red at the admission, your hand falling away from his face in shame. You gulp, readying yourself for another smack to your leg in admonishment at your confession. You wince, hiding yourself as best you can with him looking down at you in such an intimidating way by turning your face into the pillow, closing your eyes.

The wait feels like forever, as if he’s going to edge you with anticipation until you’ve gone blue in the face from holding your own breath. He surprises you with a gentle laugh parting his lips, screwing his eyes shut.

You take a chance and open your eyes, blinking slowly so you aren’t shocked at the expression on his face if it contrasts the giggle that sets off another round of arousal between your thighs. You lick your lips and bare your soul when you ask, “Y-You’re laughing?”

“You’re so cute, baby,” Izuku kisses your nose, his grip resetting to your thigh.

The bruising hold he has on you reminds you that even though he might come across as twinkling eyes and a mop of curls, he is the strongest hero alive, and he could crush you like a bug if he truly desired.

He tilts his head, “I think you’re pretty too.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

Izuku furrows his brow and leans back so he can study your face in its entirety, “No, Princess, I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

“I-I just ruined the mood by calling you pretty,” you have the urge to ask him to put his fingers in your mouth just to get you to be quiet. Anything to staunch the flow of these ­superfluous words that won’t stop tumbling from your lips.

His thumb brushes along the curve of your jaw until his fingertip is pressuring your lip to stay open so he can study your teeth and gums, “Nah, you didn’t ruin the mood. Answer me this – who do you belong to?”

Instantly your thighs try to clamp together, knees wobbling at the statement and the firmness in his tone when he says it. You swallow, eyes blown wide, your tongue suddenly becoming very heavy in your own mouth. You want to whine, to cant forward and take as much of him as you can but he has you held still with a palm in the center of your chest, pinning you to the mattress as he waits for his answer.

Your hand covers his own, fingers slipping between his palm and knuckles so you can anchor yourself to him, even in this moment. Your middle and index fingers swipe back and forth over the back of his hand, finding the familiar triangular scars and tracing over them with purpose. They ground you, somehow, when your mind starts to flutter off into this subservient space and you can’t feel anything from your knees down.

“Y-You,” you manage to stutter, thighs wobbling with the stress of pinning him between your knees. Your eyelids prick with tears from the embarrassment you felt earlier, and Izuku tuts his tongue against his teeth, “Why’re you crying, pretty girl?”

You shake your head and he kneels forward to kiss you on the lips, chastely, “Or should I give you something to cry about?”

Before you can answer, he simultaneously lands a harsh slap to the inside of your thigh with one hand while pinning your neck to the pillow with the other, applying enough pressure that you wheeze. Izuku smirks down at you, watching as tears well up in your eyes and cause them to look like glassy marbles. He trails his fingertip along the inside of your thigh, your entire body quivering with the anticipation of when he will strike next.

His cock twitches within you and the movement makes your muscles jolt. Your hand smacks against his thigh as you dig your fingertips into the dense sinew. You breathe in heavily, your chest expanding, “Daddy, please.”

Izuku begins to rock back and forth slowly, dragging his cock salaciously along your inner walls, the veins and curves of his cock making your cunt flutter around his girth. You whine at the slow pace, your palms studying his skin as a distraction to keep your dirty mouth satiated. You want to beg him to go faster, to give you more friction, something, but you know better than to ask him for anything in this moment.

“If I’m Daddy,” he muses in your ear, his breath a hot wave of desire as it rolls down your neck to splay out at your shoulder, “then it’s only fair that we give you a name too, right, Princess?”

The suggestion he’s making sends a shiver down your spine and you clamp down on his cock as he slips all the way into you, the base of him flush with your lips. You grapple onto him for fear that he might pull out of you again, but you want him to be fully sheathed in you when he snarls out his next words.

In digging your nails into his skin, you find a new scar on his shoulder that you hadn’t noticed before. It is thin, just slight enough that it slipped from your radar. It is a single ridge of skin running from the back of his shoulder to his collarbone, streaking his skin with a pink color in contrast to his normally tan color. Your middle and index fingers focus on it, mapping out each bump like your life depends on it.

As his body tilts forward, your eyes catch along a patch of intense freckles at the tops of his shoulders, where the sun shines most concentrated. Your exhale, eyelids fluttering as you feel his weight press down into you the closer he comes. The palm of your hand travels to this smattering of freckles, digging into his muscles in a massaging way as you force your touch downward. Izuku’s breath hitches as you circle the pad of your middle finger tenderly over the flesh, eyelids snapping open so he can look down at you in something akin to shock.

He melts into your touch when your ankle digs into the dimples at the base of his back, yet another scar providing friction against your skin. You whimper as his hips buck forward on instinct alone, the pressure of your body pulling him forward.

Midoriya nudges his nose sweetly along the column of your throat, open-mouthed kisses placed against your main vein that leads him to your heart. He breathes slowly over your chest, nipping at the skin closest to your nipple, but far enough away that he won’t hurt you if he bites down too hard.

“Mm,” he hums as he dips his head further, curling his spine so he can kiss the top of your belly, above your navel. His palm pushes into the supple skin, thumb drifting over where your uterus sits beneath your skin, “I can’t wait to fuck you ‘till you’re full of me, Princess. Isn’t that what you want?”

You’re begging him silently with ferocious nods, dipping the pads of your fingers into his shoulder blades to pull him closer once more so he can rut into you with his strong hips. You feel the head of his cock brush against you from the inside, and that along with the added pressure of his palm pushing into you, makes you keen loudly, a whine rippling through your lungs.

At that sound, Izuku loses any and all control he might have had on his body before, one of his hands now holding your thigh up so he can dominate you from above, your ass not even flat against the mattress anymore. It’s a good reprieve from the suffocating heat beneath your back, but the only thing you can truly focus on is the way that his hips drive into you in midair, his knees bolstering him forward to fuck into you relentlessly.

“You’ll be so fuckin’ pretty with my come dripping out of this sloppy pussy,��� Izuku’s voice is slurred with pleasure, his eyes closed as he ruts into you from above. You whine, your chin ducked into your chest at this angle, but it doesn’t matter that it’s slightly uncomfortable; the only thing you can pay attention to is the way he fills you up, stretching your pussy with his thick cock.

Pulling almost all the way out only to slam into you again makes your cunt clench when he’s fully sheathed to try and keep him captive. He’s too strong, though, and he pulls away easily, the added tension only providing the both of you with further pleasure. You both whine, Izuku’s head dropping so you can no longer see his eyes, forehead covered completely by dark curls caked with sweat and sticking to his skin.

Deku licks his lips and you watch as he tilts his head to gaze down at you, the primal need to see you full giving his eyes a deeper color, a green so dark it’s almost black. The sight of him so overcome with arousal makes your stomach turn, a fresh wave of heat coating your inner walls and slipping down his cock in the form of silvery slick.

He pants, his jaw hung open, “You want me to fill you up? Come in you over and over until you can’t take it anymore, until your pretty belly is bulging with my come?”

You don’t have the chance to respond when he bottoms out within you, stretching you out even further as his cock spasms with desire. It’s like he’s growing within you even more so now that he’s imagining your tummy swollen from his come. Your jaw hangs open even as you throw your head back, your hands flying to the comforter to snag what you can beneath your fingernails.

Izuku does not waste the sight of your neck, bare and open, practically begging for him to claim as his canvas. With his next stroke he is careening forward to latch his tongue and teeth onto the sensitive skin, your jugular pulsing beneath his mouth. Your hand flies upward to tug at the wild curls near the back of his scalp, your thighs held in place by his hips as he continues into you at a steady pace.

“I can’t wait to put a baby in you, Princess,” Izuku is panting in your ear now, the lewd sounds of his hips bucking into yours the only other sound you can make out. Your shoulders shudder underneath his weight but he is holding you like an anchor, so you know that you are safe in his embrace. You turn your head, so your cheek is pressing into his, leeching the heat from his skin until your own flesh is burning.

“Fuck,” Deku laps at your throat aimlessly, as if he can’t quite get where he wants, but he doesn’t know what else to do, “Gonna fill you up every time I get the chance, breed you until you’re begging for me to stop. Pump that pretty pussy full of my come until you can’t walk straight.”

Your cunt spasms around his cock and he knows that means you’re close to coming. He’s pushed off his own release in favor of coming in tandem with you, so he starts to pump into you faster, drifting a hand down to your clit to try and stimulate you closer to the precipice of pleasure. You’re whining, nails dragging against his biceps unforgivingly, “Daddy, c’mon, I want you to come in me. Please, won’t you come in me? Fuck me full of your come, please!”

The entirety of your mouth is sandpaper dry with your insistent begging. You lick your lips at the feel of his cock spasming within your core, the tip of him brushing against your cervix in a bruising manner. “I-I wanna make you a Daddy for real, please, won’t you put a baby in me?”

A feral growl parts his lips at your request, and your body clenches from head to toe at the sound. You can’t breathe, your entire being is suffocated by the essence of him – body, mind, soul. He is everything and it covers you like a hot blanket, searing into your skin until you’re branded for him.

“You want this load?” he asks breathlessly. “Want me to breed you up good?”

He is barely able to look at you when you whimper out your response. Goosebumps cover the expanse of his body as he thinks about what you’d look like, swollen with the imminent promise of his baby growing in you. Something digs into him at the base of his spine, something that makes him ache with the need to see you waddling around, unable to see your ankles as you rest your palm on the top of your tummy. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut so he can listen to your wanton desperation, sweat making the two of you stick together at every juncture.

Deku grunts one last time before all his resolve floods from his body, “Here you go, Princess, don’t waste it.”

The angle he has your body in, folded up like a pretzel, would usually make it hard for you to waste any of it, but the sheer amount of come being pumped into you makes you nervous. You feel the familiar seeping of his seed from your cunt and you reach down to try and sop it up, but Izuku beats you to it. He uses his thumb to collect the milky fluid, rubbing it over your clit to use as lubricant as his dick continues to pump the rest of his load into your abused hole.

“Good girl,” he whispers absentmindedly as he fucks you through his aftershocks, the pad of his thumb driving you crazy as you squirm beneath him. Izuku can tell by the sheer force with which you’re clamped down on him that you’re chasing your own high, your eyes squinted closed so you can focus on orgasming until you’ve coated his cock with your arousal.

Izuku fights through the bliss that’s clouding his mind to lean down and kiss over your face, “C’mon, Princess, come for me.”

When your eyes split open, the first thing you notice is the scar that cuts from his hairline down over his eyebrow, separating the tail of his brow from the base. You reach up to brush your fingertip over it, your heels dug into the curve of his ass to bring yourself closer to him, if that were at all possible. Your mouth hangs open as your thumb maps out the scar, ragged flesh the very opposite of the remaining smooth plane of his body.

“I love you,” you whisper, silent silver tears leaking from your eyes as the combination of all of your senses being stimulated pushes you over the crest, drowning you in the waves of pleasure he creates by rocking into you.

It has taken years for Izuku to understand that you paying attention to the jagged parts of his body does not mean that you would not love him if he were any less broken.

Your vision passes over each inch of his body, taking inventory of the markings on his body – freckles, blemishes, scars – as if they might have changed since the last time you looked. Your hands roam over his shoulders, finding the pale scars and dipping your fingertips against them to feel the ridges against the rough pad of your digits.

Midoriya melds his mouth against yours, lost in the taste of you as his cock spasms within your tight heat. Your entire bodies are coated in a mixture of tears and sweat and slick, but you don’t care as he lowers himself down on top of you until you’re flush with one another from shoulder to ankle.

His tongue is mapping the curvatures of your teeth when he responds in kind, “I love you, too.”

He slows once he realizes you’ve both been milked of whatever else you might have left to give. Your body is gently placed back down on the bed, hot sweat sticking to the cooled sheets. Izuku kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, lavishing each inch with the utmost affection, it could make you cry.

Your hands work through his hair, curls falling silkily between your knuckles. You lean forward and kiss the spot on his forehead where his brows are furrowed. At the feel of your affections, his expression softens and the creases on his skin soften into nothing but fine lines. Izuku smiles up at you, nuzzling your cheek, “You did so good, baby, you’re always such a good girl for me.”

“Mhm, you make it easy,” you croon into the shell of his ear as he tilts himself forward, still buried in you even as his cock goes soft. You tilt your head, curling a finger around a lock of his hair, “W-Were you serious?”

Izuku catches a glint of the diamond on your left hand, a proud grin bringing out his dimples, “You’ll know in, what, four weeks?”

The whole thing is too exciting, and you know that even though you’re still on contraceptives, it could happen. He doesn’t move to correct himself, instead waiting on your answer.

“F-Four weeks,” you nod, your tongue sitting heavy and dry in between your teeth.

Midoriya catches your hesitation, “We won’t change anything, except how many times a day I bury my cock into that pretty little pussy of yours. We’ll see if I can beat out the statistics on your medication.”

You know he’s talking about the one-in-whatever chance that your birth control doesn’t work, but the way he says it drags shivers up your spine. You curl both hands into his hair and swallow the thick emotion pent up in your throat, “You meant what you said?”

“Four weeks,” he echoes as if it should be an answer. Izuku knows better than to have a permanent conversation with you when your eyes are still glassy like this, your mind still submerged in that headspace he puts you in when the two of you fuck this way, rough and merciless. All he can do now is remember to talk to you about this once you’re both calm and rational.

Your eyes fill with a fresh set of tears and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the base of your throat, “I’m gonna fill you up with so much come, baby. We might have to get you a plug.”

You tighten every orifice of your body, fingers dug deeper into the muscle of his shoulders. Your thumb catches on the curve of one of his particularly deep scars, slicing into him like veins on a marble slab. In your heightened state, it’s easy to feel like you’re floating in midair and might never come down, but the tactile reminder of his body beneath your fingertips gives you that anchor that you need to keep yourself from drifting too far.

Methodically, you drift the pads of your digits back and forth, a melody playing in your head that you play out against his body. The rigidity of his form, strong and barring as he loiters over you, only adds to the calm that you feel wash over your frame, settling into your bones like stardust. You feel lightheaded, but in a giddy way, the warmth of Midoriya’s body just as soothing as the patterns you’re marking into his body.

Two tears drip over the edges of your eyes and you look up at him, bringing a thumb up to brush his hair out of his eyes, “I-I wanna make you a Daddy. For real.”

You think back to the day you first met – how he stole your heart with one simple look. He has always been it for you, that you now realize. From the first syllable to now, he has reigned you in, held you beneath his thumb in such a captivating way that you don’t ever want to escape.

You want to give back to him what the world never could – a little hero of his own.

It’s a blank slate, a place to start anew. Something that the burdens of Izuku’s past can never bury under layers of scar tissue and regret. The giddiness that makes your heartbeat in a frenzy only gives you more confidence to reach forward and wrap yourself around him like an animal begging for comfort. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, “You deserve this, Izu, you deserve to be happy.”

“Hey,” he calls down to you, upturning your face with the gentle pressure of his thumb underneath your chin, “I am happy, here with you.”

Your face grows hot at his confession, and you wonder if you misconstrued your words. You swallow, rolling your hips upward to reconnect your bodies at the waist, trying to convey that you can give him so much more, that you’re offering up your body to be a martyr. Your eyes water as you link your hands around his neck, thumbing at the crest of his undercut.

“Please,” you whisper, voice broken but beautiful as your single syllable speaks volumes even in the quiet of your shared bedroom.

There is a growl that erupts in his throat and he lunges forward, sucking and licking at your neck. You whimper, falling slack in his touch as you try to keep yourself anchored to him with biting, blunt fingernails. Your jaw hangs open just enough that he can see the pink of your tongue if he leans far enough back.

As Deku reclaims your mouth in his own, the primal thing burning deep in his belly spurring his cock to go for round two, he can’t help but think to himself that he’s going to make you a momma, no matter how hard he has to try, or how long it takes.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

“Why are you so enamored by them?”

You still your hand over his bare chest, your index finger tracing the ridge of one of his biggest scars – a rippling cut straight through his pectoral, the tip of it disappearing in the curve of his muscles as they meet in the middle.

When you don’t answer, Izuku swallows the lump in his throat and sits up a little straighter, leaning his shoulders back against the headboard. He looks down his nose at you, shallow breaths making his chest inflate quickly, “I guess I just don’t understand what could be so fascinating about them. Why do you like to touch them all the time?”

You turn so you are strewn across his abdomen, your chin rested in the seam of his pectorals as you look up at him, “I guess they make me feel things.”

“F-Feel things?” Izuku’s face scrunches up in confusion, the wrinkles of his nose making you smile.

Tenderly, you brush your thumb over the creases of his forehead until he relaxes, and then you start mapping out the scarred lines on his face and taking inventory of his freckled cheeks. You sigh, chewing on your lower lip, “It depends on what’s going on, but when I look at you, I feel any plethora of things – sadness, joy, horniness…”

“My scars make you horny?”

You let out a laugh and drop your forehead down and bury it in his chest to hide the blush on your cheeks. Your palm falls from his face to his collarbone, gripping his shoulder as best you can. Midoriya joins you in laughter, tucking his nose into the crown of your head so he can plant kisses into your hair. He is always so soft and kind with you, especially in these moments after you’ve been conjoined by the hips for hours on end, your heart beating in time with his as you lay pressed flush against one another. There are moments when you are a cage of limbs and you do not know where he ends and you begin, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Seeing you all roughed up just does something to me, I dunno!” You tilt your head back so you can look him in the eye, “I like knowing that you can handle yourself, and each scar has a story and we’ve been together for years and I still don’t think I’ve heard them all.”

It looks like there is something on his mind, with the way his face tenses up as soon as you stop laughing together. You rub your ankle against his calf and force him to look you in the eyes with a gentle nudging of your knuckle against his jawline, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”

Izuku is not normally speechless or lacking in things to say. In fact, more often than not, you have to gently place your hand on his shoulder to remind him that everyone can hear his loud mutterings, or that sometimes there are more appropriate times to speak your mind. This time, his tongue lolls around within his cheeks as he tries to come up with the right thing to say.  The pattering of your heart grows faster the longer he is silenced, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears as you anticipate what could possibly be plaguing his mind at a time like this.

Your thumb brushes against a scar near his ear and he circles his fingers around your wrist, “Would you still love me if I didn’t have them? If my skin was perfect, like Kacchan or Todoroki?”

“First of all, Todoroki has a big ass scar on his face, so jot that down,” you tease, pushing yourself up to kiss him square on the lips. You pull away from him but not entirely, still brushing your nose along the bridge of his cheeks, “And Bakugou has a stupid quirk that gives him great skin, so he’s an awful example.”

Midoriya rolls his eyes and shoves your hand away from his face, sitting up even further so you fall away from him, curling yourself into the sheets. His countenance looks overly contemplative, and it’s beginning to worry you. You sit up in the bed, grabbing his shirt off the nightstand to cover yourself with, tossing it over your head with ease. The fabric pools at your waist but it smells intoxicating, just like him, his warmth from earlier in the night somehow still sticking to the fabric to provide you comfort.

“You know what I mean,” he grits his teeth, unable to look at you as he poses the question, “I-I just…I wonder if you love them more than you love me, sometimes, is all.”

It does not take long for you to redirect his attention back to you, turning his face with a rough yank of your wrist. You look him in the eyes, and he is but a broken little boy in this moment, begging for you to piece him back together.

The thought that he is nothing more than patchwork put back together by the scars on his body makes you feel hollow inside. How can a man who has given up so much feel like so small in a moment of pure reflection? Does he not see all the good he brings to the world, and yet how little it ever dares to give back to him?

“Izuku Midoriya,” your voice is stern, and you watch as he bolsters his spine as if he were talking to a Pro Hero, “I would love you if your whole body was covered in scars or if you had perfect skin. Why would you say something like that?”

Before he can give you some long-winded answer, you throw a leg across his lap so you’re straddling him and he has nowhere to run to, nowhere to divert his attention. Your palms are on his face, cupping his cheeks and making sure to look him dead in the eyes as you give him a dose of the truth. Still, you fear your words may not be enough to satiate his wounded pride, his blistered ego.

“When I look at you, I see how much the universe has stolen from you, how much of your body the world has taken, and how everyone else just takes you for granted.” Your voice grows heavier with each word, the threat of tears sitting in your eyelids, making your face warm. “I see a man who, time and time again, gives everything up to save the world, and all it does in return is take.”

You intake a short breath, trying to calm yourself because this is his moment to ache until his heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. Now it is your job to soothe his burning soul with the salve of your reassurance, mending his inner turmoil with a metaphoric touch that you pray can seep into the cracks of his resolve until he’s full once more.

Brushing his hair away from his face, you lean in closer so you can speak softly, “You once called them ugly. I think that every single scar is a reminder of something that happened in the past. I love to hear your stories of how you got them, each heroic act displayed on your body like a little lightning bolt of truth.”

A sigh parts your lips and you drop your gaze to his chest, finding the familiar ridges of flayed skin easily. You lick your lip and trace your thumb over a few of them, relishing in the quiet moments before you have to speak again.

“I don’t love your scars, I love you.” You press your palms flat to his chest so you can cover the expanse of his pectorals beneath your hands, the heel of your palm against the swell of his chest, “I would ask you for all of your stories even if I never touched a single scar, even if I never saw one. I’d ask you because I want to know you.”

Your hands travel north towards his neck, delicately roaming over the thin skin of his throat before winding into the hair at the back of his head, “I’m so fascinated by them because I want you to know that I don’t think any less of you for them, that I don’t believe you to be weak just because you’re marked by your experiences. If anything, I think it’s beautiful, that you’ve been given this burden like Atlas, to carry around the weight of each on one your shoulders.

“But even though it’s beautiful, that does not mean that it’s right,” your voice turns cold, hard and jagged as you speak through your teeth, “How much more can you be expected to give? Does the universe not see what it’s done to you? What it’s asking of you to continue doing? I just can’t imag-oh.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his hands traveling up your spine beneath your shirt, palming at the skin of your shoulders. Izuku nips your lower lip and you are melting in his touch like always, “I love you.”

You tilt your head, gasping as he starts down the column of your neck, biting kisses in a warm, wet line as he descends. You echo out the sentiment in return, barely able to make out syllables with the salacious way his lips and tongue are working at your skin. Your hands twist in his hair and he pulls you flush with him so he can nudge the collar of the shirt aside to show your collarbones the same attention as your neck.

“Oh!” you pipe up, your voice hardly more than a squeak, “And I love your freckles too. They’re so cute and I love how they’re literally everywhere, even your dic-”

“Less talking,” Izuku takes you by surprise, tackling you back into the mattress, “more kissing.”

And you happily oblige.

Besides, you have the rest of your life to tell him how much you love his freckles.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

a/n: all right. that’s it. never writing deku fic EVER again. phew. kacchan, please don’t be mad, honey, it was for a friend, i swear!!!!!

also it’s almost 4 am when i’m posting this so if the last section doesn’t make sense i’m sORRY!!!

taglist: 

@tui-lah @viviankennedy @bnha-homeroom @frogsmarch @anxietys-a-bitch @succulent-momma @albuquerquemalu @ali-on-reverie @iamthe-leaf @kamehamethot @hoe-biscus @ux-l3ee @lovelustdollsworld @bigbootyconnections @alexandria-selina @eianthedumbass @sanguinekeigo @desia2 @loveydoveythot @shoutosplaything @thatloserweeb @kittysocks20 @jayetheanimefreek101 @toastedpopsicles @riotfuckery @spidrskarma @panbaigel @unsafetypin @peltho @mes-bisous @ee-blue @mildlyman @moondust-and-starlight @ihaileysenpai @hijackedreese @vampiregirl70 @gwizzpanda @powderedjellidoughnut @salemthewitch​ @unknown-girlie​ @mea-100​ @crystal-is-in-the-digiworld​ @phantomjeans​ @lozmarton​ @bananayogurtbitch​ @wwhndsome​ @violeteyedkeith​ @pumapurman​ @stfucanunot​

[deiliamedlini]

Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 4

No. 4- Trust fall

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

Previous/ Chapter Index/ Next

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Zelda’s room was an absolute prison.

There was no way that someone built this room for comfort, or peace. No one would find a sense of calm and relaxation in here. It was built to inspire fear, and that’s exactly what it did.

The door was locked, of course. No amount of jiggling the handle would do anything to help her. But when she turned, she was met by a sickening, neon orange wall, with white floors; her eyes hurt simply from looking at it all.

There was no window in the small room, but she hadn’t expected it. She figured they were in the middle of the compound, just based on what little information she’d managed to gather. But there was nothing on the walls, nothing but the painful color. It left the room feeling barren and empty; a cold place rather than somewhere warm and inviting.

The bed was small and set on a metal frame, and when she sat on it, she sank into an uncomfortable gap that had been left by an apparent, numerous occupants. And the sheets didn’t appear to have been changed in the time between people either, given their frayed, tattered, and—to Zelda’s utter dismay—odorous state.

No, this room was not meant to be lived in. This was another tactic, another measure for her to overcome. This was to scare her out of joining the Yiga, as if she had any other choice right now. Joining was the only way out.

She sat in the corner of the room on the floor, hoping that was a safer bet than the bed was, and pictured just how many people were gathered in that room. Not one of them tried to defect? Every one of them was here of their own volition?

Zelda shuddered. What if there was a ploy, a twist? What if somehow, they really could convince her to become a Malice-loving zealot? Who would she even be?

Perhaps the room was meant to test her in more ways than one, because the only time the door opened was for someone to drop off food that she was too afraid to eat, and then they’d leave with the tray and Zelda would wander the empty room trying to keep herself entertained.

She’d been in the Yiga’s hideout for a week now: three days in the cells, and four in the room.

Four, right?

She’d lost count, honestly.

On day… two—she believed—she accepted the food with caution. They wouldn’t try to pull the same trick twice, right?  Besides, she’d need her strength if she wanted to have a chance of fighting.

That was what this room really did: broke people until they no longer had fight left inside them.

Before the Malice had taken over, Zelda was fresh out of school. She did some sports in high school, and she ran in her spare time, but athleticism wasn’t her forte. After, however, Zelda had become proficient in fending off the more annoying crazed creatures, and the occasional human. She could use a bow, a knife, and herself to throw an enemy off balance. But here? Here she was surrounded and completely alone.

Zelda loved rulers, but there were none in the room.

She took her arm and placed it beside the pillow she refused to use on the bed she wouldn’t sit on. The pillow was about 1 ¼’s of her arm. The blanket was 5 arms in length, and 3 wide. The door was 2. The room was 14.

Goddess, there was little else she could do to keep herself entertained.

She took her place on the floor, stretched out and groaning as her bones snapped and cracked, begging for her to be kinder to them. She flipped onto her back and let out a heavy sigh as her back thanked her.

“Let me out,” Zelda said to no one in particular, and in a very normal voice. She didn’t shout or call for help, but she needed to speak. “Please, just let me leave this stupid room!”

Her stomach growled. Weak. She was weak with hunger. Her legs didn’t want her to stand back up, and she was okay with that.

How many fibers were on the frayed end of the blanket, Zelda wondered?

It was faint, but Zelda’s ears perked up at an unfamiliar noise outside her door, causing her to sit up faster than she ever had before. It was quick, and gone in an instant, but it was there.

She crawled to her door, staying low in case… well, she didn’t know why. Just in case.

With her ear to the door, she closed her eyes to block out her other senses, and listened.

Boom!

Zelda shrieked and fell backwards as the sound of something hard and heavy connected with her door, shaking it with her head still against the wood.

There was the unmistakable sound of a scuffle, and the door shook with several thuds, occasionally followed by a grunt or two.

Then, it was silent.

Zelda ran to the door and pressed her ear there once again, but she heard nothing.

“Hey!” she finally called, banging her palm on the door as hard as she could, a surge of adrenalin bursting through her tired, sore, and hungry body. “Hey!” She tried, banging incessantly.

Zelda had hoped it would get someone’s attention. She hoped someone would open the door, and allow her to escape.

She didn’t expect to hear a man’s confused voice on the other side.

“Yes?”

Eyes bugging out, Zelda banged the door again. “Hey! Who’s this!? Let me out!”

She heard the man grunt. “Who is this? Why should I let you out?”

“Aren’t you a Yiga?” she asked jokingly.

“No.”

No?

“No?”

“No.”

Zelda let her hands slide along the wood, trying the door handle one more time, fruitlessly. “My village was massacred, I was betrayed, and they’re trying to kill me! Please let me out!”

“I don’t know you,” he said with a scoff.

Zelda banged her fists on the door. “Please! Let me out! It’s locked from the outside!”

“Stop doing that and maybe I will!”

She saw the doorknob jiggle before it stopped. “Hang on,” he said, just before she heard retreating footsteps.

She wanted to beg him not to go, but she simply held her breath and waited, trying to think of the best way to attack. There were literally no possible weapons in the room, so she imagined the door opening, and her coming out swinging instead. Of course, if they had a weapon, she’d be done for and back in the room.

Footsteps were on the other side again. “You in there?” he asked.

“Where did you think I went?”

She could hear him chuckle. “Help me out,” he said to someone else.

A woman muttered something that she couldn’t hear, but there was a thud, and the door shook.

“Back up!” the man called.

Zelda did, wondering what they were doing.

And she yelped when a giant metal sword pierced the wood.

Then again.

Another sword, and the wood was splintering.

“Goddess,” she mumbled, watching the wood be torn to pieces in random places.

It didn’t make sense until there were a few more thuds, and the center of the door was a hole just big enough for her.

“Hello?”

Zelda waited, unsure if they were just going to stab her when all was said and done. But that was probably too much effort.

“Damn,” a woman said, her voice deep and authoritative, but also melodic and charming. “That was fun.”

“Good thing we cleared this area,” the man said, his voice moving, as if he were looking around.

“Hey,” the woman said, peering at Zelda in the room. She was hunched over, so she was very tall, and her red hair was long and wild and wavy as it hung in front of her face. “Coming? We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Yes,” she breathed, rushing toward the gap.

The woman disappeared. “Can you help her out? I’m going to go find Daruk.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Zelda watched the woman run by the door, and a new figure replaced her.

The man was not nearly the same height as the woman, and Zelda wondered if they might actually just be the same, judging from where he stood. His partially gloved hand ran along the gap just before he shoved his whole arm inside, ready to take Zelda’s hand.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze. I’ll help pull you out.”

“How do you know I’m not really a Yiga?” she asked. “How do I know you’re not a Yiga? Am I supposed to take you at your word?”

“That would be silly. Let me prove it to you instead,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

Hesitation was not something Zelda liked experiencing, so she fought past it and gripped the man’s hard, calloused hand. His fingers closed tight around hers. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to pull.”

“I will,” she said, getting her leg up, but then getting stuck. “Oh, this is just going to hurt a bit.”

“What is?”

“I’m stuck. I think… just pull me. I just want to get out of here.”

“We don’t injure people for no reason, he said with an exasperated sigh. Come on, let me help.”

His hand didn’t move, waiting for her permission. “Fine.”

“What are you wearing?”

Zelda’s heart was already racing from the nerves, and the excitement of getting out of here. But this man… was something. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t see well. What are you wearing?”

“Pants and…”

“Good enough,” he said, reaching forward and sliding his hand quickly down her back before grabbing her by the waist of her pants and pulling her with him.

She didn’t land on the ground, but instead, found herself out of that cursed room, and in the arms of a total stranger.

Sudden tiredness washed over her. “Why did you even let me out? Do you trust me, or something?”

“No,” he snorted, letting her go when he felt she was solid. “No, but we’re already on a rescue mission. Let’s just add one more.”

“A rescue?”

“Yeah, a man with blue hair should be prisoner here. We’re here to break him out, but we’ve been scouring this place.”

“Wait, blue hair? I think I know where he is.”

The man’s blonde, messy mop hung in front of his eyes. It must be annoying, Zelda figured, but she wasn’t going to voice that opinion. Some of his hair was tied back, but not enough to be neat or helpful.

“You do?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“I believe so.”

“What’s your name so I can thank the Goddess for you at night?” he laughed, before picking up a long staff he’d leaned against a wall.

“Zelda,” she said, instinctively holding out her hand for a handshake.

“Zelda? Good to meet you. I’m Link.” He held his hand out beside hers. She stared at his hand like it were doing a trick before simply sliding her hand into his.

Smoothing her hand through her hair awkwardly, she looked around, getting her bearings. “Okay, let’s go.”

[bigkyloenergy]

𝙃𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔𝙀𝘿 𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙊𝙈

a witcher!kylo x reader fic. dark themes, smut ahead, my first fic so please leave me alone. 

summary: you are a barmaid / stablewoman at an inn in toussaint, kylo ren, one of the last of the witchers from the school of the viper regularly stays at the establishment. you wonder what keeps him coming back. 

read on ao3.

For some reason, you found yourself waiting for him. 

You’d noticed a routine in his travels, the Viper routinely found rest at the inn you worked at every 3 weeks. Nearly on the dot, which was odd to you. Most of the stories you’d heard of witchers told of contracts in kingdoms you didn’t even know how to pronounce, and The Phesantry wasn’t the most comfy place in Beaumont. Maybe it was because it was close to the palace, maybe he had someone there. You wondered so many things about a man whose eyes were the only thing you’d ever seen of his face. Deep yellow, piercing as the blades he kept, ones to match his title. 

The wind warned of a storm as you kneeled at the stables, changing the water that one of the helper boys promised he did. Of course you couldn’t count on them, no one in the damned inn seemed to know any responsibility beyond serving ale. 

  “Room for one more?” You nearly dropped the rag onto your shoes, not that they weren’t dirty enough. There the Viper stood, holding the reigns of his steed that was as dark as the cloaks he wore, one of the most beautiful you’d ever laid your eyes on. 

  “For Luxe? Always, she’s the sweetest girl I ever took care of,” first, your eyes went to the mask he donned — one that you swore was carved intricately by a blacksmith, but you’d never gotten close enough to be sure. He didn’t answer you, leading her into the remaining stall you’d just cleaned. His head nearly hit the top of it, and you had to stifle a grin as you looked back to the bucket. Speak, figure out something to say. Anything to say. Keep him out here with you.

  “The storm bring you this way?” 

Turning to you, he ducked under the archway this time, a raven lock escaping his hood in the process. You forgot how your lungs worked for a moment. 

  “No. Monster’s nest nearby causing trouble.” 

You stood now, still feeling dwarfed in his presence, having to tilt your chin slightly in order to meet his awaiting gaze. Nodding, as if it was a normal day in the neighborhood. “Lucky me then,�� shit, you did not just say that, shifting on your boots, you cleared your throat, “more business.” 

It wasn’t just how big he was, that you had gotten past — or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Men, normal men, weren’t nearly as tall as your mutant guest, they all still barely met his shoulders in comparison. But the energy, the way the air got thick made you feel aware of each nerve under touch starved skin.

  “Business? Ah, for my coin, hm? Not the gwent players I’ve brought you?” You grinned this time, genuinely, circling him only to meet the horse with the cloth you’d been wringing out. Slowly you brushed the journey’s dirt from her eyes, it being much easier to speak with the witcher when you weren’t making eye contact. 

  “You may as well be some use to me, haven’t you noticed that you have a room now specifically made for you? Do you know why that is, Mr. Viper?” You waited for his response, turning back to him when you didn’t receive one only to find a curious, orange eyed man doing the same, so you continued, “Imprints on the mattress, only a man at a stocking six foot giant can be comfortable in that bed. And do you know how many of those I get here?” 

His eye twitched.

  “One. Who doesn’t come nearly enough to have a special bed of his own.” He stepped closer, one step, but enough to feel like your vision had suddenly been suffocated by nothing but him.

  “And what would I have to do to earn my place?” Fuck. What? Why did his voice sound so damn enticing. You swallowed the saliva collecting in your mouth, trying to grasp a response. A gloved hand reached up, leather skating over your lower lip, edging you further.

  “Uh — I’m sure I can find... some work... something,” as your mouth parted with your words, he forced his thumb in, and you gladly took it. Your tongue curled as he pressed down, heat siphoning between your legs while he watched you. Awaiting. A serpent with his prey. 

  “I’m sure you can,” You wanted him to touch you more, so badly. and if you knew more about his kind you’d know that he could hear every single pump of your heart — note every restriction of breath, “I think we’ve figured it out, haven’t we?” 

You sucked in a lungful, the brisk air not the only thing to blame for the gooseflesh that riddled your body. Nodding, this time not being hesitant in your determination to study his eyes — ones carved with violence, promises of death. He collected your skirts in one hand, enough have your legs completely exposed. “Dirty thing. You want this, don’t you? You want me to touch you out here, make you cum in these stables? 

Nodding so fast you could of kinked your neck, your supple thighs parted in invitation. Which wasn’t enough for him. 

  “Say it.” 

God damn it. This had to be something out of your dreams. A fantasy you conjured submerged in slumber.  

  “Yes,” you purred, heavy eyelids fluttering shut, his thumb still hindering your speech, “I want you to touch me, right now, please.” 

  “Good girl.” 

Within a literal blink of an eye, your bodice was torn directly from your chest. Greedy hands found your breasts, leaving your mouth empty and gasping while the harsh leather rolled your nipple between the pads of his digits, earning a soft moan. This only seemed to enable the Viper, hitching one of your legs onto his waist, forcing you onto your toes while your back hit the angled wood that made up the horse-keep. Even in the dark, his hues shone like the sun itself, refusing to break under the moon’s pressure. 

Curling into his body, your ankle made like an anchor at the back of his solid thigh, wishing you weren’t wearing shoes so that you may be able to wiggle your toes and feel his length. He gave too much restriction to allow you to push yourself against him, leaving you aching to know if he was hard under the light armor he dressed in. 

A finger dipped into your underwear, peeling them from your cunt, hearing a hiss from under his mask when he finally met the saturated folds under them. Swallowing thick, you didn’t even bother to attempt to look behind him — let the boats on the dock have a show, not that they could see anything but your leg past his broad frame. You never thought leather could feel so good, the seam of it meeting your clit in the most delicious way. 

  “Fuck. You’re so wet. Filthy whore, have you just been waiting for someone to come lift your skirts back here?” His chest pushed you harder against the pillar, your jaw slack with carnal pleasure while he began to circle, tight motions, listening to your body through it. His other palm was secured against your hip, keeping you where he wanted you, now noticing that this was just leaving a better view for him. Your thigh hit the hilt of the dagger at his side when you writhed, hissing through your teeth at the contrast from the warmth radiating from your body. 

  “Hm.” Your eyes jerked opened the moment he stopped, then his fingers were plunging into you — sending speckles into your hindered vision. His thumb kept within the territory of absolute euphoria, finding a rhythm with the tiny bundle of nerves that had you babbling nonsense, please and yesyesyes wondering how someone could even feel this good. By just using their hand.

The one that kept you still promised bruises into your soft curves, the strand of hair you cherished earlier being met with more as he craned over you, discovering a braid in the mix of tendrils that somehow turned you on further. 

  “I’m close,” you warned the moment he curled his fingers into you, sweat beading on your bare chest, eye contact much easier when the Viper was lulling you over the edge of an orgasm. Again, your nipple was being stretched, pulled, twisted as an act of further drowning you in this primal delight, this personal gratification right outside of the place you worked. 

And it worked, you were plucked at the center, coming completely undone under the stranger’s will. “Fuck, so tight, slut.” He shoved another finger into you for good measure as your ribbed walls clenched around him, a frenzy of motions from your climax descending you into another reality, your moans enough to alert the guests inside of exactly what was being done to you. 

Removing himself, you watched him under thick lashes while he mapped out your body, as if he needed one last image for memory before he continued on with his business. But not before his fingers were returning to your mouth, forcing you to taste what he’d just conjured from you, and you sucked every bit off of the rough material as a reward. 

  “Kylo.” He finally spoke, taking a step to free you from your position against the stables.

  “What?” You hadn’t even had time to collect yourself, the skirts falling back over your legs as you attempted to close your bodice in a way that was modest enough to get back to your room. 

  “My name,” the Viper explained, “I want to hear it next time I make you cum.” 

And with that, he was off, leaving you with a muddled mind and swollen cunt. 

[swampstew]

𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝒲♡𝓇𝒹? - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟥

Welcome back to Raven’s Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Come in a for a spell, grab yourself a hot cocoa and join us by the firepit as we begin tonight’s installment. You can find a link to the full chapter at the end of the post.

Three days came and went quickly – the marines left Sabaody on the second day, the execution of Portgas D. Ace was coming up and the island and Kid Pirate crew alike were abuzz with predictions of what’s to come. Almost everyone was anticipating war to break out between the Whitebeard Pirates and the Marines.

Rowena woke up on the third day screaming and sobbing out for her crewmates. It wasn’t until Kid entered the infirmary to confront her that she finally stopped screaming, mostly because Kid came crashing through the door yelling at her to shut the fuck up. Chest heaving and tears streaming from her eyes, she glared at the Captain’s large frame as he stomped up to her and grabbed her face roughly in his calloused hand. Squeezing her cheeks together, he sneered at her while turning her face from side to side, inspecting her.

Finally letting go, “mighty loud screams for such a little thing. What’s wrong, ya miss your friends?”

Eyes opening wide and jaw dropping just a little, she hoarsely asked, “my crew, where are they?”

“Don’t know, toots. Your pal Rayleigh better have some fucking answers, or you’re gonna be in deeper trouble than you already are” he threatened her.

Rowena’s suspicious eyes bore into Kid’s for a moment before she looked away. “How long have I been here?”

“Three days.”

Her head snapped back up to him, her eyes no longer holding unease but what looked like hope. “And you’re taking me to Rayleigh?”

“He says he has answers and I have a shit ton of questions. If I don’t like what I hear, you won’t like what happens to you. Can you move?” She shrugged. “Well I’m not carrying you, so get up and get dressed. We’re already docked.” Rowena shook her arm, the handcuff rattled against the headboard.

“What’s the magic word?” Kid gave her a cruel smirk.

“Fuck you!” she snapped at him.

He blinked at her, then let out a loud laugh. “Don’t threaten me with a good time doll,” he almost purred, grinning widely.

Rowena sighed heavily and with a snap of her fingers, the handcuff fell off her wrist. Kid’s shocked eyes narrowed into a glare as he watched her. Tentatively, she moved her legs over the bed and stood up. She was wobbly but seemed to catch herself, before her legs gave out and she stumbled forward landing on her knees, the medical gown she was wearing flared around her ankles. Kid heard her let out a tiny sniffle, before rolling his eyes and picking her up by the waist. He held her upright until she was able to stand on her own, he gingerly let his hands fall from her waist as she slowly made her way to the box next to the doctor’s desk and started pulling out her clothes. She turned to look at him as she laid her clothes on the bed.

“Can you give a woman some privacy?” she asked.

“Not a fucking chance.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Moving carefully she slid on her ruined shorts one leg at a time, using her good hand to pull them up her legs and thighs, careful to keep the gown from exposing herself to the lurking man who watched her in silence. Turning her back to Kid, she pulled the gown over her head. Her tangled and frizzy hair was pulled aside as she took the gown off and Kid could see an intricate tattoo design in red ink on her tanned back: a magnificent eastern dragon encircled a sun, meeting its own tail to devour itself. The dragon scales were peppered with tiny brown dots and the sun was adorned with thin, brown mandala designs. It was stunning and he wanted to inspect every detail but Rowena hastily put her torn and burned shirt awkwardly over her body - her left arm no longer in a sling but a small cast made it hard for her to move.

Rummaging through the box again she equipped her gear, leaving the stick until the end. When she picked it up, she examined its condition before quickly waving it over herself. Kid was confused at first but then he saw the impossible; her hair started to move on its own, knots and tangles gently unwinding until her hair was brushed out, yet still frizzy.

“What are you?” his eyes were twinkling in wonder.

She looked back at him before quietly answering, “I'm a Witch.”

Read on Wattpad 🏴‍☠️ Read on AO3

[heyheyloki]

Cuts & Bruises

Summary: After a fight with a criminal, he comes to the reader’s house to get help with his wounds. 

Peter Parker x M!Reader

Word Count: 2166

You knew Peter Parker was the hero Spider-man from Youtube. He told you in a not so subtle way, and by telling, it was more you finding out on accident. In the back-ally he usually uses after school to change into the hero that looks out for the little guy, you saw him. It was on your way home and when you saw a figure moving in the corner of your eyes, you had a look. You thought it would be a homeless guy or maybe someone on drugs. You did not expect one of your friends to be there, nonetheless in a costume of the Spiderman from Youtube. You thought maybe he was just into dressing up as the hero, maybe he was ashamed to tell you since the costume looked bit big for his body. Though, when he pressed something and it matched his frame and he went flying to who knows where, you knew he was the hero. 

You didn’t want to do a big confrontation in the middle of school or at either of your homes, so you came back to the ally later that day since he left his backpack there earlier. So, when he came back, he spilled everything to you. Peter kept saying how he wanted to tell you, and the usual about not telling anyone else. 

That was a few months ago. Ever since then you two have grown closer knowing his secret. You would sometimes help him out with excuses, allowing him throw you into his web of lies if he needed to get away. In exchange he would show you the city at night, flying between buildings as the cool air hit your skin. It was terrifying at first, but when you knew he wasn’t going to drop you, you felt safer than ever. 

You quite enjoyed those late nights, even if you felt like death the next day if it was a school night. Thankfully, today was Friday and both of you had made a deal to hang out, maybe even have a sleep over if he was late doing his Spiderman business. That was seeming to be the case, as well.

You had your own ways of entertaining yourself while you waited, a book here, finishing up some homework there. You had ways of keeping yourself busy, it wasn’t that hard for you, at least. Still, today was different. You knew he was fighting bad guys and such, but today felt longer. You thought it was imagination for a moment, maybe your patience was wearing thin. It wasn’t that, at least not when you noticed your mother head to bed.

Peter was always here before then. He was always back safe before this time.

Growing worried, you decided to call him. Your foot tapped anxiously against your floorboards as the insect beeping somehow got louder over time until your worries burst like a damn. Voicemail.

“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself as you immediately grabbed a jacket without even thinking. You knew it would be difficult to search for Peter, especially when he could be anywhere in Bronx at the moment, but you didn’t care. Your worry outweigh the impossibility that hung over your head.

You were just about to leave your room, your hand even on the handle. Though, just as you were about to turn the knob, a subtle knock came from your window. You froze, waiting, hoping to hear it again. And you did.

As soon as the sound was confirmed to be real and not your imagination, you turned, almost cutting the air in half. You noticed the distinction of red and blue colors outside your window, a figure wearing an outfit. Your feet quickly shuffled over to your locked window, unlocking it in a hasty manner before sliding up the window for Peter to crawl through.

You backed up to allow him access into your room, watching him with caring and searching eyes. When you were opening the window for him you were thinking about giving him a stern talk about not making you worry so much, now, you hesitate. His suit was torn in numerous places, blood leaking out of some areas while others were stopped by the dried blood on top of the wound.

“Sorry I’m late,” Peter said softly, his voice weaker than normal.

You leaned your head to the side, wondering why he felt the need to put up such a strong front around you, especially in his condition. It felt wrong to you, like he couldn’t fully expose himself around, but at the same time you understood. Once that front is down, it’s hard to put back up, especially with someone who you cherish deeply and knows thinks you don’t even know about yourself.

“Peter.” You said sternly, you voice cutting through his very core as you watched his entire body convulse for a single second. You waited a moment, watching him with eyes that made sure showed deep care, deep worry. “Take off your mask.”

You noticed his fingers twitch at that one. To anyone else other than you, it looked like he wasn’t going to. You knew he would though. It was Peter, and you were you. Someone he couldn’t dare to disobey, someone he wanted to make happy. You knew that, because you were the same way when it came to him. A mutual feeling.

His covered hand began to reach up at the base of the mask before slowly rolling it up and taking it off in a hesitant, slow manner. You heart feel upon seeing his face, seeing his eyes not meet your own.

His hair was a mess, that part wasn’t what saddened you, no, it was the bruises all over his face. He had one forming along his left cheek while the other on his right eyes completely took on those black and blue colors. He was a mess. A hurt, cut and bruises mess before you.

You took a step forward, slow movements as you tried not to scare him. Carefully, you reached your hand out and grabbed the mask slowly from his hand. He allowed you without a fight. Next, you placed the mask in your other hand before taking his own with your now free one. You didn’t lace your fingers together, but rather wrapping yours around his. Knowing he still wasn’t looking you in the eyes, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before saying, “Let me help.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even nod his head. You had no indication that he was okay with that, but you knew he heard you. After a moment, you began to walk towards the bathroom that connected to your bathroom. You closed the door behind you, just in case anyone walked in, and sat Peter on the toilet after bringing the seat down.

You were about to pull your hand away from his, that was until you felt his fingers start to rest on the back of your hand. It was soft, weak. But it made you smile. You enjoyed knowing he was okay with such an action, but you knew you needed both your hands if you wanted to help him. To let him know, you tapped your fingers against his hand before slowly pulling away. Your once warm hand quickly losing its warmth the farther your hand got from his.

You kept your eyes locked on his fragile state before turning towards your first-aid kit that hung on the wall. You opened it up and searched for some gazes, bandaids, and some rubbing alcohol to clean the wounds.

When you got everything you needed you moved in front of Peter, his head down as he gazed at the floor. A small frown rested on your face, it was the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. Sure, you patched up a wound here and there, but nothing like this. You’ve never seen him look so defeated before, so you knew it had to be a bad one.

“I need to clean your wounds.” You said softly as you bend down on your knees in front of him.

He only nodded before brining his hand up to the middle of his suit were the black silhouette of a spider laid. He pressed it and the the tight suit that traced everything about his figure was now puffy and slowly sliding off his shoulder. It reminded you of when you first find out, and honestly, it’ll probably always be that way.

You tried not to laugh though, it wasn’t a time to try and make jokes or laugh without talking. You really didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him. So, you distracted yourself by allowing some of the rubbing alcohol to flow on the cotton balls that laid in a bag at your feet.

You first took the one on his shoulder, not wanting to unnecessarily undress him. You heard him take in a breath of air through his teeth, the hiss low and deep in his throat.

“Sorry,” you uttered out as you dapped it against the cut. None of them looked necessary deep, but you knew they were definitely caused by some kind of knife. Probably a switchblade or pocket knife. A small, discreet weapon that anyone could carry for any reason in the book.

Once done and a small bandage was placed upon it, you moved on. Though, you thought you owed it to Peter to let him know every action you were about to do. It was bad enough he wouldn’t talk, you didn’t want to scare him.

“I’m gonna pull this down, okay?” You asked even though you knew an answer wouldn’t come. And while one didn’t, he did move. This time his head moved to the side and down even more to the point where you couldn’t see his face.

You thought he was embarrassed or maybe even hiding his tears, but you didn’t feel the need to comment. You knew he’s been through it tonight without him having to say anything. Carefully, you began to strip him of his top, exposed his chest, torso, and legs to your hues. He had nothing on except for his red plaid boxers while his suit rested in a pile at his feet.

You didn’t wait long to tend to his wounds, more importantly the ones that were still letting out blood. He let out a few hisses here and there, but no words as you tended to his wounds. You didn’t mind the silence, you knew he would come around eventually and you didn’t feel a need to push anything. Honestly, you didn’t want to push anything. He’s been through enough for one night, you didn’t want him to relive it.

As you began to finish up, you thought nothing at all would go down. No words, no movements, nothing. You didn’t mind, but you wished he would show you a sign that he was going to be okay.

When you finished, you looked to admire your handy work, feeling prideful about how good of a job you did. After that ego boost, you began to pack everything up.

“You can stay here for the night, if you want. I’ll lend you some clothes to wear.” You said as you placed the bandaids back in the first-kit, along with everything else. You gazed at him, wondering if you should ask if he’s okay. But, you paused, and you knew that if you ever hesitated that it was probably best to hold your tongue.

A soft sigh left past your lips, your hand gripping the red box handle. As your knees began to bend, weight suddenly pushed you back down. You blinked aimlessly for a second, unable to register what happened until your eyes shot to the head of hair that you noticed at your side. The feeling of weight pressed against your shoulder. Peter’s body was slumped over, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade as his hid his face from your sight.

“Pete?” You questioned, wondering if he fell asleep or something. You didn’t hear any snores though, so you knew he was awake, even more so when he spoke the first words all night.

“I messed up.” He muttered out, his voice brittle and breaking at its core.

You frowned. You didn’t know how to comfort him in times like these, times were he was Spider-Man. But, you knew that this guy in front of you wasn’t the hero everyone admired, but your friend that held a special place in your heart.

You brought your hand up and placed it gently against the bare skin of his back. You felt his body twitch under you, giving him a moment before you started to rub soft circles with your thumb in his back. When you noticed his body turn less stiff under your touch, you began to hum a soft tone as you tried to comfort him.

When it ended, you nuzzled your nose into his hair, your cheeks blazing as you thanked god he couldn’t see your deepened cheeks. “Everything will be okay.” You said, “I’m here for you if you need, always.”

[bungou-stray-dingus]

Hello! Thank God I found a still active BSD imagines blog 😭 So, I have quite a specific request if it's ok um can you please do a scenario where Ranpo has a smol female s/o and she's very child-like (in appearance & personality) similarly to him but in everyone's surprise, Ranpo becomes mature when it comes to her. Like, he takes care of her, looks out for her and maybe tell her off when she's misbehaving. My advance thanks to you!~also, do you do NSFW? asking for a friend ;) hehe

A/N : I DO BELIEVE THAT I FINISHED THE SECOND ASK BEFORE I FINISHED THE FIRST ONE. WELL EITHER WAY, HERE WE GO! DOUBLE RANPO REQUESTS COMING OUT! I stan lil snack boy, he is *MWAH*

Ranpo

When he first saw her in the candy shop he had to do a double take. She seemed almost too perfect. He was salivating, and it wasn't because he was surrounded by sugar filled rock candies and pastries, no, it was her. The way her her legs looked in those knee high socks, the way they traveled up underneath her short skirt, the cute little face she made, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth as she reached on her tiptoes for a bag of candy on the highest shelf. She was precious, she looked delectable, and she put all the other candy in the store to shame. Of course he went over to help her, even though he wasn't much taller than she was himself, but what other way was he going to make her his if he didn't make his move.

He woke up to the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen followed by the sound of your soft voice mumbling to yourself. "Shoot, shoot shoot! Darn it! Oh man." He pulled the blankets off himself and got out of bed, not wanting you to cut yourself on any of the glass that you had broken. He was always so worried about you, you were pretty clumsy and you were prone to hurting yourself often, but that just gave him more reason to hover and be close to you.

He slipped his slippers on and made his way into the kitchen, finding you crouched on the floor sweeping the shards of glass into the dustpan. You looked up and saw him standing next to the counter, staring down at the glass on the floor. "You okay, cinnamon bun?" He asked, finally bending down to finish with the smaller shards that you might miss. "Hmm? Yeah! Sorry I woke you up. I was trying to make breakfast for you and the cup got in the way." You said, your voice always so cheerful, your smile never faltered. When he finished cleaning up the glass he checked you over, looking over your hands and knees to make sure that you didn't cut yourself or get any glass embedded in your skin. After he made sure you were okay he kissed along your knuckles before pressing a small kiss to your nose. "Please be more careful." He murmured, but that wasn't a parting statement, that was an honest plead. If anything happened to you it would destroy him completely.

He sat at the table, his feet propped up on the edge as he watched you turn on the burner to the stove. His heartbeat quickened, the thought of you and fire mixed together, it didn't seem good. It's not that you didn't know how to do things for yourself, it's just that sometimes you got distracted and that could be really bad for you and the apartment with the burner on. "Do you need my help with that?" He asked as nonchalantly as he could, hoping that you would say yes. He would much rather you sit at the table and let him take over the cooking, just so he knows you wouldn't get burnt. You gave him his favorite wind chime giggle as you turned to look at him. "Of course not! I'm like, the worlds greatest breakfast chef, like, ever!" You said, and he couldn't help but smile at how adorable you looked. You were wearing one of his shirts and his favorite knee high socks with an apron tied around yourself. He was torn between watching you move around the kitchen, his eyes glued to the way your body looked in the early morning sun, or getting up and helping you anyway.

The oil popped in the pan as the eggs sizzled, every pop made him jump especially when you let out a little squeal, he feared that the oil had landed on you and that your beautiful skin had been burnt. Then you would let out a breathy chuckle, he could tell that you were embarrassed. "Turn down the burner, pumpkin." He'd say, and you would slowly inch closer to the stove, your arm stretched as far as you could stretch it to turn the knob on the stove. When the bubbling and popping subsided you would smile proudly at him, your eyes squeezed shut and give him two thumbs up. "I did it!" He would hum with approval, letting himself relax knowing that you won't get hurt, hopefully, in the next five minutes at least.

Everyone at the Agency was shocked at how mature Ranpo had become over a matter of six months. He wasn't as childlike as he had been before, but now that he had someone else to worry about and look out for, he knew he had to do some growing up of his own, especially since you were very childlike yourself. He didn't mind it, as long as you were okay, that was his main concern, you were his top priority. You had helped him find a reason to grow up, to be a better version of himself, and you weren't even aware. From the start, he had begun the maturing process. The first date he went on with you, you had tripped up a set of stairs and skinned your knee. When he saw the small tear clinging to the edge of your eye he had almost cried himself. Then when you had been on the phone with him one night and he heard you slightly whimper in pain, the pained "Ow" that you had muttered into the receiver, he almost had a heart attack. He was about to run to your apartment to make sure that you were okay, that is until you reassured him that you had just burnt your finger on a pan by accident. God, did this man worry about you. It seemed like it took forever for him to convince you to move in with him, just so he could keep an eye on you constantly, but once he did it felt like some weight had been lifted.

You had finally finished making breakfast and he could finally take a deep breath. He watched you carefully as you walked over, placing the plate on the table before sitting on his lap, swinging your legs back and forth as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Did you make a plate for yourself, pumpkin?" He asked, trying to not think too hard about your lack of pants as you rocked back and forth on his lap. He could feel the blood flowing south, and he knew that if you felt it, the two of you would be locked in the bedroom for the next two hours. "Hmm? Oh, nope! Not hungry right now. I'll cook something when you go to work." You said, and his eyes went wide, the thought of you being home alone and cooking scared the hell out of him.

"How about I just bring you home something during my break?!" He said almost too forcefully, and you leaned back to look at him. He thought that he had hurt your feelings, and he was about to apologize until you flashed a big smile, pressing your lips to his. "I love when you visit me during your breaks! Thanks, honey bunny!" You slid off his lap, and ran to the bedroom. He heard the sound of something hitting the door frame and he leaned back in his chair to see you sitting on the floor, your hands wrapped around your ankle.

"What did you hit this time?"

"Funny bone..."

"I'll get the ice."

One thing he loves doing is taking you out on his days off. He'll take you out to eat or out to the movies or when the weather allows it, he'll take you for a stroll through the park. Anything that allows him to spend time with you and give you his undivided attention he loved doing it. He would have his arm wrapped around your waist while you held onto his coat. He thought it was precious how tight you gripped onto him, how close you pressed your body against his.

One time he taken you to CosmoWorld and you had begged him to get on the Ferris Wheel. It's not that he didn't like the Ferris Wheel, he thought it looked beautiful from a distance, especially at night when it was lit up, but the concept of you and him, especially you, being that high up with no harness or really anything to keep you from falling out, it didn't really sit well with him. He wasn't scared of heights, he was scared of you falling to your death.

"Let's just pick something else. I'll win you a prize from one of the games. Pick any prize, I'll get it for you." He had tried to coax you away from the Ferris Wheel, gently pulling you in a different direction. You yanked your hand away from his and folded your arms across your chest, pouting at him as you stomped your foot. "No. I want to ride the Ferris Wheel."

"I don't think the Ferris Wheel is a good idea, not after we've eaten." He didn't like you being mad at him, and he definitely didn't like saying no to you, but sometimes he wished that you would just take no as an answer and move on with it.

"If you won't take me on the Ferris Wheel, I'll find someone else to do it." You said, sticking your nose in the air and turning your back on him. You began walking away, but you didn't get very far before he was right behind you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to look at him.

"Y/N, stop it." He said sternly, his hands moving to grip onto your waist, holding you tightly to make sure you didn't try to turn away again. "Now look, I said I'd get you a prize, but if you want to act like this we can just go home."

Your lip jutted out and began trembling, he tried to not let it affect him, but he hated making you sad. He closed his eyes so he didn't have to see how upset you looked, it helped him keep his composure, but once you started sniffling he broke. "Come on, don't cry."

"You didn't call me pumpkin... am I not your pumpkin?" You asked quietly and as silly as your question was, he knew that you were serious. At this point you had already forgotten about the Ferris Wheel dilemma, you were worried more about the fact that he had used your first name. It was a rarity, the only times you ever heard him say your name was in the bedroom or when he was irritated with you.

"Of course you're still my pumpkin. Don't be silly. How about we just go home, we can cuddle and watch your favorite movies." He'd quickly brush his thumbs across your cheeks, brushing away any stray tears that had managed to fall.

You were childish, and sure you worried him to death sometimes, and sure he sometimes had to be more serious than he liked to be to get you to behave, but he loved you. He loved everything about you. He fell in love with every aspect of you, and he wouldn't change you for a thing. You're perfect just the way you are, and if anyone even tried to say anything about how you acted he would gladly put them in their place. You were him pumpkin, and he was proud to be your honey bunny.

A/N : What!? Two posts in one night? TWO RANPO POSTS IN ONE NIGHT?! YOU HECKIN KNOW IT! This one is kind of short, but I hope you enjoy it. <3

[imissjoongsmullet]

Too Far

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: smut

Summary: You’d told yourself you’d never fuck with an arrogant dick like Chan, but when your stubborn ass tries to shut him up at a party, things get out of hand and you pay the price for provoking him.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Warnings: graphic sexual content (duh), swearing, unprotected sex (don’t be like chan peeps), spanking, choking, degradation but also praise, um, what else.. overstimulation and maybe that’s it??

Word Count: 3.5K

Author’s Note: this was supposed to be a drabble but it got way out of hand listen I clearly needed to get this out of my system. Also wow I suck at titles somebody help me anyways, enjoy ♥ and happy holidays I guess!

►

“Come on,” he says, smiling coyly as he poked you in the side a little, “name one person in this room better-looking than me.” He gestured to the crowd of other people partying it up in the hotel suite.

You squint your eyes at him. “Fuck off,” you reply, turning to move away from him but he catches your forearm and pulls you back.

“Just cause you know I’m right,” he chuckles and puckers his lips like the dumbass he is, “I mean, have you seen these juicy babies?”

“You are so full of shit,” you let out, throwing your head back in exasperation.

He’s not fazed. He continues to smirk at you, fingers squeezing into your arm slightly, “maybe so but that won’t stop me from getting under your skin. I saw the way you were looking at me back at the club,” he leans into you, “you want me,” he coos and the smug look on his face makes you want to smack him over the head with the nearest object.

Christopher Bang was the kind of guy that made you want to stick a fork in your eye. He was loud and obnoxious with an ego more inflated than a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float. To your undying frustration, he was also undeniably sexy, but you’d never tell him that. Nope, because you didn’t fuck with boys like him.

Well, you were trying your hardest not to anyways.

“No,” you reply at once, completely done with his act, “you are full of shit, I’m telling you,” you let out a dry laugh, “you’ve been hitting on me all night, talking all this crap about how you’re the man and you can get any woman you like. But that’s all you are: a boy with a big mouth.”

“No, I’m not,” he retorts, sounding suddenly disgruntled, the amusement trickling out of his features.

“Fine,” you say, taking a bold step towards him, closing the small gap between the two of you, “then kiss me.”

Chan looks a little perplexed at first but the next moment his expression falls back into its signature smugness. “So you do want me,” he says, still toying with your arm.

“I never said that,” you raise your eyebrows at him.

He shakes his head. “You’re a liar,” he says and slowly, his smile disappears as he leans in closer and closer, clearly trying to knock down your confidence. But you weren’t about to let him win. You stay right where you are.

“You don’t intimidate me,” you scoff, not moving an inch, “you’re just words.”

The humor finally drains completely out of Chan’s eyes at that remark.

“Oh yeah?” he scowls down at you as he starts to drive you back into a small alcove towards the bathroom, getting you out of sight, “would you like me to prove you otherwise?” he whispers, his breath now hot against your cheek, “I would love nothing more,” his fingers come to your waist, where they caress the strip of skin between your top and your jeans, “and if I had my way with you, just know I’d do a little more than kiss you.”

You feel your cheeks heat up but don’t let it stunt you. The lighting in the hotel room is dim enough for him not to notice exactly how much his words are getting to you, so you decide to put some more fuel on the fire.

“Fine,” you whisper back, looking right up into his hooded eyes, “what exactly would you like to do to me?” you mused, bringing your lips dangerously close to his, “what would you do, huh? Lick me? Tease me? Spank me?” You watch his eyes go from shock to full-on hunger, which only spurs you on more. “Spread my legs? Would you stick a few fingers in me first or would you rather use that thing that’s poking out from between your legs?”

This is when he snaps. He grabs your wrist, squeezing much tighter than necessary and pulls you through the crowded room, not caring about the strange looks the two of you are getting from the other party-goers.

Once in the hallway he doesn’t stop. He’s in a hurry and you have no choice but to stumble along after him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper hotly.

He yanks to closer to him in return, bringing his free hand around your shoulder.

“Proving a point,” he snarls in your ear.

He opens the door to what you can only guess is his room for the night, and shoves you in, following suit. You hear the bang of the door behind you and his hand is on you again, jerking you back harshly. You hit the hard wooden surface with a thump and the next thing you know his frame is hovered over you. You look into his eyes twinkling mischievously in the dark for the smallest moment before his lips crash into yours with a passion that takes you completely off guard. His hands dig into your waist possessively and it doesn’t take long for your top to rise up over your belly, his hands exploring your skin. He can’t get enough, squeezing you close as his lips mold into yours hungrily. You’re completely overwhelmed by him; his sweet scent enveloping you, the faint taste of champagne on his tongue filling your mouth as he grinds his hips into you. He’s nearly growling into your mouth, a monster torn free of its leash. There’s a fervor in his every action that makes your knees grow weak already and you curse yourself for not being stronger.

One of his hands snakes up over your belly, your chest, grazing your neck before closing in just under your jaw, holding you in place.

“You’ve brought this on yourself, baby girl,” he says, eyes heavy on you as he smirks against your lips. You’re forced to stare at him as his other hand moves down from your waist to play with the hem of your jeans. He keeps his eyes locked on you, dark and commanding. You feel his fingers dip into your jeans a little, only to come back out the next moment. He repeats this action a couple of times as he smugly watches your breath grow heavy.

“Stop teasing,” you breathe out finally.

His eyes flash hot and his fingers move abruptly. The button of your jeans pops open. He grins at the shock in your face, taking advantage of your parted lips to kiss you deeply, slipping his tongue inside with a low groan. He keeps one hand tight on your hips as the other continues fumbling with your pants. You feel him tug at your zipper, the purr of the metal coming undone loud in the empty hotel room. His fingers slide over the skin at your hip bone and lower as they open up the fabric, pulling your jeans down just enough so he can toy with the edge of your panties next.

“Lacy,” he mumbles against your lips before deepening the kiss, slipping both his hands inside your panties to grab your ass. He squeezes into the skin harshly and you have to stifle a moan already. Pleased, noticing how ready you were for him, he breaks the kiss.

“Knew you wanted me,” he says in that cocky tone of his, making your blood boil.

“I don’t,” you reply, more out of stubbornness than anything but the effect is grand.

Chan grabs you and shoves you down onto the bed. You barely have time to realize what’s happening when he’s already managed to both pull your pants off and turn on the warm bedside lamp on the nightstand. You push yourself up on your elbows but he crawls over you, taking his shirt off in the process and forcing you back down. He’s fast to pin your one wrist to the mattress, his hips dipping down to prevent you from moving at all. A coarse finger is trailing down your cheek, stopping at your lips to press against the soft flesh.

“You don’t want me?” he asks in a pretend sweet way. His finger dips between your lips and you can’t help but suckle on the digit, something that sends a signal all the way down between your legs.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “whatever you say.”

You want to resist but the way his hard length is already pressing into your barely-covered crotch is throwing all logic out the window. As if he’s reading your mind, he starts to roll his hips into you, slowly, so you feel every single inch of him. You turn your head to the side, his finger coming out with a wet pop but he won’t have that. He grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“What is that?” he says, looking down at you unblinkingly, “you like it when I do that?” he grinds down on you again, painstakingly slow, the thin fabric of your panties letting you feel too much. You want to look away but he’s got you completely locked. You bite the inside of your lip to which he smirks, his tongue darting out to lick at your swollen mouth.

“You sure you’re not into this, baby?” he breathes heavily, rubbing himself on you shamelessly. Your mind is in overdrive, waging war between your stupid pride and your desire to get your brains fucked out by this asshole. He shouldn’t be this hot; it’s not fair. A moan escapes your lips when his hand finds its way under your shirt and bra to tweak your nipple. To make things worse, his lips dip down to your neck, sucking at the skin like he’s been yearning to do so all his life. Your skin tingles deliciously and you know his actions will leave bruises, but this only fuels your desperation.

“Yeah,” he moans into your skin and you can tell he’s still wearing that stupid smug grin of his, “I guess you’re not really into this maybe I should sto—”

“Oh my god, you complete ass-wipe just fuck me already!” you groan loudly, squirming under him in total aggravation.

His face comes to hover just over yours.

“Good girl.”

In one smooth movement, he flips you over onto your belly. You hear the sound of his pants dropping to the floor and the next moment he’s on top of you, his hot, exposed cock hard against your ass. He grabs a fist full of your hair and tugs up so he can latch onto your neck again. His dick slips between your legs as he pulls his hips back a little, before pushing back into you and letting his length massage your by-now-drenched pussy.

You moan out his name and he chuckles against your skin.

“You’re that needy for me already, huh?” he growls, biting down into your neck, “you want my cock?”

His fist tightens in your hair when you don’t reply.

“Yes,” you breathe, starting to push back against him.

“Such a bad girl,” he says, placing one last sloppy kiss to your neck, “getting ahead of yourself.”

His body moves away and the next moment his hands are on you, tugging you up, turning you around to face him.

“Suck,” he orders and a hand at the back of your neck pushes you down onto his ready cock.

He’s bigger than you’d thought he would be but he does not seem to care about what you’re thinking. The moment your lips wrap around his leaking head, he forces you down until he fills you all the way up to the back of your throat. You gag and choke but he keeps you there for a few seconds, groaning out in satisfaction.

“You’ve got to earn it, sweetie,” he breathes heavily.

When he finally lets go you shoot up gasping for air, a trail of saliva hanging from your parted lips.

He runs a hand through your hair, gently this time, almost soothingly. “You know what to do. Be a good girl and get back down there.”

You take the base of his dick in your hand and move down on him again, this time first licking your way up and down his shaft, slicking him up. You stroke his base slowly as you work your way around and hear him sigh out above you when you come back up to the head. His hand is still in your hair but he doesn’t force you down. When you look up at him and see the stern look in his eyes, however, you understand what is expected of you. You take him in again, stretching your lips over his skin, loving the feel of him in your mouth. The back of your mouth already feels sore from having him forced onto you earlier but you make your way down nonetheless, relishing the sound it evokes from him. His fingers caress your ears, your cheeks, your throat as you suck him, dragging your tongue over his length, swirling it around the tip and going back down, trying to take in as much of him as you could while your hand busied itself at his base.

“That’s right, baby girl,” he says, playing with your hair, “just like that.”

You feel him pulse inside you, which rouses you to quicken your pace. You feel his body move along with you, taking the new pleasure gladly but then, without warning, the hand at the back of your head hardens against you.

“Fuck,’ you hear him groan and, without warning, you’re being shoved down on him again. This time he moves you up and down along his shaft himself, jerking you around roughly and you can only cry out around his cock, tears starting to sting behind your eyes. You try to take him as well as you can as you whine and choke and this only gets him off more. He spews a chorus of curses down at you and starts to buck into your spent mouth. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore he pulls you off, bringing your face close to his.

His lips claim you hungrily, lapping up the saliva that had started spilling from your swollen lips. You don’t have a moment to catch your breath because the instant his lips leave yours he pulls your legs out from under you so you fall back onto the mattress. Finally, he tugs off your wetter-than-wet panties, throwing them over his shoulder because he has better things to look at. He holds both your legs in the air, spreading you open for him.

But then he doesn’t move. He just stares down at you, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“How bad do you want this, sweetie?”

“Fuck off,” you whine out in reply, patience running out.

He gives your pussy a quick, little slap that sends jolts of pain and pleasure through your system.

“Wrong answer,” he snarls, his hand coming back to your leg, steadying you as he leans in a bit closer over your helpless form, “try again, baby girl,” his fingers dig into your calves, “how much do you want this cock stretching you open? How much do you want me pounding into that pretty little pussy of yours, huh?”

“Fuck,” you cry under him, the lack of attention at your dripping core torturous, “just get in me, just fuck me, do whatever you want with me, fuck I need—” your speech is interrupted by your own shriek as he suddenly enters you all the way, not wasting any time letting you adjust. His tempo is fast and his thrusts hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room and mixing in with your cries of pleasure. He’s looking down at you intensely with plump parted lips.

“You look so pretty under me,” he groans in between pants, “so desperate for my cock,” he shifts more of his weight on you, bending you legs farther back and finding an even better angle. You whine out wildly as you feel him hit you just right.

“Desperate like the little slut you are.”

One of his hands lets go of a leg to push up your shirt and bra so he can toy with your nipples. You wince when he squeezes the sensitive bud at first but the startling sensation soon rolls over, joining in the incredible pleasure coursing through you.

You've completely let your pride slip away from you, shaking and moaning under him. You want him to use you like a sex toy, heartless and cold, bending you any way he wants. You've completely given yourself over to him and it clearly turns him on how weak you are for him. His eyes move over your body lustfully as he exhales heavy breaths. A single bead of sweat starts to roll down from his temple and he bites his lower lip.

"fuck," he groans as he pushes deep into you once more, staying there to relish the feel of your walls clamping around him for a moment.

He blinks down at you and pulls out, turning you over on all fours. He spanks you once, hard enough for you to squeal and cower. Then his hands wrap around your hips, fingers digging deep and shoves his cock inside without pause. Your back arches, you cry out and he lets out a dark chuckle in return. Once he's got a steady rhythmn going, he pulls one of your arms back so you arch up against him. His other hand slides over your neck, keeping you locked in place as he pounds into you from behind.

"Do you like this?" he grunts in your ear, fingers tightening around your neck, "you like being a little cum slut for me? Fuck, you do, don't you?" He bites into your ear hard and you whine for him. He lets go suddenly and the next moment you feel his hand at the back of your neck pushing you down into the mattress. His other hand is still clasping your hip hard enough to leave bruises, keeping your ass up for him to fuck into. Your cries are muffled into the pillow and you can barely breathe but you don't want him to stop.

"Well," he hisses, squeezing the back of your neck viciously, "do you?"

"Yes," you moan desperately, not even sure he can understand you through the pillow, "yes, please don't stop. Fuck me."

Fingers tangle in your hair and yank your face up.

"What's that, baby girl? I can't hear you," he hums.

"Fuck me harder," you manage to say but whatever you were planning to add on is lost because he quickens his pace, snapping his hips into you mercilessly so all you can do is let out shaky moans to his rhythmn. He smacks your ass again, groaning at the way it makes you shudder and does it again, harder.

Your whole body feels full of him, everything he's done to you and is still doing to you piled up inside you threatening to spill over. You moan out his name helplessly but this only makes him go wilder. You feel your core tighten, the faliliar tingling sensation taking over your skin the moment before you explode and your mind goes deliciously blank.

It is pure extacy as he rides you through your orgasm but once the pleasure has petered out you start to struggle underneath him, your sensitive core unable to take him anymore.

He notices your struggle but doesn't stop. He merely tightens his grip on you, one hand still bruising your hip, the other pushing down your back, squishing your lungs.

"Please," you whine, "it hurts."

He bends over you. "Patience , baby," he sighs and you can tell by his tone that he's far gone. His thrusts are erratic and the pain in your core is already being replaced by a brand new wave of pleasure. He's getting louder and louder above you, clearly losing control and you can only moan with him, letting him ride out his own orgasm inside of you.

"Fuck, baby," he grunts, letting himself fall on top of you, "fuck."

"You can say that again," you groan, your whole body weak in the afterglow of everything that just happened.

He slowly pulls out of you, collapsing beside you on the bed, looking spent like a motherfucker. When his eyes meet you though, they start to glint wickedly.

"So you did want me," he grins and you roll your eyes.

"Oh fuck all the way off!" you let out, pressing a pillow into his stupidly sexy face and rolling away from him.

You may just have had the fuck of the century but that didn't mean you had to go confessing truths to a guy like Christopher Bang. Nope; cause you didn't fuck with guys like him. Well...

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When the Weight Comes Down - 3

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); nothing for this chapter

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: Here’s part three. Hope you enjoy the subtle escalation of dark! Steve. Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter Three: Everytime You Go

Said, "My girl don't just walk, she unfurls" With motorcycle language He stumbled through his slang pledge Then he dragged the mud for wedding pearls

💀💀💀

Your days passed at the bakery as if nothing had changed. Babs didn’t ask about Steve but you could tell she wanted to. You could tell she was reassured as he hadn’t made a second appearance. And your mother. She barely spoke to you at all now and when she did, she accused you of foolishness. She didn’t believe that you had tried to say no. That you had tried to avoid the leather-clad man.

He lingered at the back of your mind but you tried not to think about him too much. Only when you walked by the bar that was throne to the ancient Egyptian queen. You wondered why they had chosen her for their moniker. The doomed queen and her many, alleged, lovers.

On Tuesday, you went the other way. You stood outside Lloyd’s and stared in at the new fantasy novel. You never shopped much from the bestsellers, you stuck to the used shelves; often you kept to the library. That was free.

You stepped inside and found the old man bent over his desk. He held a long pair of tweezers as he put together a ship in a bottle. He barely looked at you as he said hello. You smiled and mumbled your response before you dipped down your usual aisle; historical fiction and centuries old fantasy.

You didn’t see anything interesting so you moved along. You neared the shelf of biographies and found the woman from the bar; the new bartender. She didn’t seem to notice you as she read the back of a book about Katherine Hepburn. You stepped up beside her and pulled out a biography of Elizabeth Taylor. As you did, another fell and you bent to pick it up. The woman jumped as you stood and held both the books.

“I didn’t see you there,” She turned to you and glanced at the books in your hands. “Take the bottom one. The top one is… mere gossip.”

“Oh?” You looked down. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” She turned over the book in her hand and slapped it against her other palm. “Do I know you?”

“Um, I’ve seen you at the diner… but the other night you were at the bar,” You put the first book back and kept the second. 

She thought for a moment then nodded.

“You left with Steve.” She said.

“Well, he helped me with my pa,” You stammered. “I didn’t leave with him.”

“Helped you?” Her expression turned stony. “Well, that was nice of him.”

You turned back to the shelf and read the titles quietly. She glanced over a few more herself but only held onto the one.

“Right. See ya around, maybe.” She said.

You nodded and she slowly stepped around you. She was halfway down the aisle before you found your courage.

“Wait,” You spun around and took a few steps toward her. “The way you-- What do you mean it was nice of him?”

She laughed sardonically, her lips curled sourly.

“Birds of a feather,” She said. “I… know a few of his friends; they aren’t very friendly. Not exactly the helpful type.” Her nostrils flared. “What I mean is that he is not a nice man. Not a good one, in the least.”

You blinked at her dumbly.

“Because he’s a biker?” You asked.

“No, because he’s a criminal. And an asshole.” She snarled. “Just… trust me. You’re best off staying home and reading. The Asp is no place for girls like you.”

You felt like your skin was on fire. You clutched the book and shifted on your feet as she went to walk away.

“How--” You caught yourself and she stopped again.

“How what?” She asked.

“Well, how do I tell him no?” 

She squinted. Her forehead wrinkled and she stepped closer.

“What do you mean?” 

“He… asked me to have a drink with him, I told him I didn’t want to but… he wouldn’t listen.”

Her face fell and she shook her head. She swore under her breath.

“Well, you don’t,” She leaned a hand on the shelf. “You can’t. He’s one of them.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry. Why are you sorry?”

She shrugged. “I guess because I know what that’s like.”

“Oh,” You uttered and she gave a weak smile before she turned away again.

You watched her go and she stopped at the door to glance back at you. She gave a small wave and stepped out into the street. You slowly trode down the aisles and neared the man at the counter. Larry, Lu? You always forgot.

“Bag?” He asked as he punched the buttons on the till.

“No thank you,” You said as you dug in your purse. Your hand shook as you handed him a bill.

💀

You weren’t sure what to wear. You knew it wasn’t a real date. No, that was dumb. It was a drink. Just a drink. You’d watched enough prime time television to know that meant nothing. And watched enough to know that your wardrobe was painfully out of date. Your old jeans and tees would do on any other day but you weren’t sure that was proper attire for… a drink.

You pulled on the yellow dress with daisies. The skirt hung past your knees and the cap sleeves were dated. You pulled on a crochet cardigan over it and the pair of slingback flats from the back of your closet. You sprayed yourself with the white rose perfume you rarely touched to hide the thrift store scent which clung to you.

You looked okay. You didn’t have any make-up. You never wore it. And your hair looked better than most days; you had tried. Your mother appeared in your door as you grimaced at your reflection.

“Don’t you look nice.” She crossed her arms.

“Ma,” You buttoned your cardigan. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re so naive.” She hissed. “You have no idea what this man could do to you.”

“Ma, please, it’s just a drink.” You neared her. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“And when he tries to stick his hand up your skirt, Hmm? You gonna have a choice then?”

You’d never heard her sound so hateful. You flinched.

“No, he doesn’t… want that,” You grabbed your small purse from your dresser and checked that your little wallet was inside. “Ma, really.”

“Do you really think he wants anything else?” She sneered. “He’s playing with you.”

“Maybe. Well, of course, he is, but are you going to stop him? Is Pa gonna get off his fat ass and stop him?” You huffed. 

“You think this makes you an adult? Acting like this?”

“You married Pa,” You edged past her. “You know all about marrying an asshole.”

“Don’t you say that,” She followed you down the hall.

“It’s the truth.” You stopped at the front door and opened it to peer through the torn screen. “I might as well accept that I’ll never get out of Birch. I’ll be lucky to get out of this house.”

“Don’t act like we never did anything for you.”

“I never said that,” You turned back to her. “But you can’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Sweet pea…” She clasped her hands together.

“Worry about Pa,” You said as you grasped the door handle and you heard your father swearing at the baseball game. “Worry about yourself. You know how he gets.”

“I’m only worried about you.” She argued.

“Don’t,” You pushed the door open. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

You pulled the big door shut behind you and let the screen door bounce against the frame. You sat on the steps and stared into the dusk. The days got longer and longer as the nights dwindled. You played with the thin strap of your bag and tapped your foot on the rotting wood.

The roar of an engine tore through the air and you stood as you watched Steve approach on the dark beast. The motorcycle huffed a stream of exhaust from its tail and you fidgeted. He stopped just before the yellowed grass and you slowly descended the bottom step.

He let the engine idle as it quieted to a steady rumble. He waved you over with a leather-gloved hand and you neared reluctantly. He smiled at you and gestured to the seat behind him.

“Helmet’s in the saddle bags,” He called over the engine. “Keep your legs wide. Don’t wanna touch that exhaust.” 

You nodded and hooked your purse around your body. You went to the saddle bag and fumbled with the buckle. You found the helmet inside and pulled it on. You struggled with the strap and Steve chuckled as he beckoned you closer. He helped secure it and his leather glove tickled your jaw.

“Get on,” He said.

You climbed up, nearly falling as you did, and caught yourself on his shoulder. He seemed barely bothered by the slip and you swung your leg over. You sat there, awkwardly and leaned back. He took your arm and pulled it around his side.

“You’ll have to hold on,” He said. 

He slowly backed up, a foot at a time and angled the bike around. You held onto him and looked back at the house. Your mother was at the window, watching. You lowered your eyes and the scent of leather filled your nostril. Steve kicked off and the bike tore down the drive and onto the road. You clung tighter to him as you let out a surprised yelp.

It was only a few minutes before you reached the main road and he pulled into the side lot of The Asp. He came to a stop and waited as you carefully climbed off. You were thankful to be back on the ground. He kicked the stand down as he killed the engine and got off himself.

He took off his helmet and took yours from you. You gripped your purse tightly, nervously. He guided you around the front of the building, his hand on the small of your back. Every time you tried to make space between you, he got closer.

You stepped inside to the same smells as before. Your stomach turned but you kept on. Steve led you to a table and offered you a seat beside another man in leather. You weren’t expecting a crowd but it might save you some awkwardness. You sat as he took the chair beside you and rested his hand on yours, just behind your shoulder.

“This is Bucky,” He pointed to the man at your other shoulder. “Boss man. Sam, Danny, and Reese.”

The men nodded at you, more interested in their beer and their own conversations than your arrival. The only who really acknowledged you was that beside you.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone,” Bucky sat back and raised two fingers to signal the bar then looked at you. “Good to meet ya.”

“You too,” You mumbled and cradled your purse in your lap.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” Steve asked as the server neared. 

It was the girl from the bookstore. As she came around, Bucky reached over and caressed her hip. She stiffened but said nothing on it.

“Refill,” Bucky said. “Thanks.”

“A bud,” Steve said tersely. He exchanged a sharp look with the woman. “And--”

You blinked as he waited for you to order. You shrugged.

“I.. don’t know. I don’t really drink.” You muttered.

“She’ll have one too,” Steve filled in.

The woman nodded and strode away. She returned shortly with a tray of tall glasses and you thanked her. She gave you a sympathetic glance before she left you again.

“That’s a… unique dress,” Steve commented as he touched your skirt. “I think my mom had one just like it.”

You scrunched your lips and reached for the beer. You didn’t know what to say.

“Didn’t mean it was bad,” He said and you recoiled at the hoppy beer. “You’ll get used to the taste.”

You nodded and put the pint down. He took his and drank deeply.

“You ever play pool?” He asked. “I could teach you?”

You peeked over at the table. You didn’t like the idea of being bent over like the men did as they hit the balls. You shook your head.

“No, thank you.” You said.

“Poker?” He chanced.

“I don’t know,” You picked at your sweater. “I…”

“It’s okay.” His hand settled on your knee. “You don’t need to be so nervous. I like you. Quiet as you are.”

You gave a sheepish smile and took a drink; a deep gulp. You glanced at the bottle cap clock over the bar. You couldn’t wait for the night to end.

💀

You were wobbly as you stood up. A second glass went down easier and you weren’t so bothered by the grainy taste, though you still wondered how your father could drink so much. Steve angled you around the table as you tried not to betray how unsteady you felt. He grabbed your arm as you got ahead of him.

“Hold up, doll,” He pulled you back beside him. “It’s barely eleven.”

You were silent as he kept pace with you and followed you out the door. The night air was cool and a slap on your hot cheeks.

“I’ll walk you home,” He offered. “Beer went down too easy.”

“Mmhmm,” You hugged yourself, the air seeping through the crocheted cardigan.

“You got tomorrow off, you said?” He asked and you felt his hand on your back again.

“Yeah,” You answered quietly.

“How about I take ya for a ride? A nice long one.” He rubbed your lower back.

“I don’t know. I got a lot to do.”

“Chores? Scared to disappoint your mommy?”

“N-no,” You wavered slightly as your toe caught a crack in the sidewalk. “No. I just… I have things to do.”

“They can wait,” He brought his arm up and slung it over your shoulders. “Doll… you gotta let loose.”

You grabbed his hand and stopped suddenly. You pushed it off your shoulder and turned to him.

“Steve, I don’t think this is--”

His other hand came up to frame your face and you were stunned by his suddenness. He kissed you and the air went out of you. A peck on with a tickle of tongue along your lips. You squeaked in surprise and pulled back. You touched your lips; your first kiss.

You spun and quickly hurried away from him. He followed and caught your hand. He drew you back once more.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Steve, please.” You pleaded. “I just want to go home.”

“I wasn’t rough,” He said. “So, what’s the matter?”

You looked at your feet. He kept hold of your hand and you swayed a little. The beer made your eyelids droop.

“Steve, I’ve never… kissed anyone before,” You admitted as you dared to look at him. The street light caught the blue of his eyes and illuminated the angles of his face. “And I just…” You wrestled with him until you loosed your hand from his. “I don’t know.”

“What?” He stopped you before you could run away, his hands on your arms. “How’s it that you never been kissed?”

“Stop,” You said. “Please. I’m not that girl.”

“Not what girl?”

“The girl you kiss,” You huffed. “I wanna go home.”

“You’re the girl I wanna take for a ride.” He dropped his hands and grabbed yours. He turned you towards your house and continued down the street. “Tomorrow at noon.”

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  a bit of jhs x named f!reader (but not really)?

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  general flangst?  anguf?  a blend of angst and fluff, tbh.  mainly angst tho.

tags / warnings.  sibling dynamics, introspective sadness, talk about not-so-healthy relationships (obviously), dumbass!jk, asshole!jk, jealous!jk, how many more jk tags can i add?, a silly reference to scott pilgrim.  nothing serious. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ aka the loml!!!

wc.  3.1k

chapter four.

You and Yoongi don’t fight.  It’s always been a point of pride - something to look at and smile on. 

That must be why it feels so terrible now, with his knuckles blown white and enough rage to start a war simmering within his veins.  You’ve never seen him like this:  a world away from your soft Yoon, your best friend, your beloved brother.

“Yoongi, really--” 

“No.  Stop saying that.”  Despite the fact that you know his anger isn’t directed at you - that you’re the farthest target in his mind - it still hurts, like getting caught in friendly fire.  Pinpricks of guilt spill across your skin, nerve endings shot to hell by the way his mouth curls and tears, venom laced between his teeth and draped across his tongue.  “He came here and you didn’t tell me?  I told you - I’ll kill him.”

Hyperbole, you’re sure, but you can’t help the way your heart stutters.  A little oh no for a boy who doesn’t deserve it - whose silhouette still carves a spectacularly painful hole in your chest.

“I didn’t want you to worry--”  It’s not an excuse.  It’s not meant to be.  You never lie to Yoongi.  Frankly, you don’t think you could.  

“You’re my sister.”

It’s enough of a rebuttal that you’re reduced to silence.  He’s right.  You’re family;  family don’t keep secrets.

“I’m sorry,”  you try again, feeble and emphatic.  

There’s an unbearable distance between you - a sea’s worth of sadness that rocks the rickety boat you’ve built.  You can practically see it stretching on and on, sweeping you further and further from his safe shores.  It’s an awful feeling. 

“You’re my sister,”  he repeats, suddenly so tired you worry for him.  For once, he looks that much older than you, as if five years have forced passages of experience within his pages.  “You can’t hide things from me.  Who’s going to be there for you if not me?”  

You want to rebuff him - insist that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for - but you know it’s not what he means.  More than anyone, Yoongi believes in you.  He sees your strength even when you can’t see your own;  he’s been that strength more times than you can count.  

The reality of your situation isn’t lost on you.

He’s the only one who knows everything you’ve been through.  A diary in living breathing form, full of your most shameless secrets, your deepest worries, your worst heartbreaks.  

“I know.”  Apology threads each syllable, stitches them neatly to each other.  The sincerity is blinding, bright white and earnest.  “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”  

The smile he offers is rueful, twisting the edge of his mouth in a manner you’ve adopted over the years.  You return it without thought and then, all at once, the expanse is closed.  He’s laughing - a sound that doesn’t ring true in the way you know it should - but it’s a laugh and you know everything is okay.

“Still worried,”  he returns with a quiet sigh and flick of his wrist.

You’re with him in a breath, curled against his side on the couch you’d cried yourself to sleep on just days ago.  While you’re both far closer in size than you’ve ever been - you were always a tiny kid growing up, even against Yoongi’s own slim frame - it’s reminiscent of your childhood and being caught beneath haphazardly strewn sheets and disorganised chaos in the form of blanket forts.

Dry lips find a home against the side of your head, his arm dragging you to warmth.  “You’re an idiot, you know.”  He says it in the way only an older brother can - with all the frustration and love in the world.  

You do know, intimately well, how idiotic you are.  Have been.  Seemingly always will be.

“I know,”  you mumble, sad into the raised hood of your sweater.  “But I made him leave.”  It sounds like a child begging for praise - to be told they’ve done well.  You won’t deny you need it now.  

Good is the first thing Yoongi says, a little flippant and with a hard set of his jaw.  More comes when he catches your expression and the way the dent forms between your brows, the tiny pout of your lips.  It’s the same face you’ve made all your life - one that hits him right behind the ribs like a Whack-A-Mole game at the carnival.

“You did good, Vivi.  I’m proud of you.”  They’re bandages, sticky and adhesive on the stitches Jungkook’s visit had torn open.  “You’re great and he’s…”  There are words he’d like to use - a million scathing adjectives to paint the asshole in technicolour - but he knows better.  Knows you can’t take it, at least not right now.  “He doesn’t deserve you.  You get that, right?  You’re better off without him.”

You nod against his side but offer nothing further.  The silence speaks worrying volumes.

“You’re not going to answer him again, right?”  

Some half-mumbled non-committal response comes.  Yoongi wants to tear his own hair out.  Better yet, he wants to tear yours out.  Instead, he blows a long exhale through his nose, free hand coming to scrub across his face.  When will you learn?  

“I’m scared.”

It’s so quiet even you hardly hear it, ear tucked against the cotton of Yoongi’s flannel.  You think, for a moment, maybe he’s missed it too.  Then he squeezes you a little tighter:  a silent reassurance.

“Seeing him again just brings back so many memories.”  Every other word is muffled but it’s the most you can do.  Courage is carried quietly - too loud and you’ll shatter it.  “I thought three years would be enough.  It should be, right?”

It’s a rhetorical question;  Yoongi still debates answering it, just for his own sake.

“Maybe he’s changed.  Or maybe I’ve changed.  It could be different.”  It’s a clandestine belief and one you shouldn’t speak to life - especially to your brother.  It spills forth of its own accord, wrong for so many reasons but begging to be asked.  You have no control over it and the hope it sows somewhere within your chest.

“You can’t actually believe that.”  

It’s infinitely more scathing than Hoseok’s reaction, tearing out of Yoongi’s mouth like a bullet.  You can’t help the way you frown, brows drawn and lips pursed.  You’ve known Yoongi your whole life.  Reading between the lines feels like you’re fucking stupid but you know it’s not quite so harsh.  A frustrated you dumb idiot, maybe.

“Don’t make that face.”  

“I’m not making any face.”  

“Yes, you are.  It’s the same one you made when I embarrassed you on your first date.  Also the one you made after you threw up all over Hoseok’s shoes the first night you met him.”  The recollection doesn’t help your cause - you’re grimacing even more deeply, chagrin spilling into misery in the form of red hot heat over your cheeks.  “Don’t resent me for being realistic, Vivi.  You know he hasn’t changed.”

The silence is childish.  You know that.

“You can’t fix people.”

He arrives with flowers.  Two full bunches of your favourite blooms - pretty peonies in shades of coral and lavender.  They’re heavy in his arms, held so gingerly it’s almost comical as he extracts himself from the vehicle he most definitely should not be driving.  He wonders whether you’ll be home - if he’ll get to see your expression when he presents them to you.  He hopes you’ll light up, brighter than the sun in the sky and better than any nightlight.  

What he doesn’t expect is someone walking up the sidewalk, gym bag slung across his shoulder like he’s getting ready to settle in for a long night.  Short - atleast a few inches shorter than himself - with a stupid face that makes Jungkook want to punch it.  Dumb shoes, too.  Who the fuck wears Off-White Jordan 1s in that colourway?

There’s a permanent scowl etched across his face as he watches from behind the tinted comfort of his car, single hand caught around the edge of the door.  He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s perhaps crushing the stems cradled in his arms, inked knuckles blown white around quickly crumpling brown paper.

Maybe he’s your neighbour.  Or maybe he’s going to the other house or maybe—

No, he’s definitely walking right up the front path.

The words are out before Jungkook can stop them, shouted into the quiet afternoon more loudly than he anticipates.  “Hey!”

Dumbass with the face turns, full of surprise and wandering eyes.  He hesitates halfway up your stoop, looking stupider than ever as he looks around for the source of the voice.  

Then his stare falls on the brunet with his hands full and it’s like a flip has switched - mouth hardening into a line that raises the hairs on the back of Jungkook’s neck.  He’s glaring at him (or something close to it).  

Seriously - who is this fucker?

“Can I help you?”  Hoseok speaks far more reasonably, at an octave that doesn’t shatter the peace of the residential neighbourhood.  He’s still caught on the steps, fist tight around the strap of his bag as he studies the man - no, boy - that jogs up to meet him, two rungs the only thing separating the two of them.

“Do you know Vira?”

A part of Hoseok flinches at Jungkook’s casual use of your name - like he knows you or deserves to address you like an old friend.  This kid really was clueless.

When he speaks, he’s perfectly composed, tension held tight behind his teeth.  “I said, can I help you?”

Jungkook bristles at the response, some snarky comment threatening to knock the other off his apparent high horse.  He barely catches it, grinding it down into a fine powder beneath his molars.  He has to tread lightly here. 

“I’m a friend of hers.”  Not a lie, per se.  You two were friends;  after all, you’d come when he’d called.  That meant something, right?  Had to. 

“A friend?”  Disbelief slips into place, evident in the tone of Hoseok’s voice, how his brows shift beneath his chestnut fringe.  He knows better than to believe Jungkook - has heard all the heartbreaking stories - but he can’t quite keep the worry from worming it’s way into his thoughts.  They settle uncomfortably, just beneath the surface. “Is she expecting you?”

Everything about Hoseok makes Jungkook hate him.  From the sneakers he wears to the watch on his wrist - understated, all gold, more expensive than a nerd like him should have - there’s something undoubtedly punchable about him.

It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that he’s seemingly close with you.  Definitely not.

“I was going to surprise her.”  The flowers are held aloft, gesticulated in the best manner Jungkook can manage with his arms so full.  “I didn’t know she was expecting you.”  It’s a cheap tactic - recycling words - but he can’t think of much else beyond fitting his foot into this guy’s mouth.

“She’s not.”  Sharp, sparse, with no hint of indulgence.  Hoseok’s not about to get into a verbal sparring match with Jungkook.  It’s not worth his time.  

He is, however, going to put him in his place - and easily at that.

“She’s still at work.”  Slim bundle of keys rise - two unassuming and one for an Audi.  Perhaps unnecessary but Hoseok takes great pleasure in the other’s expression.

Tch is Jungkook’s first thought before the second smacks him straight in the face.  He has a key to your place?  The fact rubs him all the wrong ways despite the fact that he has no right to be bothered;  it isn’t his home any more - hasn’t been in years.  It still hurts, though, right behind his ribs and all the way down to the tips of his fingers.

Is this how you felt all those times?  

Something like nausea builds in Jungkook’s stomach, throwing acid up the walls of his throat.  It burns and strings, licking painfully all the way into his mouth.  His teeth ache - buzz uncomfortably - and his tongue feels suddenly far too heavy.  He wonders if he might choke on it.

Then, slowly, in a voice he doesn’t recognise.  Too soft, years younger, uncertain.  “Can you give these to her?”  He hates it.

He hates even more the way Hosoek looks at him, with such pity Jungkook wants to curl it around his fist and break the older man’s teeth with it.  It’s something he’s seen a handful of times - from you, from your brother, from his worried mother when she thinks he doesn’t notice.  It never gets easier. 

It forces him into a position he hasn’t been in in years:  weak.

“I don’t think so.”  By how calmly Hoseok speaks, it’s almost as if he’s commenting on the weather or passing along a banal bit of information.  It’s far too nonchalant to be breaking Jungkook’s heart, splitting it cleanly in two.

“Why not?”  Jungkook’s petulant, a child denied his favourite toy, forced into time-out.  

That’s not for you screams Hoseok’s expression.  She’s not for you.  “I’m not comfortable with doing so.”  

The sinking feeling hasn’t stopped for Jungkook.  It goes and goes until he wishes he were six feet under, buried under ground as low as he feels.  He should leave.  He knows he should leave - if only to stop the discomfort that’s gripping every nerve, twisting them like an elbow about to snap.  

“Anyway.”  There’s boredom working its way into Hoseok’s stare, relaxing the shape of his mouth until it falls wide around a short, terse sigh.  “If you’re friends, you can get in touch and drop them off later.”  

He’s done playing gatekeeper - can feel his frustration bubbling to the surface in a way he’s not about to entertain.  He nods once, dismissive, before turning away from the so-called rockstar that seems terribly small and the farthest thing from it.

“Goodbye.”  Then he’s disappearing into your home, leaving Jungkook on the steps with his tail between his legs.

You return home three hours later - blissfully unaware of what’s transpired.  

You set your dinner on the kitchen island, deftly unpacking takeout boxes as Hoseok hurries to your side to help.  You don’t mind when he bumps into you, knocking his hip against yours with a heart-shaped smile.

It burns a little brighter than usual.  “Good day?”  

He hums in response, sneaking a yellow tomato from the salad box he’s just popped open.  “Something like that.” 

“Something like that?”  You can’t help but echo him, a pretty parrot with shining eyes and a silk bow in your hair.  “Don’t play coy, Jung Hoseok.”  A digit closes the minimal distance between you, finding purchase against his side - right where he’s most ticklish.

He shrieks, nearly upending the fries he’s tried to dump onto a ceramic plate.

“Hey!”  Hands swat, then fold, catching your fingers between his in an awkward hand-hold.  “Keep your hands to yourself, Vi.” 

“You don’t complain normally,”  you retort.  You’re not wrong.  Skinship with you is one of his favourite things, fourth only to his dog, dancing, and a certain green-labelled soda.

“Well, today’s a special day.”  

Hoseok really doesn’t know where he’s going with his words - only hoping that he’ll find their destination somewhere along the way.  He doesn’t want to tell you too soon, all too aware of how the mention of your ex will bring this perfect moment crumbling down.  He wants to hold it, perhaps a little too tightly, for as long as he can.  He thinks he’s doing you a service, giving you these few extra minutes.

“Oh yeah?”  You’re twinkling eyes and pealing laughter, so far removed from the bag of bones and sadness of only days prior.  It’s hard to believe there’s something broken inside of there - tucked right behind your breastplate and out of sight.

“Yeah.”  

You wait for him to continue, opting instead to fill the silence with mouth noises.  He’ll tell you when he’s ready.  He always does.  

“Jungkook came by.”  It comes halfway through a bite of a french fry, the carb nearly bringing you to an early death when you choke on it.  All at once, everything spins, as if just the name is enough to upend your entire world.  Hoseok’s clapping your back, rubbing soothing circles over the cotton of your shirt, and you’re struggling to find words or breath - heaving around the sudden heaviness.

“What?”  So small, it’s hardly a word.

“He was here when I got here.”  You’re not oblivious to the careful way he speaks, choosing his words with utmost care.  You don’t miss his grip either, gentle and unyielding at your side - as if he might steady you beneath the sudden tidal wave of emotion.  

You do well, keeping your voice level once you’ve found it again.  “And?  What did he want?”

Hoseok does you the great service of pretending as if he doesn’t hear the hope in your voice.  You’re grateful for that. 

“He came with flowers.”  Not quite a laugh comes - more unimpressed and derisive than amused.  “Two bouquets, actually.”  You can feel him studying you from your periphery, his careful stare trained on your face and the dozen emotions that run rampant through it.  “Your favourite flowers too.”

Your laugh matches his own, though far heavier, as if the sound won’t form without immense effort.  “Wow.”

“Yeah.”  It’s a word you’ve heard a lot tonight.  It feels right.  One syllable to encompass every feeling you can’t properly articulate.  “He asked me to give them to you.”  

It should surprise you but it doesn’t.  Jungkook’s never been one to ask - instead taking what he wants - but it’s still funny.  Of course he’d ask that of Hoseok, as if the act itself weren’t terribly strange, the flowers an unwelcome, begging apology.  Jeon Jungkook only did what he wanted - etiquette be damned.

“I don’t see them anywhere.”  

“I told him I wasn’t comfortable doing it.”  There’s a touch of pride, glimmering gold painted over consonants and vowels.  It’s understated in the way that Hoseok always is - not how he looks, but is;  you’re drawn to it nonetheless, squeezing your fingers around his own in a silent thank you.

“I hope it wasn’t weird.”  It must have been.  It’s still the thought that counts.

Hoseok hams it up, scoffing like it’s just been another day.  “Weird?  Of course not.  I have to deal with my friend’s horrible exes all the time.  I’m practically Scott Pilgrim.”  

“Does that make me Ramona Flowers?”  

“No - but you’re my flower.”  He says it in jest, only to make you smile, because he knows you need it right now.

You try not to think of how you prefer Pumpkin, instead.

tag list.  @jalexad @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx @pars-ley @seokjinssi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @patpus @dazedjjk @koozui @jinhitwhore @always-wishing-for-rain @neverthefirstchoice @snackhobi 

[lunarastrobabe]

Jill Valentine x F!Reader: Winter Love

(Fluff, no warnings) 

October 12, 1998

-

Just eleven days after the Raccoon City incident, you were living in New York, you had already escaped the city’s meltdown on September 28th, when everything went into entire chaos. You were a S.T.A.R.S. Member, along with your fellow colleagues, Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Albert Wesker, Rebecca Chambers and Brad Vickers, they were the only people you ever got close to in the work force. You were the female rookie at the start, the others were very high trained people, this did scare you and it did intimidate you at first, but once you got to know them, you felt like you were safe and at home. You were very close with Chris, he was like the brother you never had, you told him everything, including this secret that you had kept inside. You were in love with Jill, you had been ever since you first met her, the way her hair would curl at the side of her cheeks to the bottom of her chin, the way her lips would curl into a smile that would bright up your darkest days. The way she was so motivated and so independent towards her work and her home life. Chris had your full support with the secret and your feelings towards Jill. He wished you happiness and it was the best reaction you could have hoped for. 

She was your best friend, you hadn’t heard from her since she was fired from S.T.A.R.S.. You called and called and called and she never answered, you were terrified she was killed or even worse .. turned into one of those flesh-eating monsters. You waited by the phone anxiously, waiting for her to call and say she was alright. 

Few days later

It was already snowing and still, no sign of Jill, you were cooking breakfast in the kitchen and feeding your brown tabby cat who was walking in between each of your legs meowing for food. 

“Alright mister, I’m coming.” You laughed and set the food bowl down in front of him. As you stood up to clean the mess that engulfed the kitchen, the doorbell rang. You brushed off some flour from your hands and walked to the front door. Opening you found Jill stood there. You had never seen her so down before. Her clothing was torn and she had some scratches and bruises on her back, arms and legs, luckily they were nothing serious. She hadn’t showered in a while and seeing her stood there with a broken look on her face shattered your heart. 

“Oh my god, Jill!” You pulled her in for a hug not caring what monster smells was wafting around. “What happened? Thank god you’re okay! I was so worried.” She didn’t move or make a single sound. Her eyes just looked straight ahead at the living space in front of her. The black marble kitchen counter was covered in flour, dirty dishes and some left over food from the night before. It looked like a flour bomb went off.

“Jill?” You asked as you pulled back from the hug prying your arms away from her waist. Her blue-grey eyes had so much wisdom but so much pain in them. On the outside she was this badass, independent, kick-ass woman you had ever met. She trained hard to get to where she was now, working with S.T.A.R.S. yet, the incidence that took over the city, the city you both grew up in had changed your lives forever without much realisation of what the future might be like. 

She coughed lightly, covering her mouth with her gloved hand which was also scratched up. “(Y/N.)” Her voice cracked a little at the word she spoke through her hoarse throat. She was shivering from the snow as it fell harder and harder by the minute. You took her hand ever so gently and took her inside, closing the door behind her. You took your blue large knitted blanket from the love seat that sat near the door and wrapped it around her. 

“Jill, rest, I’ll get the shower ready for you. Then we can talk.” You put your warm hand to her stone cold cheek, brushing the dried blood from underneath her eye with your thumb. It made her wince a little at your touch. You turned away and walked upstairs to the bathroom. She slowly sat herself down in the thick comfy chair, as the fireplace crackled and popped from the flames. Jill looked around, at the photo frames that were placed across the top of the fireplace, mostly of you and your friends with S.T.A.R.S. including some of you and your family. It made her smile thinking back to the time before the incidence, when everybody was happy and things were going great. She shook it out of her mind, so many thoughts, memories (the good and the bad) tumbling around in her mind like a wave of intense fog. She slid the blanket off of her shoulders and slowly got up and walked upstairs, every step she made caused creaks to emerge from the staircase, picture frames hung up on the wall of you and your family from memories now long gone. Flashbacks haunted her mind. She squinted at the thoughts coming back. The memories of Nemesis, of the Beta’s and the Gamma’s she had to witness. She tried so hard to forget but it was too much to bare. 

You walked out of the bathroom and saw Jill coming to the door. “Hey, it’s um, it’s ready for you.” You twiddled your thumbs and gave a small smile. She gave a smile in return, and it warmed your heart. 

“Thank you.” She spoke with a soft tone. She grabbed the pink towel off the rack and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. 

You let out a sigh and scratched the back of your neck. You wanted to make her feel at home and help cheer her up, she was clearly distraught and was in need of absolute care and comfort. Considering it was snowing outside that morning, you had the perfect day planned. 

You took out your puffy winter jacket, it was black soft fabric with fur around the hood, you had matching black combat boots to go with it and some gloves, also setting down some spare clothes for Jill to wear. Your cat jumped on the arm of the love seat and meowed. 

“I won’t be long, mister.” You let out a giggle and kissed the top of his head and turned to see Jill waiting for you near the coat rack. 

“Thanks for the spare clothes, but, where are we going?” She asked, zipping up her brown parka coat and straightening her red tartan scarf. She ran her fingers through her, shiny soft brown hair and it made your heart flutter. So much natural beauty this woman had wasn’t the only thing that made you fall deeply in love with her, it was how she was always by your side through the hard times and the easy times, and her personality was the most important thing. 

“We, are going to spend the day together, “ You smiled grabbing your brown leather bag slinging it over your shoulder. She adverted her gaze away from you to grab the brass doorknob. You took her warm hand into yours, goosebumps covering your skin at the touch, your fingers slowly entwining with hers. She didn’t resist, she tightened the grip and looked up to you. You both headed out the front door and feeling the fresh snow crunch underneath your feet, leaving boot prints along the way. 

During the day, you both had a snowball fight, drank some hot coffee from a small little cute cafe not far from your home, it was New York so it was covered in bakery places and cafe’s. She started to relax a little, slowly finding a way to explain to you everything that she saw, everything she fought and people she lost during her ordeal. You felt closer to her, each word she spoke and each sentence she described, you wanted to protect her, protect her from all the harm that would come her way. 

Later on, sitting on a bench in Central Park, you talked about your memories together being in S.T.A.R.S. and reminiscing over the good times. 

“You know (Y/N), I never thought I would’ve survived what happened in R.C, I never thought in our lifetime, something like that could happen to us. And when it did, I had to fight to survive, fight to get back to you.” She let out a nervous chuckle, cold air could be seen escaping her lips. She turned her face to look at you, moving her body closer to yours. 

You were surprised at what she said, you never imagined that her thoughts and mine would focus on you. “I’m so glad you are safe.” Even with the freezing cold temperature, the heat from the moment you two were having made you forget about the snow and the weather. 

Your hand made its way to her rosy blushed cheeks, and pulled her in close. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous as fuck about what was going to happen, the fluttering in your heart and your stomach and the fast pace of your heart made the moment even sweeter than it had to be. 

Your soft cold lips made a connection with hers, her kiss was tender and sweet, moving in perfect sync with yours. This was the best feeling you had ever felt in such a long time. 

You pulled back to get some air and you looked into her eyes, you could see the happiness in hers staring right back at you. 

“Maybe this is the right time to say, I love you. I always have, I always will.” You blurted out, but you didn’t care, you needed to tell her. 

“I love you too.” She immediately pulled you in for another kiss, circling her arm around your waist and pulling you close to her body to keep the warmth in. 

The snow was falling all around you and despite the circumstances before-hand, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect moment.