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tomurasprincess · 4 years

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Kinktober Day 22: Zombie (Voracious)

Day 22: Zombie Title: Voracious Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: Noncon, necrophilia (cause zombie), predator/prey, biting, marking, blood play, yandere Note: Thank you so much to @thewheezingwyvern who is always down to help me without batting an eye when I go “so, zombie plague...what are some good symptoms? And yes, the zombie is going to fuck you.” Also, for the love of everything that is unholy, please mind the warnings. Do not read the fic and come to me to tell me how disgusting it was. Trust me, I know. :)

Kinktober Masterlist

The country of Japan is dead. Or at least close enough that the distinction doesn’t matter.

Several months ago, an aggressive virus leaked from a quirk research facility and spread through the population like wildfire. Nobody was informed about what was going on, and nobody was warned when the virus first began to hit the cities. Officials kept it as quiet as possible, hoping to contain the spread before it got out of control. And before anyone knew how big of a mistake they had made.

But it was far too late for any sort of containment. The virus already spread fast in a lab environment, and it was even faster as it tore through an unprepared population.

The first sign of contracting the virus is tiredness and body aches. The infected simply thought they caught a minor illness, and they continued their business as usual, expecting it to go away on its own. But as the virus continues to spread through their body, the tissues start to die and they develop intense fevers and headaches. By the time the infection makes its way to the brain, confusion and outright delirium has begun to occur.

The infected are wild by this point, feral to the point of attacking, biting, and eating the uninfected. The ones who were bitten and survived had the site of their wound swell and turn agonizing to the touch, and they would suffer the same progression as the other infected.

The final stage is always the same though. Once the black rot of plague starts appearing on your skin and spreading like the branches of a tree, it’s too late.

The worst part is that the infected still have use of their quirks, and the devastation has been immense. Super powered heroes and villains with their minds rotting and decaying from infection, losing the ability to distinguish friend from foe. In some areas, the casualties were even worse from fighting than they were from the virus itself.

Somehow, you have managed to keep yourself alive and stay away from the worst in-fighting and the areas with the highest concentration of infected. Still though, it is a surprise to you. You’re simply a quirkless nobody with no way to defend yourself.

You have seen so many better, stronger people die right in front of you, leaving you forced to continue on alone.

You sigh as you scavenge through an old building that was once a store, looking for more supplies. Yours are dangerously low, and your dry mouth and grumbling stomach tells you that you need to find something quickly, before you become too weak to continue on.

You practically jump out of your skin when you hear the banging of items hitting the ground from deeper within the store. It might be survivors, or it might be the infected. The thought briefly occurs to you that you need to check to make sure, but you quickly shake it away.

Survivors or not, you didn’t come this far by being careless. But as you inch quietly towards the exit, you see a flash of red eyes from within the darkness as something emerges.

No, not something. Someone.

One of the infected.

It’s clear that he’s in the late stages of infection, the black rot spreading out through his body, but most notably his left leg which he drags limply. He’s wearing what are essentially black rags that flow out from behind him, leaving his chest bare so that you can see more of the black spiderwebs of rot twining outwards.

His eyes zoom in on you, narrowing slightly as you stand there frozen in fear. Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, but is really mere seconds. You break out of your trance first, turning on your heel and running for the door. The infected pursues you instantly, jumping over a table rather than running around it to save time. The move is a sign of intelligence that instantly fills you with dread. By this stage, the infected are usually too confused and delirious to remember such things.

You make it to the door with him hot on your heels. You’ve always considered yourself a fast runner, especially lately, but this is an entirely different story. He’s fast, too fast. The infected are not supposed to be like this, especially not with a bad leg. But yet he is quickly catching up to you as you dart through streets you know so well.

You realize that your only chance is to lose him somehow, as you’re never going to be able to outrun him. Your breath is coming in harsh pants already, a stitch burning in your side as you make a sharp, desperate right turn into an alleyway.

An alleyway with a dead end.

This area was clear just a week ago, but now it looks like an infected hero or villain used their quirk to collapse both buildings in the area, causing massive chunks of cement and debris to block the road out. There is no way to climb over the rubble and no handholds or stairs to use to climb up the buildings. You’re completely trapped.

You whirl around quickly, hoping to get out before the infected catches up with you. But you’re too late. He’s already standing at the entrance of the alley, staring you down with heated red eyes. A sharp burst of awareness fills you as you realize exactly who this is. The leader of the League of Villains, Shigaraki Tomura, whose whereabouts have been speculated on for weeks along with the rest of his villain group.

No wonder he’s so fast and so dangerous. The infected retain some level of awareness and ability from the time before, and Shigaraki was one of the most deadly villains in the country.

And if the way he’s acting towards you is any indication, he still is.

You take a step back. He takes a step forward. Another step back. Another step forward. You scan through your chances of getting out of this alive and uninfected, but your mind comes up with nothing.

Your back hits a wall abruptly, and in your split second distraction, the infected is on you. You’re pulled roughly to the ground, hands barely breaking your fall as you land on your front. This is it, you think to yourself, I’m about to be eaten. All this time of running away, of watching people you care about die, all for nothing.

You can’t stop yourself from trembling as you try to brace for the pain of being devoured. But instead, he leans down and buries his face into your neck, sniffing the skin deeply as he pushes your body further onto the ground. His hips are bucking against the curve of your ass, and with dawning horror, you realize exactly what the hard bulge in his pants is.

He grabs your pants and you watch as decay overtakes them and dissolves them into ash. He decays your shirt and bra next, leaving you bare from the waist up and shivering from the cold of his body pressed against you. You’re too scared to move, too scared to do anything.

But when he reaches for your panties, that’s when your paralysis finally breaks and fear takes over. You try to lift yourself up from the ground to run, only to hear a snarl as teeth sink into the flesh of your neck.

You go limp with a choked sob, losing any and all desire to try and get away. It’s all over now. That one single moment has doomed you to infection and madness. The pain of the bite is nothing compared to the despair you feel.

He lets out a pleased hum at your sudden obedience, pulling your panties aside as you feel something cold and hard prodding at your entrance. You barely have time to comprehend what’s happening before your pussy is filled with one sharp thrust of the creature’s hips. The infected aren’t supposed to do this, aren’t supposed to have these urges, you think wildly to yourself. This can’t be happening, it’s not possible.. But it is happening. You’re being taken by this creature like a wild animal in a back alley.

And then he is moving, hips slapping against your ass as his throbbing length pounds into you. There is no gentleness, no precision, just deep, feral thrusts that have you unwillingly clenching. He’s thicker than you’re used to, and the pain of your muscles stretching around him causes you to whine from the back of your throat.

This shouldn’t feel good. You should be horrified, disgusted. You should be fighting tooth and nail to get away, even though it’s hopeless since you’re already infected. But the cold of his cock pressing against your warm walls has your head spinning from the contrast.

He hits a soft, spongy spot inside of you, and you let out a squeal as your stomach tightens. The teeth are removed from your neck, only to bite down in another spot on the other side. He ruthlessly breaks skin, causing blood to run down your front and drip onto the pavement below.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, everything so overly sensitive as his cock forces your walls to stretch open even further as he gets rougher. The hands gripping your hips feel warmer than they were before, fingers digging hard enough into your skin to create bruises. The grunts and groans leaving his throat are positively lewd, and he takes his mouth away only to bite down in between your shoulder blades.

Your scream echoes through the alley as the teeth penetrate flesh, his tongue lapping at the bite and taking deep swallows of your blood. You try to imagine yourself somewhere else, anywhere else so that you don’t think of the pressure building up inside of you and the pain from the throbbing bites now decorating you.

Your nails dig hard into the cement below you as you try to ground yourself and ignore what’s happening, but Shigaraki doesn’t seem to appreciate that at all. He smacks his hand hard against your ass, keeping his pinky raised delicately off your skin in a way that has you worried about his level of awareness.

Now that your attention is firmly back on him, he bites the back of your neck, and you can’t stop the howl that leaves your throat when you feel your skin break, or the orgasm that wracks your body as you feel blood trail down the column of your neck and down in between your breasts.

Tears run down your face as humiliation burns through you, the shame of cumming around this infected villain’s cock almost too much to bear. Almost worse than the fact that you’ll soon be just like him.

“M-m-m - “

Your eyes widen as you glance behind you, seeing the infected concentrating hard as he tries to get words out. He’s stopped thrusting, as if he’s trying to focus entirely on whatever he wants to say. As he opens his mouth, you see his teeth stained with your blood and the sight shoots straight to your core.

“M-m-mine,” he finally manages to stutter out, “mine.” He forces your head down onto the pavement as he begins to ruthlessly pound into you. The infected don’t speak, they’re not supposed to speak -

“Mine,” he snarls, almost as if he heard your thoughts and is trying to prove you wrong.

You’re oversensitive and wet from your previous orgasm, allowing him to fuck you deeply, hitting your cervix with every thrust. You can feel your pussy dripping your juices all over his cock, and the wet squelching noises that fill the alleyway has you shaking with embarrassment.

“Mine, mine mine,” he chants as he bites again and again, each time pausing long enough to take gulps of your blood. Your head is spinning, lightheadedness from blood loss overtaking you. The ground below you has puddles of your own blood where it drips down, and you briefly think that maybe you really will be eaten right here and now instead of being infected and left to wander.

His hand comes in between your bodies to stroke tight circles against your swollen clit as he chuckles deeply into your ear. “Mine,” he whispers darkly. “Why else would I stumble across the cure for the plague if you weren’t meant to be mine?”

Cure for the plague? That’s not possible, there’s no cure for the plague, and you’re completely quirkless -

He bites down one last time, sinking his teeth into the back of your neck and holding you there like a dog refusing to let go of a bone. You realize why immediately when he groans into your heated skin, warmth spreading through your core as he shoots hot ropes of cum directly against your cervix. The pain of his teeth buried into your flesh has you thrown over the edge as well, legs trembling and eyes rolling into the back of your head.

He removes his teeth from your neck once he’s emptied himself inside of you, letting you go as you collapse onto the ground. You roll over enough to meet his eyes, seeing sharp intelligence and contemplation. The black rot is quickly disappearing, color returning to his skin. Within no time at all, you can no longer tell he was ever infected.

“How - I don’t - I’m quirkless - “

“No, you’re not.” He states it matter of factly, as if it was already known. “You have a quirk, it just didn’t have a purpose until the plague. Your blood carries the cure.”

You consider everything that happened, realizing that the more blood he drank, the more human he seemed. The faster the infection was being cured. He snorts at the look of disbelief and then understanding on your face. “With you on my side, I can remake society exactly the way that I want.”

“I am not on your fucking side! You’re a villain who just - “ You can’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence, but Shigaraki has no issues doing it for you.

“A villain who just fucked you and got you off? Such a dirty girl, getting off around infected cock.”

Your face heats up and you instantly glance away, drawing another chuckle from his throat. “I won’t help you,” you say stubbornly, ignoring his previous words.

“Who said I was giving you a choice?” His fingers dig into your arm as he pulls you off the ground. “You belong to me now, and I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want with you. Just think about the power I have now. I control who stays infected and who gets cured. No more hero society.” His voice has taken on an excited, almost manic tone as he considers the possibilities.

“Are you - are you going to let them do what you just did?” You whisper quietly, a single tear running down your face at being used the same way by other people.

He instantly scowls at you. “Of course not.”

You perk up just a bit, until you hear his next words.

“I’ll let you be a blood bag, but for everything else - you’re mine. And I don’t like to share.” He begins to drag you back the way that you came, walking with purpose.

“Now come along. We have so much work to do.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @ichor-and-symbiosis, @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @katsukisprincess, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @leeswritingworld, @burnedbyshoto, @bakugotrashpanda, @dee-madwriter, @kittycatkrissa, @reinawritesbnha, @yanderart, @dabilove27, @fae-father, @anxietyplusultra, @flutterfalla, @angmarwitch, @nereida19, @babayaga67, @fromsunnywithlove, @dabis-kitten, @bakugos-cumsock, @yumeneji, @the-grimm-writer, @iwaizumi-chan, @slashersheart, @bunnyywritings, @bakarinnie, @angie-1306, @emplosion22, @lalalemon101, @videogameboiwhowins, @f4nficbaby, @tenkoshimmy, @baroque-baby, @bbyspiiice, @thirstyforthem2dmen, @blissfulignorance2000, @bluecookies02-main

#kinktober 2020 #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki smut #shigaraki #mha x reader #mha smut #yandere mha #bnha x reader #bnha smut #yandere bnha #bnha kinktober #mha kinktober #tw: noncon #tw: necro #tw: blood play

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

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hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it.

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar.

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp.

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough.

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined.

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull.

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes.

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet…

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall.

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air.

The street in front of you was a warzone.

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe.

Safe…

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way.

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part.

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention.

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit.

The villain.

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears.

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.”

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.”

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer.

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way.

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts.

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar?

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below.

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you.

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood.

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements.

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask.

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks.

You had thought that very brave.

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire.

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach.

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk.

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows.

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention.

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene.

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm.

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor.

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions.

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view.

Oh, fuck. That was a person.

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it.

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch.

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg.

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be…

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human.

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye.

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet.

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening.

He was bleeding.

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes.

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on.

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse.

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut.

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it.

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body.

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it.

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin.

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath.

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach.

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.”

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye.

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment.

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—”

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood.

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain?

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped.

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question.

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.”

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you.

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear.

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion.

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance.

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.”

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat.

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?”

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack.

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood.

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap.

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital.

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five.

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision.

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned.

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest.

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint.

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts.

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum.

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero?

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms.

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion.

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk.

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero.

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp.

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you.

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you.

But was it worth it?

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie.

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet.

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first.

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure.

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it.

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion…

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you.

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again.

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you.

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor.

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in.

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees.

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone.

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window.

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?”

“I—”

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder.

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?”

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?! You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment.

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first.

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch.

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own.

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown.

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?”

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right.

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?”

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed.

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again.

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?”

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name.

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.”

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing.

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch.

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall.

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?”

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.”

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips.

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing.

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment.

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported.

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability.

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t.

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you.

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this?

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight.

“Your hands are all fucked up.”

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself.

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty?

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.”

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit.

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.”

Well, maybe not that carefully.

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.”

“Let me see.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.”

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that.

And none of his current ones would, either.

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion.

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder.

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted.

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.”

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you.

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric.

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden.

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you.

“Hello?”

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch.

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?”

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all.

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.”

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head.

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows.

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation?

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero.

Was he confessing your secret already?

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view.

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and—

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.”

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them.

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood.

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.”

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window.

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street.

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth.

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago.

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.”

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.”

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero.

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall.

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone.

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete.

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you.

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.”

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?”

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum.

“Okay, hold on.”

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone.

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out.

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people.

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too.

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little.

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief.

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful.

But your stomach was still in knots.

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers.

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying?

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped.

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.”

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum.

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears.

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.”

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you.

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life.

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed.

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole.

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.”

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior.

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory.

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.”

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.”

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over.

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.”

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?”

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.”

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop?

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?”

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand.

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.”

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded.

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say.

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.”

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel.

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them.

“I-Is that all?”

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?”

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?”

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?”

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?”

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything?

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance.

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.”

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.”

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.”

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression.

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished.

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.”

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone.

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found.

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit:

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret.

But I’m going to have to face him again.

207 notes · View notes

kohakuarisaka · 3 years

Text

Trial By Fire (chapter 1 of 2)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Hawks stopped by your apartment, asking for a patch up, and then asked for so much more.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Role reversal: Keigo is a villain and Touya is a hero. Liberties were taken with Hawks’ quirk and is non-canon compliant. This fic is not nice to Touya. Reader and Hawks smoke. Reader has a quirk. Reader is a female with descriptive female genitalia. This fic contains graphic sexual content, including penis in vagina sex, oral sex, spanking, dirty talk, biting, degradation, and knotting. Consensual ♥

Keigo’s appearance in this fic was inspired by this lovely art piece!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

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You hadn't heard him approach, not his footsteps, nor the flutter of his wings. It was a little windy tonight; but, that wasn't why you hadn't heard him. He was just that good at sneaking around, or maybe you were just that lost in thought.

Suddenly, the cigarette in your hand was plucked out of your grasp. You followed the burning bud and watched a calloused hand bring it to a pair of soft lips that weren't yours.

He took a drag, looking at you innocently, before huffing the smoke out through his nostrils.

Sometimes, you really hated how weak you were for him. Even when he deserved it, you couldn't bring yourself to get mad at him. Maybe, it was his stupid beautiful face, or his mismatched eyes, or those wondrous crimson feathers.

"What are you doing, pretty bird?" you scolded him softly, reaching out to take your cigarette back.

Hawks let you, and some deluded part of your mind told you it tasted better after his mouth had touched it. Still, you turned away from him, finding it difficult to think properly when he was staring at you like that, his gaze soft and his lips quirked into a faint smirk.

In the distance, a car was honking obnoxiously. You peered down at the streets below and watched the traffic lights change colors.

"Was hoping you'd patch me up?" he asked, perhaps a little too sweetly. "Or is Touya gonna find out and arrest my ass?"

You sighed and gave him a dirty look in the corner of your eye. "No. It's over between us. He isn't gonna be comin' around," you retorted, a little venomously.

"Ohh," he whistled. "What happened? Must'a been bad. You were always so far up his ass."

"Get stuffed," you spat back at him.

He laughed in response to that. It was a little louder than expected, and you could see his shoulders trembling in the corner of your eye. Hawks leaned against the railing next you, matching your posture.

Before he could take it again, you remove your cigarette from your lips and brought it to his. He snatched it from your grasp with his mouth and took a careful drag before lifting his hand to pull it away. You watched the smoke drain from his mouth before looking away again.

"You wanna talk about it?" Hawks offered. Strangely, he sounded sincere.

"As much as I wanna get fisted by sandpaper," you replied hoarsely.

"Shit," he grumbled.

You let out a loud sigh. "There's nothing to talk about. I just couldn't take it anymore," you explained.

In the corner of your eye, you could see Hawks staring at you as if he was trying to decrypt your words or decipher your expression. You avoided his stare for just a little bit longer before finally giving in and turning to face him.

When you looked at him, he returned your cigarette to your lips, or tried to anyway, but you took it with your hand. It was almost burnt out, but had enough left for one more drag, which you took slowly.

"You're hurt?" you asked him softly before turning around to burry your burnt up cigarette in the nearby ash tray.

"Not too bad. I'll fuck right off if you want me to," Hawks replied.

Sometimes, you didn't really think his superpower was his feathers, but just how he managed to always show up at the perfect time. Maybe, someone to talk to was what you needed, even if you told yourself you didn't.

Ending things with Touya was exactly what had to be done to try to get back on track with your pitiful life; but, that didn't mean that everything would be magically okay again, that wounds would just heal and every trace of him would be gone forever.

But, you weren't childish enough to think that anyone could save you from that. No, you had to save yourself.

"Come on, pretty bird," you tossed over your shoulder.

Hawks hated when anyone called him that, except you. Maybe because anyone who called him that did so to put him down, to emasculate him. But, you called him that because you actually meant it. He was so, so pretty. Or, maybe, he just had a soft spot for the girl he used to bum cigarettes off of.

The winged villain followed you down the stairwell to your room. He made a grumbly cooing sound, like a hum in chest, when he stepped inside.

"Place looks great."

It had been quite a shithole the last time he was here. You scrubbed the walls and floors, replaced most of the furniture, gutted out the shitty kitchen cabinets and replaced them. It did look great.

"Thanks," you hummed, pushing at his shoulders until he obeyed and plopped down on the couch.

You sat down next to him and didn't bother asking what was wrong, but just began sliding your hands down the arm of his leather jacket, pushing it up to his elbow to expose his forearm.

You worked your hands over his skin, using your quirk to navigate his nervous system. Your eyes went glossy and distant as you did so, staring at him without actually looking at him. Hawks was patient, watching you work.

"You broke some ribs," you observed quietly. "The gash on your back isn't infected, but your blood cell count is low. You have a cavity forming, too, you manchild."

Hawks burst out laughing. "Do I need to call a dentist?"

"No," you laughed softly. "I'll take care of it." You let go of his arm and looked up at him, head tilting slightly. "Mind if I go by your neck? It's easier closer to the spine."

"Sure. I like choking," he teased.

"Tch," you grimaced at him. "Shut up."

He laughed softly in response to that. Despite his teasing, you still shimmied in closer and reached up, sliding your hands one either side of his neck. His skin was soft. Even the healed burn marks were soft.

Your eyes went glossy again as you focused on the task at hand. Hawks made a low, grumbling hiss as you pulled the injuries from his body, focusing first on his broken ribs.

It hurt like a fucking bitch, feeling each one crack back into proper place. Where your hands touched him was cold as ice; but, it was just an illusion, a side effect of your quirk, a sensation without the actual stimulation.

The wound on his back followed, muscles and skin tissue forming back over into proper place. That didn't hurt as bad, and felt more like a dull ache in comparison. You took care of his cavity, too, which he noticed like a stab in the mouth.

You were done, and Hawks knew you were done. The icy cold touch of your hands had subsided, and the warmth of your skin returned. Still, you didn't let go right away. Your vision returned and you peered up at him, and he looked down at you just the same.

The left side of Hawks face was covered in a scar, a healed burn. It started at the center of his forehead, traveled across the bridge of his nose, took most of his cheek, but just barely missed his lips.

The burn continued down his jaw, onto his shoulder. You had seen him shirtless before, and knew it extended down his chest, ending somewhere at his waist.

Along with that burn, his left eye had been blanched, now pale white instead of the golden, sunlight hue of the one on right. He could still see out of it, just not as well as the undamaged one.

Still, despite all that, he was so, so-

-beautiful.

"All done," you sighed, letting go of him and standing up, turning away from him maybe a little quickly.

"Thanks," he grunted, watching you rise to your feet.

He reached for you; but, you had already stepped too far away and eluded his touch. It wasn't intentional. Your back was turned and you didn't even see it. Yet, your sudden retreat made him feel an unpleasant ache in his chest, and another, very different sort of ache somewhere else.

"It's gettin' kind'a late, so-" you started, heading for the hallway that connected to your bedroom.

Hawks was fast, dangerously so, and was suddenly right beside you. His wing jutted out and smacked into the wall, blocking your path. Your eyes shifted to his, not entirely surprised by his actions. Maybe you should have been. But, he was the kind who liked attention, especially from you.

"Are you alright?" he asked, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

"No," you deadpanned. "There's a birdman loitering in my house."

That seemed to calm him a little, for he pulled his wing back, lips twitching into a faint smile. However, he replaced his wing with his body, blocking you from continuing down the hall.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around lately," he began, surprising you a little with the sincerity in his tone.

"I get it," you answered immediately, with just a bit of bite.

Life led people down different paths. Touya was following in the footsteps of his dear father to become a great hero. Hawks ended up joining a league of supervillains and was wanted for murder, amongst other things.

-and you worked a 9 to 5.

Maybe, facing down one of Japan's most wanted villains should have been frightening. Being trapped with him in your apartment probably also should have been frightening.

He was a dangerous criminal and on a power level than most could never even dream of. But, you trusted Hawks more than you trusted most people... most heroes.

By the look on his face, there was something he wanted to say; but, it didn't come out.

"What's with the constipated look?" you blurted.

The compressed look on his face softened and Hawks threw his head back, letting out rolling laughter. His hands clutched his tummy and his shoulders trembled. Maybe, that was your real power: making him laugh like that, to the point tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

"I missed you," he stated plainly when he finally stopped laughing.

"Y-yeah, me too, pretty bird," you replied softly, tearing your gaze away from him.

"I hate when you call me that," he murmured.

Hawks stepped towards you and you reeled back. His wings came up on either side of you, forcing you to duck back and hit the wall to avoid him. The bright red plumes towered on either side, caging you in, trapping you with him.

Yet, you weren't scared or perturbed. Hawks liked to play, after all. Even when you were kids, he would fly after you and tackle you to the ground, laughing about what terrible prey you were, always so easily caught.

"No, you don't," you retorted gently.

There was still some distance between you, just enough that you'd have to extend your arm to reach him. His wingspan was massive and the soft, red quills were like curtains caging you in, absolutely gorgeous.

"I'm not good at this sort'a thing," Hawks began, murmuring softly into the darkness of the hallway. His face was cast in shadows, but his eyes were bright, pale white and sun kissed gold.

"Formalities and playin' nice," he added on, a little hoarsely.

You knew where this was going.

"You want Touya's sloppy seconds?" you asked him lowly.

Immediately, it was clear that he didn't like what you said. His eyes narrowed and he stepped in closer.

Hawks might have only been a couple inches taller than you and while he certainly was muscular, he wasn't a hulking beast. Still, he managed to make you feel so small.

His hand landed on the wall behind you with a smack, and it startled you a little.

"Don't fucking say things like that," he snarled.

You gawked up at him, surprised that something like that would upset him.

"You're more than that - a lot fucking more," he added on lowly.

It was only then that you realized he wasn't just mad, he was hurt. He had been your closest friend since you were 13, back when you were stealing cigarettes from upper classmen and sneaking into R-rated movies.

-and he had to watch Touya have you.

"What do you want from me?" you asked him, voice low, a harsh whisper, and it shuddered out of you.

"Everything," Hawks replied in a harsh whisper.

You couldn't help but lick your lips at that proposition.

He stepped in closer, sliding his forearms against the wall on either side of your head. The closeness forced you to crane your head back to look up at him.

"You want me, too," he commented lowly, peering down at you like a hawk circling above an unsuspecting prey.

"I let you in here because I care about you. Don't be so arrogant," you scolded him softly, lacking any real authority to your tone.

"Then, tell me to fuck off," Hawks challenged you.

You stared up at him, lips unmoving. His feathers picked up the faint change in your breathing pattern, just the slightest bit of acceleration. Even if you didn't say it, your body gave it away: this was exciting you.

He was one of the most powerful villains in Japan; but, you were his greatest weakness. He'd do anything you asked, deliver the world to you if it was what you wanted.

"You want this," Hawks murmured darkly, as if he had just made some grand discovery.

His eyes flickered down from your face to below, signaling what he was talking about.

He was hovering with just enough space between you that you could tilt your head down to investigate his claim and take a glance at the tent he was pitching, pressing against the zipper on his black cargo pants.

When your eyes moved up and caught his gaze, you felt hypnotized by the dark stare he had focused on you.

Hawks didn't look expectant or desperate. He looked hungry, yes, but there was some hope to that stare, maybe even the faintest bit of sorrow in those mismatched eyes.

He didn't want to be rejected by you. But, he didn't want you if you didn't want him back.

There probably should have been a little voice in the back of your head telling you not to do this. There had to be some sort of negative repercussion, right?

But, all you could hear was the rattle of the heater in the other room and the shuffling of your neighbors in the room above.

Normally, your thoughts ran rampant with worries, negativities and fears. All had been silent since Hawks arrived. He just had that sort of effect on you, clearing your thoughts with nothing but his presence.

Expectantly, you tilted your head back and parted your lips slightly. Hawks leaned in, following the temptation you presented him with.

Maybe, it would have been wisest to remain as just friends. Even if you tried to tell yourself otherwise, this would change that forever: a door would open that could never be closed.

But, you weren't kids anymore.

"If I kiss you, I won't be able to stop," he promised, or threatened, warm breath fanning over your cheeks.

He smelt like the cigarette he stole from you earlier. It made you all the more eager to taste him.

"Last chance," he added, voice low and hoarse.

"What happens if I say yes?" you dared to ask, eyes peering up at him almost innocently.

You watched Hawks' throat bob. "What happens if you say yes..." he parroted lowly.

The predatory gaze he gave you reminded you that he was a bird of prey and you might as well have been a mouse.

"I'm gonna fuck you like no one ever has before," he began, the words falling from his mouth in a sultry whisper. "Stuff you stupid with my cock, cum so deep inside you that you feel me for days. My name will be the only god-damned thing you remember when I'm done with you."

Oh.

"Promise?" you whispered hoarsely, leaning up a little to try and reach his lips.

You must have been making quite the lewd expression, for Hawks' eyes pinched with amusement.

Hawks tilted his head down. "Promise," he agreed in a whisper, breathed against your lips.

This must have been what it felt like for a spark to meet gunpowder.

Something as simple as a kiss had sent a powerful shockwave down your spine. Your skin prickled all over, flushed with a sudden need to be touched. Your heart began thundering away in your chest and you unconsciously released a very pathetic little sound.

His feathers picked up the rage of your heartbeat and he couldn't resist a shudder, aroused at the excitement he had give you with just the press of his lips.

In a split second, he had his body pressing against yours, flush from shoulder to thigh, pinning you to the wall. Your hands weaved through his hair, pulling him down to crush your mouths together.

It was probably the sloppiest kiss you ever had: a little violent, crushing, and wet. But, nothing could even compare to what this felt like, the taste of him mingled with tobacco, to the way it made you feel like you could melt.

His hands grabbed at your thighs and hoisted you up off the ground. He slammed your back roughly against the wall, cores pinned tightly together, and perched your legs on either side of his waist.

"You feel that?" Hawks breathed, lips touching the shell of your ear.

It was clear what he was referring to: his clothed erection rutting shamelessly against your clothed cunt.

"Every time I see you take a drag, I get fucking hard," he confessed, pulling back to chuckle a little. "Maybe that's why I always stole 'em: fucking jealous."

Before you could get a word out, his head dipped down and took your mouth again. Your hands dragged down his back, clawing at his jacket, threatening to venture further.

Hawks pulled back violently, bumping his forehead against yours to force your gaze to meet his.

"You touch my wings and you're gonna get something you can't fucking handle," he threatened, the words rumbling out of his chest like gravel in a cement mixer.

You looked back with a drunk expression, partially frightened by his threat and partially curious to what that entailed. It resulted in a ridiculously lewd expression on your face.

"All I've done is kiss you, and you already look like that," he observed with intrigue, chuckling softly.

"All I've done is smoke, and you're hard," you retorted sharply, leaning in to bite at his bottom lip.

He hummed, amused at your teasing; that sound, however, died out when you dipped your hands down into his shoulder blades and slid up, brushing the baby feathers that jutted out of his skin.

Hawks let out an almost inhuman sound, head tilting back and moaning, eyes fluttering shut, as his entire body vibrated against you. You stopped, hands shifting away from his feathers, surprised by his reaction.

Immediately, his head fell forward and he settled a frightening glare on you. The growl that emanated from within his chest sent a violent tremor down your spine.

"Oooohhh," he cooed hoarsely, the sound rumbling through his throat. "You don't want me to be nice, do ya'?"

The question went unanswered, for Hawks rolled his hips, pressing your clothed sexes together. Your hands flew up, grabbing at his wings again, fingers tangling in the feathers for purchase.

The friction was nice; but, it wasn't good enough, and Hawks seemed to have that same thought process, for he removed you from the wall and carried you to the bedroom.

He tossed you down on the bed like you were a toy and watched your body bounce a little with an amused look on his face.

You shrieked when red plumes departed his wingspan and swarmed your body. They surrounded you in a wispy tornado before descending, tracing your skin softly and pushing under the hem of your clothes with purpose.

The brief moment of fear washed away when they carefully, albeit swiftly, worked your clothes off. Your arms were forced above your head so your shirt could be discarded while other feathers peeled your pants and underwear down your legs.

Hawks watched, standing at the bedside with a starving expression as his crimson feathers exposed you for him. You didn't take yourself for the shy type, but something about the whole thing had your skin prickled with embarrassment.

Once they were done, his feathers retreated, returning to his wingspan like good little soldiers. Hawks approached, sliding his knees onto the edge of the bed.

Before he could arch over you, your foot flung up and you flattened it against his chest, pushing in protest.

"You, too," you tried to demand. Unfortunately, it came out breathless and desperate.

Hawks eyes shifted from your heated gaze, trailing down to shamelessly take in the sight of your sex, now exposed due to the position of your leg. Instinctively, you wanted to close your legs at that predatory stare. But, somehow, you found the strength to resist.

He hummed and stood back, returning to his feet. You leaned up to watch him work his jacket and shirt off, wings shuddering to peel the fabric away before dropping the materials carelessly to the floor.

He seemed caught off guard by your sudden advance as you got up on your knees at the bedside to reach for him. Your hands landed on his pectorals, shamelessly squeezing at his muscles before drifting down, fingers gently digging into his abs as you traced the outlines.

"Are you having fun?" he laughed.

You were about to answer, but he suddenly grabbed your wrists and brought your hands down to his belt. He didn't have to demand anything, you started working at the buckle, eagerly working the clasp open and undoing his pants.

His mouth opened, likely to spew teasing words. Whatever was going to come out failed him when you suddenly palmed his erection over the fabric of his boxers.

"F-fuck," he groaned, leaning into you suddenly as if he was going to fall over. "Damn brat," he added on in a snarl.

"Are you touch starved, pretty bird?" you murmured, tilting your head to nibble at his jawline.

The red that tinted his the tops of his ears failed to hide the truth from you. It had been a little while, just long enough to make him hungry for it.

Suddenly, he pushed you down on the bed. You flung over with a startled yelp and felt his hands pry your legs apart, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.

He flung your legs up over his shoulders, careless that your feet knocked against his wings, and buried his face between your thighs.

"AH!" you cried out, startled by the sudden sensation of his textured tongue lapping along your slit.

Normally, when someone ate you out, there was some finesse to it, tongue tracing delicately, some soft kisses, just barely lapping at your slit as if you were a dainty little flower.

Not with Hawks. He was smearing his tongue all over the place, lapping at your slippery folds as if he was starving and this was the only meal he'd had in weeks.

You didn't mean to, but in the process of grounding your heels against his back, your toes curled and touched his feathers. You felt his wings flap once and his back muscles tremble.

He leaned back and peered down your body, taking in the look of your aroused expression with a pleased sigh. You felt delirious, wearing a lost look on your face, and he looked damn proud with your wetness smeared across his cheeks.

"Hawks-" you squeaked.

"A meal fit for a king," he praised you in a hoarse voice, tilting his head back down to continue where he left off.

Trying to get on some equal grounds, you twisted your foot and poked at his feathers with your toes. His shoulders twitched, so you continued, digging in as best you could considering the awkward positioning.

Hawks moaned at the touch, the sound vibrating against the folds of your sex. He probably would have scolded you if his mouth wasn't preoccupied. Instead, he pushed back on your thighs, forcing your legs a little higher, until you couldn't reach his wings anymore.

He fucked you with his tongue, mouth suctioned around your opening and slurping lewdly. It was a strange sensation you weren't quite used to, but it felt amazing.

It was clear that he wasn't doing it out of obligation. He did it because he fucking wanted to, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. When he needed a break from your core, he lapped his tongue up your folds, smearing wetness all over the place.

He purposely avoided your pearl until he was confident it was throbbing, the tiny bud forced on display with lewd the way he held your legs apart.

You practically screamed when his tongue finally touched it, hands pulling at the bedsheets beneath you and making a mess, pillows and blankets going askew.

Hawks groaned, mainly because the sound made his cock throb painfully in his pants. He ignored that ache and focused on lapping at your little button, not relenting, even when you were trembling and sobbing.

At the risk of your feet getting touchy again, Hawks dropped one of your legs, needing a free hand to bring you to peak ecstasy. He hardly had to force the calloused digits inside. Your squishy walls took him in eagerly.

"Fuck, Hawks," you sobbed, struggling to remain still.

He leaned back, just enough to get some words out. "Come for me," he uttered hoarsely.

You whimpered at the command, head falling back into the sheets. He had been getting you there before he even said anything, even when it was just his tongue. But, now, with his thick fingers drilling into you and voice making such demands, you felt it approaching like a speeding truck.

"I said fucking come," he added on with a demanding, low growl. "Come on my fucking face. I wanna taste it."

He growled into your sex, loud and rumbling like thunder while his wings flapped once, knocking some things off your walls. The loud noise was a little startling, but didn't break the spell.

He kept up the pace with his fingers, even when the slippery mess of your slick dribbled down his knuckles, and his tongue returned to your pearl, lapping at it roughly.

Your orgasm started in a small wave, rolling over you once, twice, before crashing down and forcing a bizarre concoction of moans, sobs, and whimpers to pour from your lips.

Hawks was unwavering, tongue and fingers working you over expertly through the whole thing, until you sagged on the sheets and stopped whining.

He pulled back and stood up, setting your legs down on the bed. You looked up at him dizzily, and watched him lick his fingers and knuckles clean as if he had spilt some treat on them.

It was such a shamelessly erotic display and left you trembling.

When he was done, he dragged his palm down his chin, wiping your essence away. He caught you staring, of course, and quirked his lips into a prideful smirk.

"Nothing smart to say?" he uttered teasingly. "'Thank you, Hawks'?" he suggested with a warm chuckle.

He had pulled his wings back in; but, there was no way to miss that he was holding them up just a little bit higher than normal. If you weren't so blissed out and eager for more, you probably would have laughed at such a blatant display of dominance.

He was still in the state you had left him in, pants hanging limply around his waist, erection pressing eagerly against his boxers, belt undone and dangling at his thigh.

Hawks lifted his dominant hand and wagged his index and middle finger, beckoning for you to approach. After that mind numbing orgasm, you didn't dare refuse and shimmied over to the edge of the bed.

"I deserve a reward for that, don't you think?" he suggested, that predatory expression taking over his face again as he looked down at you.

"Say 'please'," you challenged him softly, looking up through your eyelashes.

"Hmmm," rumbled out of his throat. He sounded amused, maybe even a little impressed.

You expected something snarky when he opened his mouth. Surprisingly, he uttered a sultry, "please."

You didn't plan on denying him even if he disobeyed; but, after hearing that, there was no way in hell you would dare refuse.

Your hands pushed his pants down his thighs, simultaneously leaning in to mouth at his clothed erection.

Hawks drew in air sharply, like a low hiss, before drawling out, "fuckin' tease."

In all fairness, he hadn't held out on his services for very long; so, you pushed at him, until he relented and let you turn him around. His butt hit the edge of the bed as you settled on your knees on the floor, between his thighs.

You were supposed to be ridding him of his clothes. However, in the desperation to see what he was hiding, you simply pulled his boxers down, until his cock sprang free.

Staring at it like an idiot would have probably pleased his ego; but, you opted to wrap your lips around the tip and take him in your mouth promptly. You went down just a little too eagerly, and nearly choked; but, it was worth it to hear the strangled sound he made.

"F-" he hissed through clenched fangs, "-uuuck."

You stroked what your mouth couldn't fit, starting off sloppily to get him slicked up well enough to make the glide easier. Your eyes fluttered shut, concentrating on the task at hand, and to make every little noise he made just a little clearer.

He was breathing harshly through his nose, groaning out the occasional curse, before he opted to just blurt what was on his mind.

"Daydreamed about this all the fucking time," Hawks grunted.

Maybe, that sort of thing should have been concerning; but, if you were being honest with yourself, your thoughts of him weren't always so pure, either. Sometimes, laying in bed alone at night, masturbating, it was easy to start thinking about his long, calloused fingers, and wonder what kind of things he would say.

Hawks had one hand gripped at the edge of the bed, while his other weaved carefully through your hair. You expected a painful, demanding grip; but, he was surprisingly gentle, touching you with a sort of adoration.

"Yeeahhh," he groaned, the word undulating as it exited his chest.

"Fuck, you look so cute like that," he praised, pushing your hair out of your face so he could admire the lewd expression you were wearing, lips spread wide over his girth.

"I bet you were curious, huh?" he uttered arrogantly. "Bet you wondered how big it w-" He cut off, moaning lowly when your tongue flattened along the underside and lapped at the thick vein there.

"Does it - aghn - taste better than a heroes?" he taunted in an amused, gravely voice. He even laughed a little at his own crudeness, albeit briefly.

As you drew back, you suctioned tightly, maybe to punish him, or because you were spurred on by such vulgar words. You weren't sure which. His hips lifted off the bed, chasing the sensation, and he moaned shamelessly loud into your dimly lit bedroom.

It startled you a little when you suddenly felt something staring to swell at the base of his cock, fingers smoothing it over curiously.

Just as quickly as you felt it, Hawks hand rotated from the top of your head to the underside of your jaw, pulling you back and forcing you off his cock. The fleshy sound your mouth made echoed around the room.

When you peered up at him, it seemed he was as caught off guard as you were. His mouth was hanging open, cheeks tinted pink, fangs bared while labored breaths wisped through them.

Did he want an answer? You were ready to tell him that he did taste good, when he suddenly leaned down. His arms wove beneath yours, and he hoisted you off the floor, spinning you around and tossing you onto the bed, almost carelessly.

He quickly rid himself of his clothes as you bounced atop the sheets, and climbed on top of you, forcing your legs up and onto his hips.

Just a little dizzy, you were surprised when he suddenly slotted over you, his mouth colliding with yours. He barely gave you a single kiss before shoving his tongue inside.

Your tongue joined his, sliding together in a pointless dance. You felt him lean down, the warmth of his body caressing yours. Hawks weaved one arm around your head possessively, while his other slid up your side, fingers dancing along your ribs.

You expected him to just ram into you. That was usually how this went. But, he was proving to be unlike any other man you had been with before. You could feel his cock jabbing into your thigh, throbbing with need; but, he seemed more concentrated with another task at the moment.

The kiss went on, and on, and on, as if he hadn't already kissed you senseless earlier. He seemed enraptured by the taste.

One of your hands fell onto his shoulder, while the other slid up to cup his face. You weren't really thinking about the where, until your fingertips touched leathery skin. Hawks flinched as if you had hurt him, and you realized you were touching the burnt half of his face.

He pulled back harshly from the kiss with a wet smack and stared down at you. He looked like he was trying to be mad, like a retort was hot on the tip of his tongue. But, instead, he just looked lost.

You stared up at him, unable to hold back just the slightest tinge of fear, afraid that the moment was ruined, that the spell had been broken, that you had crossed a line that Hawks didn't want you to cross.

But, then, he leaned into your palm, surrendering something that went unspoken. Your thumb smoothed over his cheekbone and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Hawks?" you hummed, wondering how long it had been since someone touched him there, touched skin tinged red and scarred over, forever a reminder of the past.

His eyes fluttered shut as your hand explored, down his jaw, down the side of his neck, over his shoulder, touching places he had once been burned. He dipped his head down, brushing his cheek against yours. You trembled at the sensation of his soft, short beard hairs tickling your skin.

It seemed he had grown impatient, for he tilted his hips up and slid forward, until the tip of his member brushed your folds. Your head fell back with a sigh and you tightened your legs around his waist expectedly, eagerly awaiting him to finally take you.

But, Hawks was unmoving, hovering. His lips nibbled at the shell of your ear before you felt his warm breath as he uttered lowly, drawling out the words, "beg for it."

He was so close, you could feel his chest vibrate with each syllable. You gazed over his shoulder, down his back, where his wings fanned out beautifully behind him. The appendages were tense, fingers bristled tensely.

When you didn't answer fast enough, Hawks reeled his hand away from your side. His palm collided with your ass and a smacking sound echoed around the room, immediately followed by your pained yelp.

"I said," he snarled, "beg for this cock."

It was far more arousing than it was menacing, and it was clear, despite the anger he was displaying, that he was pleased by your refusal to immediately obey. It meant he got to punish you, to drag this out a little longer, to play with you some more.

You bit your lip and delayed giving him the answer he wanted, skin prickled with excitement at the thought of what would follow.

"Are you tryin' to piss me off?" he asked lowly, tilting his head back to look at your face.

He didn't look mad. He looked painfully aroused, cheeks tinted pink, eyes taking in your lewd expression hungrily, fangs bared through slightly parted lips, where he drew in sharp breaths.

"I-" you began.

He either guessed you were going to sass him, or just decided he didn't care what the response was going to be. His hand collided with your backside again, just a tiny bit rougher than last time.

Your eyes pinched shut and you cried out again, body jerking slightly from the touch. Even with your eyes closed, you could picture the smirk he wore at witnessing your response.

Hawks leaned down, nose nudging at the soft spot behind your ear.

"Last chance," he whispered, almost tauntingly. "Beg. For. This. Cock," he added on lowly, almost snarling into the skin of your neck.

You probably couldn't have suppressed that shudder if you were dead, and Hawks felt it. His wings twitched behind him and he groaned softly, pleased by your reaction.

To taunt you further, his hips nudged forward, just until his tip breached your entrance. At the sound of a sweet moan leaving your mouth, he pulled back, then pushed back in, again and again, not breaching you past the tip.

It was sweet, delicious torture.

"Okay," you hissed out, unable to take it anymore.

You tilted your head, lips trailing along his jaw, kissing at the soft, short hairs there, until you found his ear.

"Keigo," you growled.

Immediately, you felt the way he stiffened above you, muscles going tight beneath your hands. A barely audible gasp escaped him.

It had been a while since someone said his name. He was the villain Hawks, now. Keigo was dead, according to him... but not to you. The blonde haired boy with crimson wings and big smile would never die as long as you were alive to remember him.

"Please give me your cock," you uttered softly, lips moving against the shell of his ear as you spoke.

Surprisingly, you didn't hate how desperate you sounded. If it sounded sweet in your ears, then you could only imagine how it sounded to him.

You had barely finished your sentence before he was shoving his hips forward, filling you to the brim in a split second. Your voice was caught in your throat, but Hawks let out a startlingly loud sound, bellowing out a roar into the darkness of your bedroom.

You trembled beneath him, shaken by his roar and by his girth filling your insides. His wings twitched fiercely, lifting up into the air for a brief second before fluttering back down to a relaxed position.

"Oohh, fuck," Hawks wheezed.

He gave you, or maybe it was for himself, a second to breathe before he started moving, pistoning in and out of your heat fiercely: halfway out, back to the brim, the skin of your hips smacking together noisily.

One of his hands had purchase on your thigh, holding on for dear life, while his other hand was fisted in the bedsheets by your head, the grip looking tight enough to rip the fabric.

Your legs were hoisted high on his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Your nails dragged down the backs of his shoulders, leaving behind pale impressions, and nearing his wings.

No one said it, but you both felt it: finally.

Destiny, soulmates, and all that nonsense was bullshit to you. Hawks made it clear he never believed in fate; whatever happened was because of choices, your own or someone else's, that shaped each and every outcome.

But, in that moment, your unity felt like destiny. His weight above you, his warmth, the smell of his skin, felt familiar, felt like home. His breath fanning out in hot wisps across the skin of your neck, his manhood nuzzled deep in your core, felt like harmony, like it was meant to be.

Maybe, you were just stupidly aroused, to the point that sense and reason was lost. Maybe, Hawks was just so good at this, that he already had you drunk on the sensation, drunk on him.

But, you decided that you didn't care what the answer was, just as long as he didn't stop.

"Fuck. You feel so good," Hawks praised, leaning up to look down at you.

"You like that? 'm I making you feel good, baby?" he slurred, huffing out breaths between each thrust.

"Keigo," you whined affirmingly, or maybe scoldingly, maybe somewhere in-between. His words were embarrassing; but, you didn't want him to ever stop talking.

He leaned down, nuzzling his forehead affectionately against your temple. It seemed to contrast the vulgar words he spewed.

"Fuck, yeah. Say my fucking name," he grunted.

The hand gripping your thigh tugged you down a little, putting you a bit further beneath him. It changed the angle slightly. The fact that he even considered that was enough to knock the wind out of you. But, now, with him reaching all the best places, his hips were doing that quite well.

He laughed darkly at the way you cried out sharply, legs trembling on either side of his hips.

"Right there?" he hummed. "Right fucking there?" he added on immediately with a particularly harsh thrust, clearly demanding an answer.

"Yes!" you almost screamed, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice.

Every time he plunged back inside, bringing your hips impossibly tight together, a smacking sound echoed around the room. He buried his face in the divot between your neck and shoulder, alternating between slurs and nibbling on the soft, sweaty skin.

"Feels so fucking good," Hawks groaned. "So fucking warm 'n soft. Ya' feel that - feel your juices dripping all over the fucking place? Yeahhh - all over my fucking cock."

He lapped a wet tongue up the side of your neck, teeth biting gently at your jaw and cheek before rising to hover against your lips.

"Look at me," he demanded softly. The skin of his lips touched yours as he spoke.

You almost didn't realize that you had closed your eyes. The pleasure was overwhelming, making it near impossible to force your eyes open.

You could picture him perfectly in your head. Still, you weren't prepared for the sight of him when your eyes fluttered open: Hawk's handsome face, looming over you, cheeks flushed red, fangs peaking out between parted lips, messy blonde locks flopped over his sweaty forehead.

"Don't look away," he demanded in a low growl.

It likely wasn't intentional, but he sounded more pleading and less demanding. Still, you were eager to comply. Even if he hadn't requested it, it would have been difficult to look away when he was wearing an expression like that.

Your hands clawed down his back, venturing lower and lower until they reached his shoulder blades, where beautiful, heavenly plumes grew. Hawks cried out, eyes squeezing shut, when you dipped your hands down and slid one along each wing, tangling digits in the feathers.

"Ohhh, fuck," he snarled.

You whimpered when he dipped his head down and bit at your lips before forcing his tongue inside. His command for you to look at him was briefly forgotten as he kissed you, if the harsh motions of his tongue could even be called a kiss.

The swift pace he had set became brutal suddenly, and he was smacking his hips against yours almost violently. Something slithered between your bodies, and you realized faintly that it was a feather.

The soft little quill curled between your bodies and found purchase against your clit, rubbing at the bud almost like a fingertip. That touch got your grip on his wings to loosen as the pleasure became almost blinding.

Hawks pulled back from the kiss with a wet smack, looking down at you almost angrily. You had gotten used to that look, and recognized it as pure lust. Maybe, he was a little mad at you, in his own way.

"Grabbing my wings? You fucking brat," he snarled. There was no venom, however, just animalistic lust.

You wanted to bite back at him; but, the sensations between your legs made it near impossible to think properly, let alone speak. His feather was flicking at your pearl, sparking white hot pleasure, while his cock pummeled your insides, burning aching pleasure at your core.

Somehow, you found the strength to return your hands to his wings, curling fingers and palms beneath the lower end where the appendages jutted out from his back. You grabbed on, felt the feathers fold and twitch between your fingers, making room for you to settle in, almost as if they were working against him.

Hawks cried out, head falling back; but, his pace didn't falter once.

"Fuck, oh fuck," he whined, head nearly smacking into yours when he came back down.

"Holding on like that, gonna make me-" Hawks cut off, moaning shamelessly, breath fluttering out across your cheeks.

Gods, he looked beautiful like that: eyes clouded with lust, cheeks and the tops of his ears tinted red, mouth hanging open. You didn't look much better, laying there and just taking everything he gave you, and loving every fucking second of it.

Normally, his hair was blown out and brushed free from his face. It was cute seeing long strands clinging to his forehead and brow. You could see short, fluffy strands clinging to his neck, skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat.

He could easily jostle his wings or use a strong hand to push you away, to free himself from your grasp; but, he didn't. It felt good, too fucking good, to possibly do that. But, that didn't stop him from bitching about it.

"-touching my fucking wings," he snarled, sounding almost unlike himself, breathless and senselessly aroused, as he growled into the shell of your ear.

"-knot you as punishment," he threatened, words slurred and growling. "Yeah - make you take all of it."

It became clear to you, then, what you had felt earlier, while sucking him off. Perhaps, it shouldn't been so surprising that he could do that. Still, the promise was enough to make you cry out.

Hawks laughed darkly. "That's not a punishment, is it? No, nooo - you would like that."

You weren't sure if it was his words, or the thought of what he intended to do. Maybe it was the way he growled at the end of his sentences, or the feeling of his feathers shuddering in your grasp. But, before you knew it, your orgasm was creeping up on you.

"You want my knot? Hm? Fucking say it - hgnnn," he demanded, words drawling out into a low growl that rumbled through his chest.

"Keigo, please," you sobbed.

"'Please' what?" he snarled.

You barely heard his response. Your orgasm was suddenly overtaking you, so strongly that you could only hear your heart thundering in your ears. Your eyes fluttered shut and you trembled helplessly beneath him, fingers releasing his wings to claw down the skin of his back, trying to find purchase in his skin.

His feather never ceased pinching at your clit; Hawks hips, however, began to falter, feeling you come undone beneath him, tightening and gushing. You failed to feel him swelling at the base, his own orgasm approaching rapidly.

"Oh fuck - oh fuck," Hawks chanted, panting above you like a wild dog.

Without separating, he hiked your leg up and turned you over onto your side, nuzzling into the space behind you. There was barely a second where his pace faltered, and suddenly he was pressed up tight against your back, snarling into your neck while he continued jackhammering into you.

"I need to hear it," he uttered harshly.

Weakly, you reached down between your sopping wet thighs and pushed at the feather that never stopped fluttering against you. It felt good, so, so good. But, it was bordering on painful. The little plume refused to obey your weak protest, and continued flicking expertly at your bud, sending shockwaves across your body.

"-need to hear it," he added on again, insistently.

As your orgasm started to wane, you remembered his request.

Hawks' legs were tangled with yours, resting on his side behind you, sweaty chest slotted against your back while his hips fucked into you feverishly. He had one hand curled over your hip for leverage while his other arm was tucked under your head.

He was panting wildly, nearing completion, fucking into you so fast and hard that it almost hurt. You could hear his wings flap once, stirring the air around you.

"Baby - fuck - please," he sobbed, so fucking close that it was starting to claw away at his insides. He buried his face in the back of your neck, wheezing harshly between sharp moans.

You felt deliriously high, insides still churning in mind-numbing pleasure, skin silky with sweat. You could feel his harsh breaths fluttering out against your neck, felt his hair tickle your skin, felt what he was begging for, prodding at your entrance.

"Y-yes," you stammered, arching your back to try and meet him. "Knot me, Keigo, pleas-"

He pushed it in just in time for his orgasm to take him. The gland at the base of his cock swelled, locking you two together, and Hawks let out a harsh cry that rattled your bones.

The sob you made at the sudden fullness was drowned out by the sounds Hawks was making behind you.

Hawks' sharp cry faded into low moans that stuttered past his lips, one right after the other, as if he was helpless to stop them. The hand that had been holding your hip lowered until his arm locked around your waist, holding you close. His cock throbbed against your walls, gushing his seed in hot spurts.

Even when his orgasm seemed to wane, Hawks couldn't stop shuddering behind you, low wisps of pleasured sounds leaking from his mouth and fluttering across your skin.

It was only when his cock stopped throbbing that he finally went quiet and the feather fluttering at your pearl ceased. The blinding pleasure slowly faded into blissful tranquility, leaving you in the soft ambiance of the ceiling fan, Hawks' breathing, and the bustling streets outside.

In awe, you stared ahead as some of his feathers fluttered free from his wingspan and floated around the room, caught in the breeze from the ceiling fan.

Hawks held you close, panting into your neck, barely an inch of your sweat soaked skin not touching.

Most of the time, guys pulled away as quickly as they could when they were done. Feeling him linger felt nice, warm, comforting, especially when he finally started to calm down, and you felt his lips trail up your neck before nuzzling behind your ear.

"You okay?" he uttered lowly.

"Yeah," you replied softly. "Are you?"

"Still feels good," he answered hoarsely.

"Mmm," you agreed.

You wanted to close your eyes and sink into the sheets; but, you didn't want to look away from the sight of his feathers floating around the room. He must not have realized yet, for he surely would have pulled them back by now.

His arm left your waist so he could free his hand to wander, smoothing over your belly before rising up your sternum. He palmed your neck softly before smoothing over your shoulder, down your arm, then over the curve of your side, briefly squeezing the meat of your behind.

That hand then lifted to brush the hair out of your face and away from your neck, freeing up more skin within reach of his lips, which he promptly peppered with kisses.

Sensitive from such powerful orgasms, your sensitive skin prickled at the feeling of his short beard hairs, and you couldn't hold back some giggling and twitching, which did nothing to deter him.

When he was satisfied, his arm returned to your waist, bringing you in closer as if such a thing was possible.

"Is this... your first time?" you asked him softly, hesitantly.

"What? Having sex?" he blurted, laughing a little.

"No," you sharply retorted, snorting at him.

"Knotting?" he answered with a chuckle. "Yeah. Never wanted to be like this with someone before."

You slid one of your hands over his forearm, the one curled over your waist, until your fingers touched his knuckles. He opened his fingers, letting you intertwine the digits to caress his hand.

"Good," you hummed. "I'm special."

Hawks laughed breathlessly, his chest trembling softly against your back. "Yeah... Yeah, you fucking are," he agreed in a quiet whisper.

Everything was quiet for a little while. Hawks eventually realized he lost some plumes and drew them back into his wingspan. You could hear the feathery appendages shudder softly as he stretched them out, wiggling the masses, before drawing them back in.

He relaxed behind you, pliant and lazy atop the sheets, occasionally blessing your skin with a kiss: a rough one on your shoulder, a soft one on your cheek, a wet one against the shell of your ear. His other arm was still beneath you, making for a decent, albeit hard, pillow.

It was possible that his knot had already gone down by now; but, if it had, you hadn't noticed, and didn't care to move or to tell him to move. You didn't want the moment to be over quite yet.

"Soooo," Hawks uttered suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

He carefully drew his arm out from beneath your head and propped an elbow up so he could lean elevate his hand against his palm and look down at you.

"How was that?" he asked, and you, of course, noticed his cheeky tone.

You groaned in response, highly suspicious of where this was going.

"Better than-"

"Don't you fucking say it," you interrupted him sharply, turning your head a little to look back at him, just in time to watch the wicked smirk on his face turn into a pout, an annoyingly adorable pout at that.

You sighed and turned your head back, away from him, uttering quietly, "yeah, it was better."

Hawks hummed happily. "Better than-?" he cooed, cutting himself off intentionally to tease you.

Testing the waters, you gently pulled away from him, confirming that he had softened and slipped out with ease. You lifted up into a seated position and shimmied to the edge of the bed. Hawks hadn't moved an inch, you realized, when you paused to look back at him.

"The best I've ever had," you sighed at him. "Happy?"

He closed his eyes, beaming a smile at you. "Yep!" he chirped, wings twitching subtly behind him.

"Are you staying, pretty bird?" you dared to ask, just a little fearful that he would take that opportunity to see himself out.

"I sure hope so," he replied. "Or are you the kind to throw men out to the cold when you're done with them?"

You leaned over the bed to give him a playful, harmless smack on the top of the head. He let you, smile not faltering and not flinching in the slightest.

"I might start tonight," you teased.

Still, you gently pushed his hair out of his face, preening him until you were satisfied, and stood up. You couldn't help but stare at him for a moment, spread out on his side, beautifully naked and looking happier than you'd seen him in ages.

"Gonna clean up. Keep the bed warm," you gently commanded him.

Just as you turned away from him, you felt his hand wrap around your arm, stopping you from retreating. You jerked back just a little, not expecting that sudden touch.

"Be mine," he requested.

It was possible that Hawks intended for it to come out demanding. It was, just a little bit; but, there was no missing the plea there, the fear that you were going to tell him that you belonged to no one, or that you didn't want what he was asking for.

You looked at him over your shoulder. The stern face he was making startled you a little. He was always joking about something, making dumb faces so people would underestimate him. It was rare to see him look like this, and you realized-

He was serious.

You gently peeled his hand off your arm. "I was yours when you stole my cigarettes, asshole," you beamed at him, a little bit more venomously than you intended.

That didn't stop Hawks from grinning like a madman.

"Fuck, babe. I love that dirty talk. Let's go again."

For some reason, that got you laughing. "Fuck off."

"Fuck me?" he teased.

You laughed again. "No."

#takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x you #takami keigo smut #takami keigo fanfiction #hawks x reader #villain hawks x reader #villain hawks fanfiction #villain hawks smut

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lackingspace · 4 years

Text

Vindictive (Ghostface x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Danny is jealous and that’s your fault.

Warnings: Rough oral sex, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk, cum swallowing, light daddy kink, Danny just being Danny.

A/N: Had a request for a Jealous Danny. Here it is! I hope you like it. Sorry its taken so long! ･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ･

When you were first dropped in this place you’d been confused, scared, and a little more than annoyed because what the fuck had you done to land yourself here? After the first few freak outs of death and despair, being sacrificed, and the general malaise of being here became your new normal. Falling into a routine became easy after that- trial, struggle, escape if you were lucky, die if you weren’t, and repeat.

Quite frankly, things were getting boring. The others trapped with you made it better, talking, joking around on occasion- friends forged in unfortunate circumstances. It was a tiny slice of normality that you were grateful for because who knows how long you’d been here or would be here. Time didn’t mean anything when there was really no way to measure it. You just knew that it was far longer than you’d have liked. Long enough to become numb to the killers and their brutal treatment. To find them not so threatening and more of an inconvenience.

You missed the real world. Missed the simple things in life- a walk in the park, meeting up with friends, food- God did you miss food. But what you missed the most was an intimate connection. And sex. You definitely missed sex. Relieving tension and having something to distract you from this monotonous existence would have been a blessing.

None of the others trapped with you really appealed to you. Sure Jake was cute, and Yui had that badass look, even Ash had the daddy thing going for him...but none of them really set your nerves on fire. At least not even enough to try it out and spend eternity awkwardly if it didn’t fly. But damn did you need release. so with no options for a partner, you settled on sneaking away into the woods to take care of yourself.

And that’s how he found you. One hand down your pants and the other up your shirt, eyes closed, head tossed back, and softly moaning. He’d leaned against the tree directly in front of you and waited quietly until you opened your eyes. You’d almost had a heart attack when you opened them to see Ghostface casually leaning there while staring you down. It was altogether embarrassing but still had your senses buzzing.

All he did was firmly tell you to keep going. That he was enjoying the show. And something about it, his voice? The command? It just worked for you. Maybe it was the combination of him being dangerous, a killer- someone familiar, but not, an unknown that made your senses tingle mixed with his nonchalant attitude and that damned voice that made your toes curl. So you’d done what he’d asked and kept going.

That marked the start of whatever it was you had going on with Ghostface. At first, it was just hooking up- sneaking away when you saw him lurking and wandering back with a few new pleasurable aches, pains, and bruises. You were sure some of your friends noticed- you knew for a fact Bill, Ace, and David did. The raised brows they’d give you on occasion told you that you were found out. That they knew a clandestine meet up just took place. As long as they knew what you were up to, just not with who, you didn't care. For all they knew it could be another survivor who hadn't wandered back from a trial yet because who would be fucking a killer?

You were content with ignoring them and they seemed fine with not questioning. Besides, it wasn't their business and you have no plans on stopping because it was something you enjoyed- it unquestionably helped deal with the mental stress of repeatedly dying. After a while though, and you really couldn’t pinpoint when, it turned into something a little more. At least for you.

Made you unnecessarily giddy when he was the killer in your trials. Both of you more playful in chases, he had a habit of drawing those out with you, grabbing your ass before letting you run away only for him to ambush you, down you, and then run his hands up all over you before picking you up.

If he caught you jumping through a window? You better expect a few well-placed slaps while he teased all sorts of dirty things he'd do to you once he had you alone.

You didn’t want to admit it, but feelings had reared their ugly head in you for this sarcastic bastard. You caught yourself being soft for him when you really shouldn’t have. Honestly, you felt a little bad because you weren’t the best teammate if he was the killer of the trial. You should have been focusing on gen rushing, saves, or even trying to distract him- which you were more than capable of doing.

But instead, you found yourself being distracted by him. You'd be there staring, sighing while watching him sneak around. Giggle to yourself about how much of a sadistic bastard he was when in a chase. And if he found you? And God did you want him to- you were even more useless. You weren’t fooling anyone with your pseudo-chase. You didn’t really try to escape but that was ok, both of you liked it that way. You always blamed it as an off match when questioned why you’d done so poorly. No one seemed to notice it was only during a trial with him, and you were totally fine with that.

So that was how your existence was for now. Honestly, you weren’t mad about it either. His attention in and out of trials gave you back a spark that had been dulled after one too many sacrifices. This trial was no different, you found yourself relaxed, good-spirited, and snickering at a comment Zarina just made. When the gen popped you looked over to see Jane shaking a hand with a mumbled apology. A second later she let out a shriek and started running away.

You knew what that meant and so you tried to gauge if you should sneak away as well, but you hadn’t seen what she had. Would've been nice if she’d have at least said the killer before sprinting off, but you understood sometimes they just caught you off guard and fight or flight took over.

Cautiously looking around you decided it was best just to move on, Zarina had the moment Jane ran. You probably waited around too long and would get caught, but at least you'd be prepared after you got off the hook. The fact that you hadn’t heard any footsteps or seen anyone usually meant it was someone stealthy too. You really didn’t want the shape. He was always terrible to play against in this underground lab. Harder to outmaneuver him within the space. Hope welled inside you that it was your...boyfriend? well, whatever he was, you wanted Ghostface. Trying to quietly sneak away seemed like it was going fine until you were suddenly stopped.

Something had gripped the back of your shit and yanked. You stumbled and then felt yourself being dragged around a corner only to have your face pressed against a wall. You were pretty sure you knew who it was, but shit why was he being so rough?

“So that’s the game you want to play, huh?” Your wish came true, it was your sarcastic boo, Ghostface- you had no idea what he was talking about though, “What the hell do you mean? What’s th-” he cut you off as he pressed in against your back while placing a hand in front of your smashed face, “Don’t give me that. You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He said it with so much venom dripping in his voice, you’d never actually heard him like that before.

He was usually snide, sarcastic, kinda dark, sometimes angry, but this? He sounded well beyond any of that. And it was all aimed at you….shit.

“Dude, I really” He pressed a forearm to the twisted side of your neck and gripped your shoulder. You winced at the pressure, “Really have no idea what you’re talking about. What game?” There was silence as you felt cold sweat run down your spine. In that same vicious tone, he answered as his grip tightened on your shoulder, “I saw you and that bastard.”

You wracked your brain trying to figure out what he meant. It had to have been something in this trial, he wasn’t upset when you’d seen him be-- oh god it hit you just like that. You’d slipped and would have had a nasty face-first fall into some crates, barrels, and a pallet, but Ace had grabbed you. Unfortunately, it’d been by the hips and as soon as he got you up he’d apologized for the placement while patting a shoulder.

He must have seen that. It had to be what he was talking about….But did that mean....was he jealous? His knife suddenly stabbed into the wall next to your face, ohhh, even if he denied it you could tell, he was. There was no question with the growl in his voice, the tight grip he had- which you’d like to point out was only getting tighter, and now the knife threateningly in your face? This wasn’t his normal rational ‘let me weasel my way in, tease, and manipulate to my advantage’, this screamed irritated topped with irrational.

And even though your brain screamed it was an awfully bad idea, you were going to have fun with it.

“Not even going to deny it? You little fucking whore.” The rage in his voice felt like someone had submerged you in acid. It really did make your skin crawl that he thought you’d do something like that. After everything the two of you got up to he should have realized how much his dick did it for you. And only his dick. That aside, you weren’t going to just lay down and take his attitude. Nope, not at all. If he was going to be a jealous prick then you were going to be a coy bitch. It might land you in hot water, but you were hoping it was the kind you liked with him, “Oh, but Ghostface, I thought you liked it when I was bent over?”

The arm still pinning across the back of your neck lifted off quicker than lightning only to move into your hair and rip your head back with a snarl, “Only when your bent in front of me you little cunt!” You moaned at the pain in your scalp but still enjoyed the feeling. It sent some nice jolting tingles straight to your nipples, “But I was in front of you.” The grip in your hair was impossibly tight as the knife scraped against the wall as it moved from next to your face to press against your newly exposed throat. Ignoring that you pressed on, “You’re just pissed that it wasn’t your hands on me.”

Even with his knife millimeters away from cutting into you and the very real possibility that he was beyond reasoning, would just slit your throat and throw you up to hang- there was still an overwhelming feeling of bravado and the need to tease just as much as his anger was crushing down on you.

With that feeling overflowing, you took the chance before he responded to push just a little more, “In fact, I bet you’re mad because you couldn't make me stay like that.” Wiggling under his tight grip had your hair pulling and the knife pressing harder into your throat- a wet trickle down the side told you skin broke, “Bet you would have fucked me right there too. Let my friends see who's been giving it to me.” The hiss he let out had a smirk clawing its way onto your lips. That feeling of getting under his skin made it impossible to keep your next thought locked inside, “Too bad it was just Ace...His rough hands grabbing me, having him pressing against me, he could have pushed me however he’d wanted...too bad it wasn’t you.”

Growling out, “You little bitch.” he quickly pulled his knife away as he pressed his hips into yours- he must have liked what you'd said because he was half-hard already. Pulling your hair harder had you moaning out at both the rough treatment of your scalp and the hard length now pressed against your ass. A hot flush circulated your system as relief filled you- The fact that he hadn’t plunged the knife in was a good sign. It seemed like your gamble had paid off.

You moved your hips against his as he leaned in to hiss in your ear, “You’re fucking right I would have fucked you right there. Would have shown that prick exactly who you belong to.”

His knife hand grabbed your hip in a bruising grip and directed you how he liked, “I should just throw you up on a fucking hook with your tits out and my name carved across your chest for everyone to see.” Another wave of heat flushed through you at that, Would he? That’d be embarrassing as hell and you really did not want to explain that to your friends, at least not yet. But it sent heat through you all the same. "Show them how nasty you really are." On second thought explaining wouldn't be that big of an issue. Your squirming gave away how much you liked the thought, which he pointed out, “Of course a dirty girl like you gets off on that. I shouldn't even let you come. Should just use you and make you wait until you're really fucking sorry. ”

Ignoring that last part to focus on his phrasing. He had said should, which implied that he was questioning it, so you asked in a shaky voice, “But?” Between his hands and his hips, you couldn’t hold back the moan at the pleasurable drag of him against your ass- he was only getting harder, “But nothing, I might just fucking do that...either way, they're going to talk. ” The hand in your hair released and reached around to hold your cheeks in a harsh grip, “I’m going to teach you a fucking lesson because it seems like my mouthy whore needs to be reminded of who she belongs to and what that means. They get free tickets to the show...Lucky them.”

The venom was still there, but instead of the pure angry tone from before, it was colored by an undercurrent of something darker- something hotter. Something that told you on an instinctual level you wouldn’t be walking the same if the entity didn’t have pity and heal whatever he was about to punish you with. Fuck, you wanted it though. Wanted all the pleasurable pain he was about to dish out to you. “You’re going to regret letting that bastard anywhere near you.”

Your brain wasn’t functioning not when he’d just declared he wanted everyone to hear him fucking you. See the evidence of it. Threatening it like he’d done about carving up your tits was a hot possibility, but he was actually serious about this. You weren’t sure what it was he was going to do to you, but you could tell you most certainly weren’t going to be quiet about it.

Ghostface could get rough sometimes, but it wasn’t the usual. Demanding? Yes. Controlling? Definitely. Explicit? Absolutely. But being rough just to be rough was generally only when he was especially frustrated, and that wasn’t often. Maybe only a handful of times since you’d been together and at this point, you weren’t even sure how long that was, all you knew was that it’d been a while.

Which boasted to how much this affected him. How jealous he was seeing something that really, really hadn’t been anything at all. It should have turned you off, sent you running by how possessive he was, but you ignored that in favor of knowing he got you wetter than anyone else had ever done before. There was no way he’d admit to being jealous though, not outright, but you knew that’s what this was all about and fuck did that work for you. Having him teach you a lesson? All you could do was moan at the prospect.

“Such an eager slut for it even after knowing your friends are gonna see. So pathetic.” You whined, whether in protest or confirmation it wasn’t clear, “You think it’s ok to let someone else put their hands on what’s mine? That’s not going to work, kitten.” at the pet name you knew this was going to be fun- but you couldn’t let him know that though, would have to turn up the waterworks, “We’re going to show them just what a disgusting whore you really are for me. Let them see you taking my cock and how you beg for it.”

He shoved you down to your knees. The impact against the hard concrete making you wince, “Good, feel the sting. Better get used to it because your throat is about to feel it too.” he was going to fuck your face? God. You loved when he made you choke on it and you could tell with how aggressive he was you really were going to choke.

The thumb on the hand on your face swiped across your bottom lip, dipping in to press down on your tongue causing some drool to slip down before regripping your face with the now wet appendage, “You’re going to open wide and let Daddy use this pretty mouth of yours while we let all your little fucking friends know whos been sending you back to that fucking fire pit covered in bruises.” Goddamn that set your nerves ablaze and if your panties hadn’t already been drenched that was added insurance. He was usually subtly possessive but this was flat out plain as day possessive and it had you crying for it.

You didn't care anymore. You didn't give a single fuck if you had to explain why they'd caught you with a mouth full of Ghostface's cock- and maybe more. if this meant him declaring to everyone that you were his you’d happily tell them to fuck off if they had any issues.

You were going to beg him for it, but the hand gripping your face prevented anything escaping outside of mumbled strained moans. He answered for you though because he forcefully made you nod up and down. In a mocking falsetto, he voiced for you, “Yes, sir. I’ll open up like a good girl and apologize with my filthy mouth. I'll show you how sorry I am for letting some asshole put their hands on me.”

Yes, fuck yes! is wanted to say, but all that came out was a garbled moan through your closed mouth. At the sound, his grip tightened, “Such a fucking slut. Would you have moaned for that fuck too?” At your muffled outrage his grip forced your gaze up, “At least you fucking know better on that.”

You thought he would release you to undo his pants, but after a second of silence and you quietly looking at him, he said, "well? Get to apologizing with that pretty mouth before I decide to gut you instead." Ah, he wanted you to do it. That was fine by you, didn't really want him to let go of your hair anyways. You opened his pants with ease, already intimately familiar with the clasps and he squeezed your cheeks forcing your mouth open before he finally released the grip as you took him in.

He was hard and pulsing when you pulled him out, precome just slightly swelling at the tip. He would have shoved into your still open mouth if it hadn’t been for the entranced look you were giving him. The affectionate desperation you wore while staring helped quell the rage clawing through him. He decided he'd let you play for a second, seeing you so willing to drool for him tore against the need to roughly shove down your throat.

Unabashedly licking a hand before wrapping it tightly around his base to give him a rough tug. Staring up at his mask again you pleaded with him, "I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t do it on purpose." Teasing his tip against your lips before you kissed the head, "I don't want him. Or any of them. Wanted it to be you" Licking the underside followed by a few gentle nibbles to the base made his breath catch, "Always you, daddy."

His cock twitched against your tongue as he hissed, "And I like that they'll know. I want them to hear what you're about to do to me." He retightened his fist in your hair to pull your head back slightly. He took himself from your hands to slap his cock across your cheeks, "Yeah? You're gonna get off on them hearing your mouth full of killer cock? Filthy thing." You whined desperately trying to nod against his grip, "Then open fucking wide." You dropped your mouth quicker than he finished speaking and you were rewarded with another slap across your cheek before you felt him rest heavy against your tongue.

It was hard not to close around him and start working on the shaft, but you could tell he wasn't going to let you warm up to it. He wanted you wrecked- a gagging crying used looking mess. And the heat that sent through you had your clit pulsing in want and made you squirm around for some type of relief. But you'd be a good girl and take it for him.

"Keep your fucking eyes on me and don't you dare try to keep quiet. You better make as much noise as you fucking can." Before you could answer he was shoving to the back of your throat and down. The choked sob you made was just what he wanted as you gagged around him. Sliding down your throat, he mockingly cooed, “Aw, is that too much? Don’t lie, I know you can take it, kitten. Just relax and swallow like my good girl. Impress all your survivor friends.”

You gagged hard and sputtered around him while he kept thrusting using the grip in your hair to hold you in place, “Don’t even try to deny it. You’re always gagging for it regularly. I bet those little boys wish they were here in this tight wet heat instead.” His voice was strained and you could hear him holding back his own moans.

Gripping his thighs tightly while trying to relax like he'd suggested, but the burning stretch of your throat was hard to ignore, “But that's why we started this, huh?” his thrusts had been rapid and shallow, but were turning slower while he held in your throat longer, “None of their cocks would do it for you.” Swallowing around him only made him hold deeper, “ For as much of a dirty slut you are, none of them could get you going like I can.”

Tears were freely falling- leaving tracks down your cheeks, drool was constantly spilling out, your throat ached at the persistent gagging, and the obscene noises you were making with each thrust was driving the both of you wild. “None of them. None...of...those...pricks!” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust, “No one can fuck you like I do.” You moaned sloppily around his cock in agreement, “ They’re not going to throat fuck you like this. And they not going to bend you over and make you fucking take it like daddy.” crying out around him just as much as you were gagging- near constantly and God did you love it.

You’d be begging for him to fuck you if you didn’t have a mouthful at the moment. So instead you were squirming, tightly gripping his thighs, tears continued to spill down, and taking anything he gave you. He knew you well enough to know what your pathetic looks and sounds meant, but he wasn’t folding, “Aw, do you want something?” all that came out were some choked sobs, “What's that? I can’t really understand you.” He shoved completely down your throat and held your head there causing you to swallow and make some disgusting throat sounds, “You should really learn not to talk with your mouth full, kitten.” He tutted at you while you sobbed harder, “ But I can’t expect any manners on such a dirty girl.”

His hand tightening and his voice gaining a shakiness betrayed how close he was even if he looked like the picture of control, “You’re not meant for them.” His pace quickened, “Your place is right fucking here.” He was using both hands to direct your head now, “On your goddamn knees for me.” He pulled out as he ripped your head back, “Gone on, tell them who fucking owns this you!” It only took you a second to catch your breath before you were rasping out his name, “Ghostface! I’m yours, just yours!” Movement in your peripheral caused your eyes to widen, someone was definitely watching. Maybe they all were, but you wouldn’t fuck this up by looking over to them. Who knows what he’d do then.

You could hear how smug he was when he whispered, “Yeah they’re fucking watching. Saw you choking on it like a professional. Now show them how much of a cumslut you are for me and beg for it. If you do it good enough, maybe I’ll be nice and let you cum before the end of the trial.” Denying him wasn’t even a question, you’d said you wanted them to hear and now they had. The satisfaction that at least one of them knew was sending a burning hot pulse through you.

So you started begging with your raw voice, “Please, I need it Ghostface! I want it so bad! Need your cum! I wanna taste it so bad. Please! Please, daddy, can I have it?!” He was still pumping his cock in front of your face while you continued to say his name like a prayer, “Open that pretty mouth for me, Babe.” You did as you were told and opened wide while staring up at his mask. The hand not working himself gripped your chin, sliding his thumb inside before moving back up into your hair to yank your head where he wanted. Keeping your mouth open as far as you could you moaned for it.

You could see more movement to the side, but you ignored it when you felt the first spurt of his cum splash against your cheek. He covered your face before giving you the last on your waiting tongue. “Keep your mouth open.” You heard the telltale clicks of his camera and embarrassment flushed through you just as a new wave of arousal settled low in your stomach. “You can swallow it now.” You made a show of savoring the taste for him, and anyone watching.

Slowly opening your eyes you could feel your lashes heavy with his cum. You moved to wipe some of it away, but he caught your wrist, “You’re going to leave that right where it is.” You gave him a questioning look that he answered with, “I’m going to hang you up on that hook and you're going to run around the rest of this trial with it on your face.” Your jaw dropped as your face burned. That was so fucking embarrassing. You’d think that wouldn’t bother you since you let everyone watch you be thoroughly face fucked but having to talk to them with cum on you went to the next level. But you wouldn't try to stop him- didn’t want to. It sent a nasty pulse of perverse heat through you, “If you keep it like a good girl, I’ll fuck you in front of them before the trials up.” You were begging before you even realized.

He chuckled while brushing some of your hair back from your face, “Well, let's get you up there on the hook then.” He lifted you with ease and surprisingly gently compared to his treatment just a second ago. You felt the familiar feel of the hook entering you, heard yourself scream, and then you were hanging there and he was patting a cheek of your ass, “Remember, no wiping it off until I say.” and then he was walking off.

You hung there for a few minutes before you saw Jane silently walking towards you. You tried to look away, but she was already lifting you off of it. Settling on your feet had you unconsciously looking up to her. She was taking you in with a raised brow and a slight smirk, “Ghostface, huh?” Hearing her say it was about enough to kill you from embarrassment.

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babbushka · 4 years

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Hello dearest! Could i request a combo of ‘grabbing the butt while hugging’ and ‘picking up while hugging’ with Pale? I miss that hunk

(1.1k, NSFW-ish: Public groping, getting handsy, fingering, exhibitionism)

He’s scribblin’ some notes down on the sheet music on stage, when there’s a tap on his shoulder. With an annoyed sigh, he sucks down a long drag of his cigarette, careful not to let ash fall over the keys of the grand piano he’s been playing away and rehearsing at for the better part of the afternoon, and lets out a snappish, “What?”

It’s only then that he hears a familiar chuckle, and a pair of even more familiar hands smooth around his chest, as the face of his favorite girl peeks at him from around his shoulder, and you grin at him with a twinkle in you eye.

“You know you ought’a start bein’ a little nicer to people.” You point out, and Pale would have a comeback for that, if he weren’t so surprised that you’re here.

Getting off the piano bench, Pale stands up to his full height in front of you. He wraps you in a tight hug, lifting you clean off the floor, your ankles criss-crossing in the air as you laugh and hug him back. In typical Pale fashion, he squeezes the flesh of your ass with one of those baseball mitts he calls a hand, kneading at it for a moment or two before he sets you back down onto the floor.

“Baby girl what the fuck are you doin’ here? I thought you had work today – you ain’t cuttin’ your shift just to visit this ugly mug, you better fuckin’ not be because I thought I told you to save up them vacation days of yours for the trip I booked for us and I’d be real fuckin’ pissed if – ”

“I’m not cuttin’ my shift, I promise. Fish called me up and gave me the rest of the day off’s’all. Thought I’d come over here and see if I couldn’t keep you company.” You smile at him, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth for a second to give him a kiss.

Pale huffs and smacks your ass, chasing your lips for another kiss before he snatches the cigarette back, and sits down on the bench, facing away from the piano to get a good look at you.

“You went on the subway like that?” He asks, eyeing you up and down. You bit back a smile – it didn’t matter what you wore, Pale would think it’s too sexy for the general populous, they didn’t deserve seein’ you in all your glory, even if that glory was a sweatsuit.

As it stood, you thought you’d dress up for your man, in a short short short skirt and blouse set that had him rakin’ over your legs slowly, eyes then flickin’ up to yours.

“Mhm.” You nodded, wriggling your shoulders at him suggestively, watching the way that muscle in his jaw jumps, watching how he chews on the inside of his cheek.

One of his hands trails up up up the inside of your thigh, until you can fee the warmth of his palm skating just below your pussy. You smile, because you can see the exact minute that he realizes you ain’t wearing any panties.

“Nobody gave you any problems, did they?” He demands at once, and you shake your head, spreading your legs ever so subtly for him, that hand of his pinching and grabbing at your thigh.

“Nope.” You take a step toward him, “I gave ‘em a real mean stare, just the way you always do.”

“Oh now we’re doin’ impressions, huh? Alright let me see, show me this mean stare of mine.” Pale demands, and you shake out the muscles in your cheeks because there ain’t no smilin’ when it comes to Pale, and you give him a real nasty look that has him nodding with appreciation. “Well fuckin-A baby, that’s a pretty impressive impression.”

Ego blooming, Pale pulls you down onto his lap fully, swiveling the two of you around to face the piano once more. Instead of touching the keys though, he just keeps touching you. Even though the two of you are on stage, that doesn’t stop him, his hands groping at your tits, giving them a squeeze.

“Did you miss me?” You kiss his cheek, right on one of his beauty marks.

“Miss you? Did I miss you? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me kid of course I missed you – every second of every fuckin’ day I ain’t with you I miss you get the fuck over here – miss you, shit you think I like sittin’ in this auditorium all day long away from you?” Pale gets offended at that, yanks you even closer, impossibly closer, those hands of his gettin’ such a grip on your thighs, your tits, your ass, that you’re sure you’re gonna bruise.

“Mhm, I think you like makin’ me wait for you to come home.” You tease him anyway, knowing how easy it is to rile him up. He’s getting a little too riled though, because without so much as a look around to make sure the coast is clear, he’s pushing two fingers into your pussy, making you suck in a breath. “Pale, honey? Don’t you think you should take me somewhere nice and cozy?”

“Nah, I think I’ve got you right where I fuckin’ want you, let me show you what these hands can do.” Pale smirks, smokes and smokes his cigarette.

He fingers you slowly, discreetly – or at least as discreet as he can be on stage in the theater. It ain’t even an empty theater, people workin’ there getting ready for some concert in a few days. You gasp gently, and Pale grins, sharklike and mean, fingering you just long enough to get you almost to the edge of coming, before pulling away.

Pale sucks the slick off his fingers, and kisses you real deep.

“You’re awful, you know that?” You chuckle against his lips, before trying to slide off his lap.

“Hey where the fuck d’ya think you’re going?” He only frowns and grabs at your wrist, not wanting you away from him.

“Just, letting you practice.” You shrug, knowing that he’s got to get to work for a concert of his own.

“I don’t think so – I practice better with you next to me, get the hell over here.” Pale shakes his head and tugs you right back down onto the bench, this time next to him instead of on top of him.

And you know that little admissions like that aren’t something Pale gives up too often, so you stay sitting by his side as he begins to play the piano, a dreamy smile on your face as you listen along to his music – until you realize the real reason he wants you here: the vibrations of the piano go straight through you.

Pale knows it, you know he knows it, he knows you know he knows it, and as you try not to sigh, still on the cusp of coming, you can’t help but think you’re so glad that you decided to visit him today.

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Tagging some friends! @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @sunflowersinthesnow @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @littleevilme13 @leillaa @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl

#pale x reader #pale/reader #adam driver pale #adam driver burn this #adam driver fanfic #adcu #pale x you #pale/you #pale burn this #burn this broadway #pale smut #my writing

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bakunobakuyes · 3 years

Text

I’m not going anywhere || Bakugou Katsuki

this is long, srry.

WARNINGS: smut, softdom bakugo, cursing, alcohol, verbal abuse

_______________________________________________________________

It’s not an empty floor you’d step into. Well, it's not supposed to be empty - third year students occupying the rdorms were downstairs, mingling, enjoying a small party. It's almost forgotten when you hear the thud against the thin wall, coming for a room on the far left corner. The small hiss and growl of a “yes” and a “fuck” is something that seems to be filling the room.

The smell of vanilla lingers in his room, engraving itself on his shirt. It's her fault. That goddamn shampoo and perfume she wears. That goddamn smell is too familiar to the aspiring hero. Even the smell of the vodka they had consumed seemed to be overpowered by the heavenly scent.

The vanilla smell is clean-cutting compared to the smell of burnt caramel that stung her nostrils when she was close enough to him. It's not the sting that makes her stomach crunch in disgust. that was what made it weird. Self-control just did wonders for this girl.

Self-control wasn't important now. That was evident as she dragged her fingernails down his back, drawing blood from the red marks that followed. It's rough; he likes it. You know how she can tell? There was no sickening sneer or taunting smirk when he let out a small gasp, teeth coming to clamp onto the skin on her shoulder. It takes almost everything in her not to give in when he shivers.

They weren't supposed to be like this. How did they even end up like this? She's not supposed to want this. But she wants this. She wants the way his fingernails dig into the soft skin of her thighs, holding her up. She wants the groans he gives; the wet, sloppy kisses he gives on her neck, collarbone and any other place he thinks of.

There's a voice in the back of her head, whispering, "Wicked little girls like you grow up to be witchy women." every time she touches him. Like an old ghost, whispering in her ear. That same voice whispers that she is un-submitted and lustful as Jezebel, the Bible's famous wḣore. A male voice she knows all too well. She's been rebelling from that voice she had begun to walk. That voice tells her she was marked by sin; no matter how hard she scrubs every morning she will never be clean of it.

She wants the feeling of her back hitting the wall behind her with every thrust - feeling him fill inside her. The thought itself was painfully terrific and made her want nothing more than just /this/. She wants to feel his lips against her skin; she wants the noises he makes with each thrust he gives her - feeling him pull out almost slowly and tortuously before slamming back into her. She wants the feeling of his ash blonde hair when she would fist it.

Their clothes are still on; both much too eager to remove articles. It's the only thing keeping them from really bruising each other with kisses, gripping, biting - anything you could think of when you have sex. The black skirt was shoved to wrap around her hips, underwear hanging around her ankle. The back of his shirt have a few traces of blood. No thanks to the girl between him and the damned wall of his bedroom.

It's her voice drawling out, "Harder, fuck you, harder." as he pulls out tortuously slow before slamming back into her, going back to his fast, angry pace. He shouldn't be too surprised. He still remembers the bruises on her neck made by teeth that he had seen one day at school. Teeth that aren’t his. Just the thought triggers an almost barbaric response, craving to make her his own.

It's her voice that told him as soon as they were done with this round, she was going to ride him so hard. It's her voice that is saying his name, causing flips from his stomach as that single word spilt through her lips.

Oh God, shit, fuck - it was being slurred out. It just wasn't the girl saying it; it was the blonde dragging out the words. She's not the girl who makes guys say that. She's the girl who goes to guys so she can slur out those words. These feelings were indescribable, and she wishes there was a word to describe what she was feeling - describe what she hoped he was feeling. There wasn't.

There wasn't a word that could describe /them/. Both terrible with words; you could only imagine how easily that stopped them from expressing their feelings to each other. It's the only thing that stood in the way. They both know that.

Soon enough they were on the bed, a second round in the process.

She's the girl who watched. She watched everything go by without saying a damn thing. She's the girl whose father demanded that she would leave his home and move into the dorms, finding the long letters he had stuffed in her bag before she had left only saying, "God will eventually forgive her for her sins." She's the girl who kept her vulnerability secret. She's the girl who didn’t need anyone. She's the girl who enrolled in the hero course purely out of spite.

Only asking for one thing and one thing only - to never fall in love and ever endure a broken heart. It was a ridiculous want and maybe too cliche. But wanting this boy was ridiculous. He's not meant for her. He's too good - too powerful - for a girl like her. He simply wanted what all men wanted. No matter how many times he would tell her he wasn’t trying to be a friend to her she would never believe him. Not as long as he said it with that goddamn smug expression on his face.

It was a fucking joke. Them fucking was a joke. They weren't meant to want each other.

But they want.

It's a feeling that seems to possess every inch of their bodies and minds; keeping them overwhelmed when near each other. You'd have to be insane to think it's mainly sexual. It's not mainly sexual when she wants to simply spend time with him. It's not mainly sexual when he breaks all the rules he sets for herself for her. This isn't a mainly sexual relationship, but neither of them will say it. Regardless if this is the first time he's between her thighs, making her slur his name.

That goddamn voice. It haunts his thoughts; leaving him to hear it everywhere. Regardless if she is present or not. He wonders why it's quiet when everything she said was laced with sarcasm, and unseen sadness seeping into every word. Goddamn it. She doesn't trust him enough to even admit that there's something between them. He doesn't have the ability to open his mouth to say something that wasn’t laced with faux hostility that hid his aching vulnerability.

He should be fucking someone else, but he still chooses her out of all people. he shouldn't even be interested in her, but he is. Why? She wouldn't ever know. She doesn't understand him. He shouldn't be fucking her, goddamn it! She shouldn't be the girl he crawls on top of, creating a fast-paced rhythm as he hoists her legs around his waist. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall, stroking his ego.

She sees it, and it makes her wonder if he had genuine feelings for her. She'd be a silly, little girl if she thought he didn't. You bet your ass she's that silly, little girl. The girl with striking eyes doesn't believe she is worthy of love, for she had grown up with that being forced into her head. Her brothers even suffering the same fate before her. They were all doomed from the start.

Why would she drag him into this fiery pit of destruction?

The clothes that had once stood in the way of them being completely intimate had been discarded quickly like a drunken stumble, the location meaning nothing to the two intoxicated teens acting upon their feelings rather than expressing it through words.

It's the feeling of ecstasy that overwhelms her when he sits back, pulling her into his lap. He's still buried inside her, his hand grasping her breast as the other grasped her hip to lead her. Her eyes close as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, a moan expressing the feeling of pleasure she feels. His lips messily leave kisses among her collarbone and neck, wanting nothing more to make his mark. He wanted everyone to know that she was his. There's no being courteous and saving her from the possibility of covering up the hickeys.

He's coming close to his peak, she feels his movements quicken. It makes her want more, so she whines for it. Her nails dig into his skin as he leads. His thumb is working against her cłit, working to get her to her own peak. He knows he's just driving her insane, and he loves it. She's made him work for this, and it feels good. He just won't say those words. Besides, he still has a reputation to protect.

"I ca-can-" she sputters out, before giving a silent cry as she reaches her climax. Her teeth clamping down on the skin of the eighteen year old she was straddling.

He promised her an empty floor after escaping the party, both shit-faced. She doesn't care. Moaning loudly on a usually occupied floor like this? Her voice would carry and the thought of her voice carrying made her sick to her stomach. Well, she didn't trust the privacy he promised her.

He cums shortly after her, riding his climax. He’s no longer able to control his aggression. His fingernails dug into her hips; his teeth clamping down onto the skin of her collarbone. There's a metallic taste stinging his taste buds; then he knows that he has drawn blood. He pulls away from the tiny master piece on his lap and stares at her for a moment or two. That's when he presses a kiss to her lips; a well-deserved kiss that hopefully sent all the overwhelming feelings he felt for this girl.

The morning comes all too soon. The sun wasn't fully up, but she awaken by the light blue peaking through his closed curtains. Her head lifts from the pillow, seeing if he was still there. He was, but he wasn't facing her. His back was to her, lightly snoring. And, the realization that she fell asleep before she could get to her own room is a hard blow.

This wasn't supposed to happen. They were past that, and she knew that. There was no way of avoiding it, but it doesn't mean she won't try running away from whatever it was she was feeling for him. That thought only reminds her of who she used to be before he obnoxiously and aggressively stepped into her life - she wasn't the one who ran away. She avoided conflict.

She felt like she was betraying herself when she got out of the bed. The feeling makes her stomach crunch in embarrassment. Shit. Why did she want to fucking stay? They weren't a couple; she shouldn't have even slept over! She crept around his room, dressing in the discarded clothes from the night before. The light snoring stops just as she is about to take her first step out of his room.

They both pretend he's still asleep.

It's only how it starts

The second time he's ambushed in the bathroom during a class. It's empty, expect for the snarky girl who had shoved this crude bastard, locking the door behind them. To be safer, she puts her hands on his chest to push him into a stall. The both of them barely fit. He's a big guy; the breadth of his shoulders take up most of the confined space. Thank the Gods for the petite girl, because if it weren't for her, well, they probably wouldn't be doing what they're doing.

It seems to be serious when she grabs his t-shirt, pulling him down to her eye-level, her mouth to his ear. "Next time you grab my ass when I'm talking to Cementoss while you're passing, I'll kick your ass." she threaten half-heartedly and haughtily into his ear.

Even if she was being serious, he wouldn't have taken her seriously. Not when she's pressed up against him, already having her hand in his pants.

He doesn't reply to her; all he does is scoff. It's short lived, because as soon as he begins it, her fingers wrap around his dick and stroking him steadily. A smug grin appears across her lips as he writhes, fumbling to stabilize himself along the slick surface of the stalls. It’s infuriating. He wants to mark her. He wants her to feel him - to know she's his. He mostly wants to wipe that smug look off of her face. He bares his teeth and snaps at her mouth to her lower lip between them.

He cums in her hand, his hands gripping her hips so tightly he's sure he's bruised her through that skirt. He presses his lips against hers tenderly after he finishes his release. It seems so unlike him that she questions it almost immediately. It makes her want to rip away from him, yell at him this isn't what she wanted from him. But, she figured this is who he really is: thumb to her cheek, lips on hers, a bit of a superhero, a bit of a bleeding heart. She wants to hate it, but she can't.

So, she's gone. She leaves before he has the chance to say anything, shoving out of the stall. She leaves before he even has the chance to reciprocate

The next few weeks seem to go smoothly between the two. They walk together, sit together; she doesn’t piss him off that much. He even once kicked the back of her knees when she wasn’t looking, swiftly catching the girl in his arms, though, she hits and curses him for it. It always made him laugh. There was nothing more entertaining than watching her flustered with heated cheeks.

People notice their “friendship” - as far as they knew. Unsurprisingly, people have little hope for them. She doesn’t fit into his life - the life of someone climbing to the number one position. He shouldn’t waste his time for the undecided girl. It seems like she’s the only one who realizes that. He should want a girl who has a high chance of achieving the things he wants, not a probable hero course dropout like her brother. She’s not worth the trouble of being a distraction.

They skip lunches, escaping to the rooftop They don’t seem to mind spending so much time with together anymore; they used to be hesitant to even go anywhere alone together as if their presences bothered each other. Most of the time, it doesn’t.

Most of the time he just drags her to the stairwell and fucks her against the wall or the stairs, breaking the skin of her elbows in little cuts. Sometimes they make it up to the rooftop, and have their way there. He fucks her with his fingers, wanting to tease her and make her feel the way she makes him feel when she uses her hands. He fucks her with his tongue, his dick twitching his pants every time he hears his name escape her mouth. Both his fingers and tongue tease. One licking up and down her torso, as the middle and index of his fingers circle around her cłit. They do this until she's whining for it.

There's something about the way she holds a book, or just fucking sits there in that stupid desk. The way her eyes focus on whatever she may be doing, always crossing her legs. There's something about the way she runs the tip of her tongue over her lower lip to moisten it. There's only so much a man can take.

There's only so much a man can take when some douche bag in class b approaches her, this smile on his face and hope in his eyes. She may look uninterested, but that is exactly how she looked when they first met and look at them now. Nevertheless, this guy must have been talking about something she was interested in because the douche bag got her to give this smile - the one he earns. It cuts the deepest, because he knows he can't do anything. She's not his. She doesn't belong to anyone, and it frustrates him. But that frustration subsides when she walks away from this douche bag, her braid exposing the hickies he’s given her.

She’s his.

There's a better chance of their clothes thrown across the room, with him tangled between her legs and her nails clawing into his back. This was one of the times where they were clothed. He was laying on his bed on his stomach, with her sitting on his butt and legs in a criss-cross position. A notebook by his shoulders with another beside them, her eyes shift between them, scribbling down notes.

"Fuckin' Cementoss." she cursed their teacher, copying down the notes as his eyes flutter open and closed. She shakes her head, her eyes flickering up at the back of his blonde-haired head.

He's almost asleep, but when he doesn’t move, he feels the thud of a notebook hitting the back of his head. "Motherfuc-" he stops shouting mid-sentence, reaching behind him with the one arm that wasn't supporting his head to nudge her a little. “What’s your fucking problem, you fucking brat?"

The remark earns nothing more than a roll of her eyes as she leans forward, hovering over him as she snatches the pillow he's using, “I’m no brat, you’re the brat. Next time you call me that, I’ll beat you to a pulp." He’s rubbing off on her. It only makes him grin into his arm

"Cocksucker."

"Sadist."

He wriggles around underneath her when she sits back on his ass, writing down something. She scoffs at him, placing her hands down on his bare-back. "I'm not going to sodomize you, Jesus."

He snorts, "Just seems like the natural progression of things, you little brat.”

She rolls her eyes, tossing her things aside, bending her head and licks a stripe up his spine just to sink her teeth into the muscle at the base of his skull. He jerks underneath her, a loud curse is shouted. She looks down at him darkly, although he can't see. "Don't joke."

He opens his mouth to spit out a threat, but doesn’t say a thing, he's far too distracted by the way her fingers are gently messaging his scalp. He can't see, but she's studying the details of him. He's no secret to her. Sometimes she wishes that he knew that. She admires him; he didn't know that either. Soon he’s asleep, but she doesn’t mind.

A few days later she’s heading to her dorm. It's no surprise that she was with him. She has the red marks on her neck to prove it; the bruises on the soft skin of her thigh. She wasn't sure if this was what falling in love was. It frighten her that she had become this comfortable with a person before. It fucking scared her. She stops when she hears voices around the corner saying her name.

“Does she really think he actually likes her? It’s a little sad.”

“Why would he be into someone who ranking so low?”

With that the Class B girls make their way down the hallway, leaving the girl speechless. She doesn’t say anything - it's not like she could anyway. How did they know? In school as far as anyone knew they were friends. Nothing more. Well, the people who assumed they were fucking were right, but nothing had ever been answered. They weren't romantically affection to each other in public - well, actually, he was hugged once. Other than that? Nothing.

As she turned around and unlocked the door, she wiped some tears that escaped her eyes. Shit. She was crying? What was this? . As she packs an overnight bag with the intention of staying with her brother, she knows they are right. She didn't say anything to her brother once she goes through the front door, unannounced. She just walks past him, going straight to the guest bedroom room, slamming and locking the door, ignoring his voice. She exhaled, her lower lip quivering.

He wasn't meant for her. No matter how much they enjoyed each other’s company or not. They were never going to end up together; no matter how much they tried. He was going to end up with someone who was worthy. Someone as smart as he was, ambitious. Their end was inevitable. Didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. She crawls into bed after getting rid of the clothing she's wearing.

It's almost an instinct when she pulls out her phone and dials his number. She's in bed, huddled against her pillow as the rings go on.

“What do you want, little brat?”

She didn't answer; she bites onto her lip, debating whether to say anything or just hang up.

"You there, dumbass?”

And, it's a final decision when she presses the end button to the call and closes her eyes.

He’s not meant for you anyway.

It's the little patter she hears that wakes her up hours later. She squeezes her eyes shut, expecting it to be her brother actually knocking on the door, but nothing comes. She realizes that it's coming from her window. The hell? She sits up, holding a hand to her forehead and sighs to herself. “It’ll stop” she thinks to herself as she lays back down. It's still going - the patter. Then she realizes what's going on. She rolls her eyes, getting out of bed.

There he was in all his glory, standing there with pebbles in his hand, crimson eyes narrowed, face twisted in a scowl.

"I am not your Juliet, jackass." she mutters before opening it to see the stupid teenager. "Do you realize the time it is? Oh, and that we aren’t in a Nicholas Sparks melodrama? No? Well, you’re going to break curfew.”

Regardless of the time and how she feels, she lets him come inside after bickering. Though, her appearance isn't something he's ever seen before. A face clean of makeup, a over-sized sweater and sweats, her unruly hair up in a messy bun. She looks like a completely different person, but he says nothing. He steps into the apartment he's been to before. She ushers him to the bedroom, hoping that neither of them would wake up her brother.

She closes the door behind her, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want?" she asks, watching him.

“What’s with the attitude, dumbass?” he questions, glaring.

"You need to leave." she told him honestly, "I don't think we should do this anymore - whatever we're doing."

He looks at her with a bored expression now, “Another tantrum, brat?�� he drawls out, but then she moves to unlock and open her door to kick him out. “Alright, idiot, relax.” he stands up and goes to her, one hand closing her door and the other hand going to her waist, but she shrugs him off.

Now he knows she's being serious. This isn't couldn't be good. This was destruction waiting to happen; he should have seen this coming. She stares off at the wall, arms crossed over her chest insecurely. He knows that look anywhere. Her eyebrows are furrowed and there are little wrinkles on her forehead; her lower lip being clenched by teeth. What was going through her mind at this point?

“I’m not kidding. This is boring. I’m over it.”

“No one gets bored of me.” He grunts,, hands now in his pockets. “Where’s this shit coming from?” his question leaves her questioning herself even more.

"You're not going to stay," the girl finally tells him after minutes of silence, staring at him with empty eyes.

It's not even a minute that goes by when he has his lips on hers, cupping her face, expecting her to throw him off and yell at him to get out; they were done - what "they" were. She defies logic; she kisses him back, mouth opening under the pressure of his tongue, hand sliding down to pull him in. It's him that's backing them up, searching for the bed, and eventually make contact, landing on top of her and kissing her neck. Pinned once again, she doesn't care anymore. She's too lost into the kiss to care. She wants his mouth on her, so she pulls him away from her and captures it with her own, tongue thrusting it and out, twining it with his. She's moan, knee pushing up through his thigh's, rubbing hard against his dick. He rocks down, breathes heavy through his nose.

She's blanketed in his weight, his warmth, the miles of smooth skin hiding below his clothes. She knows this body. She knows what his bare chest feels like under the flat of her palm. She knows the strength of his arms when wrapped around her, lifting her from the ground. She knows how he can go from a weapon to a lover in a instant. She's not ready to say goodbye, but it's better now than later. But it's much harder when he has his hands up her sweater, familiarizing itself

"No," she whispers, pulling back from his lips, shaking her head in the slightest. "No, Katsuki."

He cups her face, thumb caressing her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, idiot.” he assures her.

“Oh my God, I am in a melodrama.”

#bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou angst #katsuki bakugo #bakugo angst #my hero academia

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emmyrosee · 4 years

Note

give us a random headcanon go 👀

UHM OK

This got long and kind of angsty I’m SORRY-

Axel and Mark are brothers. Axel’s older than mark by a fairly big margin so he offers that good ol’ elder brother wisdom™️ and Mark isn’t always here for it.

Axel’s had to drag mark out of parties more times than he can count, some because he was worried about his lil bro, some because he wasn’t answering moms texts and axel wasn’t about to let him make their momma feel bad.

Like this one time, their mom was punishing Mark for being completely shitfaced and missing something for their grampa, and Mark straight up snuck out of his room, no note, no regards, nothing, and with his mom fearing the absolute worst, that she’d lost her son, her baby, Axel quickly tracked down his brother and hauled his drunk ass right back home, speeding so fast mark was puking in the truck, yelling at him so bad mark pouted, and by the time they got home his brother was just a needy, scolded mess, and their mom was all over him, taking care of him and letting him puke and whine about his tummyache, and if she needed Axel to get anything, he did, not questions asked.

When mark was going through his first serious breakup, Axel really stepped forwards to work him back to normal, doing things with him other than just drinking the problems away like his friends wanted to. They went to cheap bowling alleys and drank cheap beer, they would drive around at 2 am, blasting music as they passed a joint, and it was probably the first real time- like honest, true, raw- that Mark learned it was okay to be a man and cry. He was hitting Axel, screaming and telling him she was every terrible name under the sun and that Axel had no idea what the fuck Mark went through to try to keep her happy.

When Axel pulled over, he shoved Mark back a little, just enough to straighten him back, telling him to stop being a pussy and just embrace it. She was gone. She was no good for him, and she was gone. She broke his heart, it was okay to be sad, and Mark wore his vocal chords raw with his sobs and shrieks of despair. “Why doesn’t she fucking want me, Axe? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, dude,” he promises over his brothers tears. “You’re at a stupid age where love doesnt mean shit to nobody. Fuck, I am too. But right now, you’re sad because you’re alone, and one day you’re going to find someone, and they’re going to make you fear a lot of things more important than just ‘being alone.’ Trust me dude. You’re too fucking young to get that.”

They don’t talk about that night often. Axel’s jacket collar had been permanently ruined from Mark’s tears and hot breath against the leather, but from then on, instead of just getting drunk off his rocker when he was sad, he’d just find Axel and cry it out.

Their dad passed away when Mark was young, and their mom never really recovered from it. Because of this, Axel really took the role of being momma’s fix-it man, getting an under-the-table job when he was young and making sure Mark had snacks and lunches while their mom took care of the house. When momma Cluney eventually remarried, she never ceased to thank Axel for all he did, and it always put Mark in a weird feeling. Not that he wasn’t grateful beyond words, he just always felt bad that Axel had to go through that at such a young age.

“You were in Kindergarten,” Axel says cooly, passing his brother a beer. “What were you going to do, sell dunk-a-roos for cold, hard cash?”

“I could’ve done more,” he mumbles, taking a long sip of his drink. “Like... I could’ve been more grateful for the toys and the lunch money.”

Axel chuckles and reaches over to ruffle Mark’s hair, “hey; you were fed. You didn’t give mom too much shit. And on your birthday, you got the Power-Ranger toys you wanted. You were grateful. You just didn’t get why you had to wait until your birthday.”

Mark snorts and shoves Axel’s hand away, sighing softly, “I wish I knew him, dude..”

“You look just like him.”

“What was he like?”

Axel hums and leans back in his seat, fingers swirling the lip of his beer bottle, “I remember when I was nine, I told him I was going to run away. Go live in the treehouse of our old house.” He paused to smirk, “bastard made me a lunch box with two peanut butter sandwiches, a bag of barbecue chips and a juice box and said ‘good for you! You’re a man now, do what you gotta do!’ I never made it off of the porch.”

Mark snickers and they get real quiet. “I miss him,” he admits. “I don’t remember him... but I miss him.”

Axel hums again, “he was moms great love. Never laid a hand on us, nor her. He was a good man.”

Mark raises his bottle to his brother, “you’re a good man too, dude.”

“Believe me, mark,” Axel chuckles sadly. “I’m only a quarter of the man he was.”

On a lighter note, Axel taught Mark to drive. He filled his truck with gas, drove them both out to the city limits, butt-fuck no where, with a bag of fast food and his gps.

“Okay,” Axel hums. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

Axel pulled the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to his brother, “you’re driving us back home. Oh, and to CVS, mom needs sugar and milk.”

And with those buggy green eyes, Mark just completely stares at Axel, freaked out and worried (mostly because Axel’s truck is his baby, and Axel was levelheaded enough at all times to hide a body if need be), so with a reassuring smile, axel slips out of the driver side, gesturing mark to slide over the bench-seat, and he slowly walked Mark through the process of starting the car and driving back home.

He hit a curb. And ran a stop-light. Nearly hit a squirrel, but never once did axel raise his voice to him. He would simply tell him it was alright and that “it doesn’t have to be perfect; I just want you to get us home.”

When they finally pull in a few hours later, Mark was so terrified Axel would tell their mom everything, but axel just shook his head. “If I wanted you to be perfect, I wouldn’t have just thrown you into traffic; I wanted to make sure you could drive if I wasn’t around and mom needed you. You got home. We’re alive. Tomorrow, if you’re feeling easy, we’ll go to a parking lot or something. But you did fine.” He smiles and leaves the truck, “but don’t puke in the truck; do it in the front yard, please.”

Which. Mark obeys.

Whenever Mark’s birthday rolls around, Axel drives them up to an old lake house their great-grandparents built, only bringing some clothes, booze and a gas can to get in and out of town, and they fish, make s’mores, and just be kids again. Again, Mark is much younger than Axel, so all the memories Axel has here, Mark doesn’t, so he wants him to enjoy the young years of his life that Axel really couldn’t.

Sometimes, if they’re bold, they’ll bring whoever they’re dating or smashing, but they’ve found it’s better to just have a guys weekend away, only them two in the middle of the woods, with only the fish in the lake to keep them company.

“So you had a treehouse and a fuckin’ cabin before I came along?” Mark asks by the fire, marshmallow clinging to his face childishly. Axel snorts, “dude I haven’t had a birthday party since I was seven, then you showed up.”

“Oh I’m sooo sorry,” Mark sings, rolling his eyes and plopping the last of his s’more in his mouth. Axel sighs dramatically, “don’t be. You made mom happy,” he pats his brother on the shoulder. “And she said I wasn’t allowed to try and return you anymore, so.”

Mark laughs before his brows furrowed, “anymore?”

Axel smirks. “Why do you think you’re so claustrophobic now, Markie?”

“The fuck did you do to me?”

“Shoved you in a box and left you outside.”

“You WHAT.”

“Three times.”

They bicker. They fight. But they’d fucking die for each other. As they got older, they really became best friends and Mark is open to that fact.

In fact, for Axel’s birthday, Mark got his hands on a pikachu doll from the 90’s that Axel was dying to have a kid but couldn’t get because he had to help his mom take care of mark, but every now and again he brought it up to joke.

Mark could tell that, even as an adult, he still wanted that pikachu toy because he wouldn’t shut up about it, so he finally saved up and got it ($150 mint-condition his asshole), and when Axel opened it on his birthday, there was not a dry eye from anyone except Mark.

Big, green eyes flip from the toy to Mark, jaw dropped in surprise and just completely at a loss for words. Mark grins, “now you can shut up about it; you own it. Live your Ash Katchum dreams, freak.”

Axel laughs around his cries, a tattooed hand coming up to stop himself. He wastes no time in stalking his way over to his brother, pulling him in for a tight hug while the younger just hugs him back, still smiling before shoving him off when people tried to get pictures.

“Cant have people who get our Christmas card think I like you or anything,” he snorts, making Axel laugh again before going back to his seat to finish his gifts, but everyone (including himself) knew that Mark won that year.

The first time Axel brings someone home, they’re a guy. Their mom was chillin, she had no problems with it (though she didn’t really expect Morgan to necessarily be a man), Mark was pretty confused. Like, sure Axel always had friends over, but they were never cuddly and touchy before, and it made Mark really curious.

He probably brings it up on one of their fishing trips years later, and axel barely has any clue what he’s talking about at first.

“You seriously don’t remember Morgan?” Mark asks in disbelief. “Like, how do I, but you don’t?”

“I’ve been with a lot of people,” Axel shrugs. Then, he tenses up and a slow grin spreads across his face, “oh. Morgan.”

“Yes! Morgan, the first person you ever brought home!”

“They’re not Morgan anymore,” Axel recalls. “Well, to me anyways. After we broke up, they became she, and her name is Bella. We’re still close, she’s just not Morgan anymore.”

“So... are you... like...?”

Axel smirks, “I’m nothing, dude. No skin off my ass for labels. If you learn anything from me, Markie boy,” he turns to his brother, “do what makes you happy. Love who the hell you want. Mom’s going to love you. I’m gonna love you. And fuck anyone who tells you you can’t.”

“I think I’m straight.”

Axel chuckles. “You’ve just never pursued anyone who hasn’t gone after you; just so happens only women have gone after you.”

Mark frowns and sinks lower in his seat, “do you think... not-straight-guys are afraid of me?”

“I think they’re afraid of your frat-boy-fuck-buddies who tease someone for having any sort of human emotions,” Axel says nonchalantly. “I’ve taught you enough about treating people with respect, your friends don’t have the same drive you do.”

Which brings me to my next point

Axel ABSOLUTELY taught Mark about the birds and the bees.

He drove them both around town not long after Mark turned 14, and he parked at their town’s high school and just... talked about sex. What happens, how does it feel, etc..

“You need to listen to her, Mark,” he says sternly. “The minute you hear a “no,” you fucking stop. The minute you hear a ‘I don’t want to,’ you stop. I don’t care if you’re balls deep inside of her, you slip out, tuck yourself away and apologize for making her uncomfortable.”

“But what if-“

“No.”

That’s the basics; like what happens when you have sex, what how to use protection, and the importance of consent. A while later, once Mark starts going to parties, he drives them out again, only this time to talk about when she says “yes.”

“You gotta work her up,” Axel hums, cigarette low on his lips. “Her body will let you know when she’s ready. If you go in dry, you’re going to hurt her.”

“How do I like... do that?”

Axel smirks, “play with her a little. Kiss her nice and slow... let your hands paw and squeeze, let her moan a little, let her purr... I’ve been with a few girls who like being tickled and picked up, some girls like it more rough and playful too, a smack on the ass, a few bites on their neck-“

“How will I know?” Mark squeaks. “If she like... likes what I’m doing.”

Once again, Axel grins, “believe me, Markie boy- you’ll know.”

Sjfhvdgbgh I WANT MORE, MY BOYS🥺🥺

43 notes · View notes

rieson · 4 years

Note

can i request a scenario for smoker and a fem reader please? she was hostage on a pirate ship until he saved her- only to realize that they were childhood friends/an old crush? bonus points if they cuddle :D THANK YOU SM BTW ILY AND YOUR WRITING !!

hi peyton !! thank you for requesting a scenario, sorry if smoker is ooc in here; i'm still studying his character in-depth! ily and ur writing too!!

Pairing : Captain Smoker ✗ F!Reader

Genre : Fluff, Humor

Content Warning : Strong languange

Word Count : 1,119

─ if one were to ask captain smoker where he would expect to reunite with his childhood friend, he definitely wouldn't have expected to reunite with her here; all chained up and ruined, being a hostage.

"what the fuck [name]?"

HONESTLY, Life was NOT going great for you right now.

Why, you may ask?

Well perhaps you may or may not have accidentally provoked a group of pirates scum that was terrorizing an island; your island to be exact.

You couldn’t just sit there and be a ‘good girl’ who did they take you as?!

You were very much not going to just sit there and let the pirates do whatever they wanted on your island ─ you were strong, you knew you were.

Okay maybe going in to blindly attack them weren’t such a great idea after all.

Listen, you ran out of ideas okay, not everybody can make an efficient plan at the back of their head in a few minutes and under pressure.

Your brain simply just malfunctioned under pressure, it wasn't your fault !

And now, here you are; all chained up in some stinky cell with half of your clothes ripped up ─ Oh is that mashed potato on the floor?

Honestly, times like these makes you reminisce on the past; if you did die here; at least you did some good deeds in the past,,, right?

Now that you think about it…. Does trying to cook a meal for the poor count? (keyword; trying) well i guess it did come out all charcoal-y but you fed them! You don't know why they kept avoiding you later on; you were only trying to help them!

Ah.. thinking of the past reminds you of a certain ash haired grumpy child.

You wonder how he’s doing right now─ did he get to achieve his dream by being a marine? Was he still grumpy 24/7? Ah, there’s alot of things that may have changed about him.

Its been years.

──────────

Smoker was not having a good day today.

Scratch that, everything’s been shit this whole day.

First of all; he just lost track sight of the strawhat pirates (again),

Second; Tashigi kept bugging him, rambling about the strawhat’s swordsman and how ‘He shouldn't treat the Wado Ichimonji carelessly’

Third of all; Apparently, an island near by the ship Smoker was sailing in was currently getting raided by some unnamed pirates, and that's not all.

Someone was dumb enough to provoke the pirates and they ended up being held hostage by said pirates.

“Fucking hell..” Smoker angrily mumbled under his breath as he takes another inhale of the cancer sticks cigarettes.

“They got guts, but why exactly?!” An irk mark appeared on his head.

──────────

Honestly, you never thought you were never ever gonna play ‘count the sheep’ game in your head when you yourself was probably on the verge of death.

But hey, you learned something new; you could count up to 243 sheeps now ─ that's like, 5 times more than your old record when you were 8!

You mentally give yourself a pat on the back.

You yawn.

It was starting to get really boring in here; your eyelids were dangerously threatening to close any second now, but you werent gonna give in; if you sleep then you’ll get killed and you could not afford that ─ at least that's what books told you.

Now that you think about it, there arent alot of cells in here.

Atleast bring me some jailmates jeez, its starting to get boring with no one here but you and the mashed potato on the floor.

Okay now your eyelids are really threatening to touch

You regret pulling an all nighter yesterday; because you would not be sleepy if you just dragged your ass to bed and get a normal sleep schedule.

Screw me

Drip, Drip.

You hear the sound of water as it drips down the ceilings and cells.

You hear the calm sound of waves as the pirate ship rocked calmly in the ocean.

You hear─

BOOM !

Your eyes snapped open; your body flinching as you were not used to the sound of canons being used.

Wait- Canons?

The realization hits you; is someone gonna rescue me? Holy shit im not gonna die!

Wait, but what if its just another pirate crew!?─

“ITS CAPTAIN SMOKER!” You hear a loud yell outside, followed by a couple of shrieks.

‘Captain smoker?’ You thought as your eyebrows knitted together

‘The name sounds really similar…’

‘Smoker...Smooookerr..’ You test how the name rolled out of your tongue mentally.

As if something finally clicked. “SMOKER!” You exclaimed loudly, a toothy grin unconsciously forming on your face.

Is it the same smoker?

Does he still acts the same as 20 years ago?

Was he still smoking those cancer sticks? Oh god i swear if he still smokes─

Your train of thoughts was interrupted as the door to the cell room was broken down; there now stood a 6’10 muscular shadow at the door.

He mumbled something incoherently that you couldnt hear.

He walks towards you, making his figure known.

He had white-hair and brown-eyes, in his mouth was what was seen as two cigars dangling on his mouth; looking like it was about to fall off soon; but the man seemed to have a good grip on it. He wore a large thick white and blue specialist marine jacket which he keeps open, with greenish fur lining the neck, wrists, and hem. The jacket bears the kanji for "justice" written on the back of it.

The man stared at you.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

He stares deep into your [eye colour] orbs, seemingly thinking of something as his eyebrows knitted together.

You smiled warmly at him, “Smokeey!!~”

His face retorted from annoyance ─ relief ─ annoyed with a hint of amusement.

“God, i knew that was you.” He grumbled, seemingly taken aback to meet her here after years of not contacting her’ although if you squint, you can see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

“Aww, did smokey not miss me?” You pout.

His mouth open and closes, racking his brain for a comeback but you cut him to it;

“Maan, thank god you're here! I was starting to get bored counting sheeps in my head and having a staring contest with a mashed potato─ Oh speaking of the potato, you’re stepping on it” You rambled

Smoker’s face changed to disgust as he looks down to his feet; lifting it up to see if he really did step on a mashed potato that was probably rotten by now.

He narrowed his eyes and directed his gaze at you, “What the fuck [Name]?”

You merely showed him a grin in response.

──────────

“[Name] please get off and shower first, you fucking stink”

You only snuggled deeper to his chest, “No” and smiled tenderly at the warmth he was radiating.

“[Name] i swear to god”

end

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#one piece meme #meme one piece #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #op scenarios #op imagines #one piece scenarios #one piece imagines #op x reader #one piece x reader #smoker x reader #captain smoker #captain smoker x reader

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babyloontrash · 4 years

Text

Eleven (C.H.)

Summary: Friends with benefits type of situation with Cal. He’s kind of an ass but he pounds you good and that’s what matters in fics like these.

Warning: SMUT

Words: 4,7k

His head was pounding softly when he finally opened his eyes. One short glance to his bedside table told him it was already ten o’clock and he couldn’t stop the curse from falling from his lips. Rubbing his face, he turned to the other side and looked at the girl lying beside him.

The eye make-up she had been wearing was nothing more than just a smudge, and her dark hair was all over her face. When his eyes moved lower, he could see the marks his lips and teeth had left on the pale soft skin on her neck and chest. A tiny smirk appeared on his face when he thought back to the way she had moaned when he was making them and how wet her core had been under his fingers. There were faint bruises on her hips from his hands when he had held her still.

Last night was a success.

Carefully, he reached out his hand to brush some of her hair away from her face. His lips had already parted as he was about to talk to her, but he froze for a second, realising that her name had somehow slipped out of his mind.

“Hey…,” he finally said in the end while he lightly stroked her cheek. “Wake up.”

She murmured something towards him in response, keeping her eyes closed still. Calum sighed quietly to himself before talking to her yet again, trying to awaken her. Her chest looked incredible when she suddenly reached her arms out and went for a stretch. It caught him by surprise when she suddenly rolled over and set herself down right on the top of him. She kissed his chest while her hips moved slowly against him.

“How about you wake me up properly, huh?” She suggested to him in a sleepy voice as she looked up to his face. “Then we can go get something to eat because I am absolutely starving after last night.”

He just stared at her, taking quite a long time to consider this offer. The right answer to it was supposed to be rather obvious, and yet…

“You need to leave.”

This was clearly not the type of awakening she had been hoping for, but it seemed to work out just as well. Maybe even better. She was now staring at him with her eyes opened wide while propping herself up on his chest.

“Wait… Are you being serious right now?”

“Mhhm.”

Her nails dug into his chest and somehow, in this instance he found this way less pleasurable than he had done during the night. Finally, she got off from the top of him, making him hiss out in pain once more.

“You are such an ass.”

“Okay.” He nodded, sitting himself up on the bed so he was now leaning against the headboard.

“Okay? That’s all you are going to say?” He heard the disbelief in her voice when she said that and wondered what kind of reaction, she had expected from him. If this was her opinion of him, that was all right, she was entitled to have one. He would not argue with her.

“The shirt is over there,” Calum said eventually, pointing towards the place by the door where her t-shirt was lying on the bag with his football gear. Instead of thanking him, the girl just scoffed before going to get it. He might have been an ass, but she was not with the best manners either. His guess was that she would leave this part out though when telling about this to her friends. To be honest, he didn’t really understand what was all the dramatical sighing, stumping around and sending him offended looks about.

They have met yesterday. It was obvious what was the whole interaction leading to and no matter how hard he had tried; he couldn’t think of anything that could have given her the idea that this would be anything more than a one-night stand.

“I suppose you don’t really care about my number, do you?”

If he really was such an ass as she claimed him to be, he would have laughed right then, but he didn’t. Did she really need to ask that? Chewing on his lip to stop himself from chuckling, Calum slowly shook his head. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Sorry,” he then quickly tried to add but it most probably got drowned in the shower of names she was addressing him with to herself. About a minute later, she was gone with a loud slam of the door and instead of being overflown with guilt, Calum was just very much relieved that she had finally left.

When he later met up with his friends at a party, one of them was throwing, they were all quite eager to hear about how his night had gone, considering that he had left them in the pub without saying a single word. He had been there on the bar stool one second, chatting the girl up with his usual ‘let me fuck you up’ look and when they had wanted to check how he was holding up, the pair had already gone.

Calum was never one to keep his bedroom adventures for himself. After all, what guy wouldn’t enjoy being patted on his shoulder for what a man he was. If the number of girls one had slept with was the true indicator of their worth was another thing he better decided not to dive into though. At the time being, he was happy with everything as it was. No need for any changes whatsoever.

“You know, if she hadn’t started with the let’s go for breakfast together thing, there’s a big chance I would have given in,” Calum admitted with a shrug taking a long drag from his cigarette. He felt the need to defend himself after Luke called him an idiot for passing on the opportunity of a good morning sex.

“Take a girl out for a meal after you spent a night with her, and you will not get rid of her. Isn’t that right, Ash?” His friend flipped him off for mocking him like this, even though that there could have been no doubts about that he was happy in the relationship he had gotten himself into by basically a complete accident.

“Laugh at me all you want. I’m just here waiting for the time when some girl loses her shit and kicks your ass.”

“Or her boyfriend,” Michael chirped in, making everyone except Calum laugh. “I’ll never forget how Kyle dragged you out of that pub in front of everyone. You had a big-ass black eye already forming up by the time you had realised what was going on… I’m telling you. It’s just a matter of time before you end up sleeping with someone you shouldn’t have and paying for it.”

“The mistake was on her part. Not mine. Who the fuck comes up to their boyfriend crying and tells them about how they had just gotten dumped?”

“Who have you left crying again? Please, don’t tell me it was Kelly from English lit. The last time you screwed her over I had to pay for it by making the analysis all by myself because she wouldn’t stop bawling her eyes out.” The girl who just joined them sat up on the kitchen counter right beside to where he was standing and Calum couldn’t help but let his head hang down low, rubbing the bridge of his nose. She would never forgive him for this one.

“I’ve already apologised to you for this.”

“I don’t need you to apologise. I need you to stop fucking people I know, darling,” she informed him simply with a sweet smile.

“I don’t think you knew this one,” Luke was the one to bring her peace and she could let out a relieved sigh.

“Good. Thank you.” She nudged Calum lightly with her foot, and he flashed her a tiny smile.

“Anything for you.”

She always laughed at him when he said this, assuring him that there was no need for him to try to sweet talk her, but the truth was that he meant these words more than anything. She and what they had together was incredibly precious to him. He would be damned for even risking losing something like this. Risking to lose her.

She knew how he was, and she adored him exactly that way. Accepted him with his flaws and all. Never even suggested that he should change anything about the way he lived. And he did the same thing for her.

“Keep that mind because I might need your help,” she told him. “There’s a guy over the- No! Don’t look. Not now, at least!” She quickly stopped him when he was turning his head in the direction she was carefully pointing at with her thumb. “We’ve been talking over texts for a while. He seemed fun over the phone, but I’m not sure I’m still feeling it. I’m giving him an hour. If things don’t get better and I am still bored out of my mind – you step in.”

Ashton chuckled from few meters away. “And how is he supposed to know, if you are enjoying yourself?”

“It’s easy. If I am not, I’ll have the same expression I wear when listening to you.”

Calum choked on his beer a little and then nodded his head in agreement when she gave him a pressing look. “Of course. I’ll come and save you when necessary.”

When he had agreed to this, however, he couldn’t have known that one of the most beautiful girls at the party would strike up a conversation with him. Conversation, which was getting partly disturbed by him constantly searching for his dear friend in the crowd.

“Are you looking for someone?” The girl asked, not leaving his darting eyes without a comment anymore.

“No,” Calum told her with a grin, casually shrugging his shoulders and then paid extra attention to the beauty in front of him. It lasted only for a moment, and he soon began to squirm. “Well, yeah, I am actually,” he eventually admitted. “My friend. She asked me to keep an eye out on her. She’s here with a guy she doesn’t know too well.”

It was a truthful explanation, but the girl didn’t seem too convinced and eventually moved on to someone else, who wasn’t examining the crowd for some other girl. He didn’t get to be annoyed and disappointed for too long, though. Within just a few minutes, his phone buzzed in his pocket with a message from her.

We’re on the roof. Thought he was bringing me here to make out, but he won’t shut up about stars. Come to help asap.

Was it bad that he laughed and wanted to leave her there suffering for a bit longer as a payback for ruining his possible lay? Maybe. But he was an ass, and so he didn’t feel bad about leaving her there for a few more minutes.

The door leading to the roof creaked loudly when he opened them. However, the guy didn’t seem to be bothered by it a single bit. His hand remained pointing up towards the sky with his head tilted back, while his date was sitting down on the concrete, chipping on her nail polish. She had been right. She looked the same way she did when Ashton started with one of his never-ending rants.

“Here you are!” Calum finally spoke out, making the pair turn their heads towards him. A relieved look appeared on her face, while the guy’s chin dropped slightly.

“Hey! Calum!” She spoke out, pretending to be surprised to see him there. He made a mental note to tease her later about her acting skills.

“Hi.” He waved a little and then shook his head. “I didn’t mean you though.” He shrugged and looked at the guy. “Billy is looking for you. Told me you should meet him in the kitchen.”

“Billy?” The guy looked absolutely confused and Calum had to try hard to keep it together. “I don’t think I know any-.” Calum cut him off.

“I don’t know, man. He told me to find you and looked pretty upset.”

“Oh… Okay,” the guy eventually nodded, remaining to look rather puzzled. “I’ll be right back,” he assured her before rushing towards the exit.

The two stayed quiet until the door shut closed behind him. “Who the fuck is Billy?” She asked, but he just shrugged while walking closer.

“Dunno. You said you wanted to make out on a roof. I can help,” he offered nonchalantly, making her laugh. She said nothing to that and just pulled him in for a kiss.

This was not an unexplored territory for them. There was a big difference between a simple fun, lust and love, and they were both very good at not overstepping these lines.

His kisses were leaving her weak in her knees, and he was breathless every time she pulled away. They had spent countless nights tangled in the sheets together, moaning each other’s names into the dark. There were no romantic feelings involved, but their bond was still more special than anything either of them had ever experience. They could be unconditionally themselves and didn’t have to worry about anything.

“You owe me, by the way,” he muttered out after their lips separated.

“What for?” She asked and wiped some of her lipstick away from his skin.

“I could’ve been leaving with a ten tonight. I had to drop her because of you.” Looking at him, it was very difficult to not burst out laughing, but somehow, she managed.

“Well, I am incredibly sorry.” She nodded her head. “Your sacrifice is deeply appreciated.”

Calum smirked a little. “I don’t need you to apologise. I need you to make up for that, darling.” Seeing her roll her eyes in a playful annoyance made his smirk turn into a genuine grin.

“You are an ass.”

“So I’ve been told,” Calum admitted casually, making her roll her eyes yet again.

She leaned closer to him, kissing the smirk that pissed her off away from his face.

“How about you tell me what you would do the ten you wanted to bring to your dorm?” She whispered after a moment and he smiled against her lips.

“I think I’d prefer to show your, actually.” He gave her a peck before stepping away and grabbing her hand.

Together they left the roof, eager to leave this place as quickly as possible. They were just rushing down the stairs when someone called them in the hallway. That someone being her rather disappointing date, who stared at Calum rather annoyed because there was no Billy waiting for him.

She hit Calum’s side with her elbow when he started to laugh as soon as they left the apartment building. “He was boring, but he didn’t deserve that.”

“He didn’t deserve you,” he objected, rubbing his ribs while they walked on the empty, quiet street. Luckily enough, Ashton lived close to the campus so the journey wouldn’t take them longer than ten minutes.

“Quit it,” she shut his argument immediately.

“That’s the ‘ten treatment’. I’m nice and polite, I pay compliments…”

“So the ‘ten treatment’ comprises lying and pretending you are something you are not?”

He took a second to think about it and then nodded. “Basically.”

“I’m sure your mom’s proud.”

“She is. Because she doesn’t know about any of this. And she is never going.”

She laughed. “I had a feeling that that’s how this works.”

Calum gestured his hands in the air, stopping her from saying anything. “Enough about me, though…. You look absolutely stunning tonight. I could hardly take my eyes off you back in there.” His voice was usually slow and calming, but the tone he used right now really got to her. And when a corner of his mouth moved up in this cute half-smile while his eyes quickly looked away, almost as if he was ashamed, she was honestly kind of stunned.

“Damn. You really are good.”

He chuckled and wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders, pulling her to his side. “The best,” he said somewhat smugly before placing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

They walked peacefully together; him stopping her to steal a kiss or two everyone once and then. Once they finally stood in front of the dorm, he let her pull away from him so he could fish for the key card to let them in.

It all happened so quickly; she honestly didn’t even get much of a chance to wrap her mind around it. One moment he had his hand on the small of her back while holding the door open for her and the next one, he had her pressed against the wall.

He was inches away from kissing her, and she was so damn eager for him to just do it. His hand roamed over her ass and squeezed it roughly over the jeans. He dipped his hand down to the crook of her neck and placed one wet kiss right there before looking up to her face somewhat sheepishly. “You are going to make me so happy tonight.”

It was a matter of seconds during which his expression changed into a more serious one, and she could see the hunger in his eyes. She knew that look well enough.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, inviting him to come kiss her again. Calum took up on that, teasing her with his tongue before finally giving in after hearing her annoyed hums. The automatic light in the entrance hall had already turned off, but it was the last thing the two seemed to care about. They were way too lost in the taste of one another and nothing could make them pull away. Nothing except urge to get even closer to each other. Even through all the layers of clothing, she could feel him getting harder and the anticipation to touch his naked body was driving her wild. Both of them were out of breath when they pulled away, and he wouldn’t take his hands off of her for a single moment while they were heading towards his room. They would definitely make it there much faster if they could only keep their hands to themselves.

Where would be the fun in that though, right?

As they stopped in the middle of the hall yet again, Calum’s warm hand sneaked under her shirt and traced her breast covered with her bra. He smirked into their kiss when he found her hard nipple poking through the fabric. “Someone’s excited,” he muttered in a shaky breath.

“You have no idea.”

He locked his eyes on his face while she grabbed his hand and guided to the hem of her jeans. With a swift movement, she undid the button and led him under the lace of her panties. Right there and then Calum realised that bringing her with him was undoubtedly the best thing he could have done. She shivered as his fingers slowly brushed over her soft skin and her clit. He got a good idea about her eagerness soon enough when he felt how wet she was. The way his body reacted to this discovery was almost painful. As if she could read his mind, she reached towards him and stroked his throbbing cock through his jeans. His jaw tensed with him trying to keep his composure and not say a single word.

This was not the right place to be something like this.

And yet he still slid his finger between her folds and then spreading the wetness around her clitoris before giving it few circular rubs. It made her gasp. Quickly, he raised his other hand up and placed it to her mouth as a reminder to not make a sound. She gave him a light nod, letting him know she understands that she must remain quiet. However, it proved to be more difficult than not with his skilled fingers picking up their pace and pressing against her much harder. A quiet whimper slipped out of her mouth, making him glare at her warningly.

“Do that again and I will not let you cum tonight,” he whispered to her ear while his thigh made her step her legs further apart. She was digging her fingers to his hips, rather closing her eyes when she felt his fingers moving closer to her entrance. When he pushed two of them inside, she didn’t dare to even breathe for a second. She expected him to pull them out again, but they curled inside her, repeatedly pressing against the spot which made her head spin. She was just a moment away from coming all over his hand when suddenly the lights in the whole corridor turned on. The light burned against her eyelids and caused her to open her eyes. The guy could not have picked the worst timing to go to the bathroom.

Calum didn’t hesitate for even just a second to position himself better so the intruder couldn’t see anything he was not supposed to. A thing he did not do however was pulling his fingers from inside her. They continued to move inside her as if they could not get exposed any second, and she wasn’t sure if she loved him or hated him for it. Probably both. His whole hand was now pressing against her mouth since her rapid breathing and shaky legs gave it away that the high was within a reach.

Seeing her like this, feeling her shake and squirm under his touch was way too intoxicating for him to stop now. He was dying to have her come apart for him. And so, when she did just a second later it took all the strength, he had to stop himself from coming inside his pants.

Finally, bathroom door finally closed behind that guy and they both gasped for a breath at the same time. Calum smiled at her as he took a step back and licked off the glistening juice from his fingers before he motioned for her. “Come.”

She wanted to punch him. Seriously. But she quickly closed the button on her jeans again and followed him into his room, which was only a few meters away.

“I can’t believe you’ve done that,” she once they got inside.

“I did nothing. You are the who came all over my hand while some random guy walked past you,” Calum said with a grin. When he noticed that she was not grinning back at him though, he stepped closed and kissed her lips softly. “You are not really mad, are you?” He wondered quietly.

She wanted to say yes just to make him feel a bit bad for what he had done, but the truth was that she wasn’t, not really, and so she gently shook her head at him.

“See.” A bright smile appeared on his face once again. “I know you are kinky. That’s why I like you so much.”

She rolled her eyes at him and nudged him with her his as she moved past him. “Get naked, you dumbass.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice to do this. His jeans were painfully tight now, and he couldn’t wait to get rid of them. By the time he finally got disposed of all the clothing just like she had asked him, she was already sitting on the bed in nothing but her panties. One time he had mentioned how much he enjoys taking the panties off. She had laughed at him when he had said that it is like unwrapping a present, you wouldn’t want someone else to do that for you either. It made him smile.

When he got onto the bed, he pushed her to lie back. Gently, he made her to rise her hips up so he could take the lacy underwear off. He took his time, taking in the sight in front of him as the tips of his fingers glazed over her skin. He let the panties fall to floor and abruptly tugged her hips closer to him. He was about to reach out for a condom, but she was already handing one to him. He put it on easily and after that he could finally do what he had been yearning for. There was no need for them to rush this. His cock pushed inside her slowly, and he cursed at the heavenly feeling that washed over him. He kept her legs spread open in the air as he rocked his hips forward and back, looking for the best pace for them. As his moves became faster, the sound of their groans and moans echoed through the room. He loved how she wasn’t ashamed of touching herself when he fucked her. With one of her hands working her clit and the other pinching one of her nipples, she looked absolutely perfect. Calum shifted his body for a bit and set her feet on the mattress. He wanted to kiss her, trace his tongue all over her breast, which kept moving up and down in a mesmerising motion because of his thrusts. She smiled at him when his face got closer to herself and watched him take one of her nipples into his mouth. Her body moved against his, her hips buckling up to meet him forward just so she could feel him insider her a bit longer. He was making her see stars, and she was going back and forth between squeezing his bedsheet and gripping his shoulders. It was put to a stop by him when he suddenly took her wrists into his hands and put them above her head.

Not because he didn’t enjoy being touched by her, god no, he loved the feeling of her hands. But he also loved to see her battle with herself, struggle to keep her arms up and not to move. Especially when the excitement was taking over. She never lasted long, but she always at least tried, which was honestly somewhat endearing.

There was nothing that would rile her up more than this, and so sharing his thoughts was exactly what he went with.

“You’re cute,” Calum said as he moved his mouth to her other breast. Her lips that had been previously forming a perfect ‘o’ now shut together and before he knew it her hands had shot up to grip on his hair, making him hiss quietly as she made his head tilt back.

She made him change the position, determined to ride him so she could show him how ‘cute’ she truly was. He would have to be a complete dumb ass to complain. He was more than willing to let her have her way and as soon as she sunk down on him, he was burying his head back into the pillows. She always went all on in, taking him deep inside her and then just rolling her hips around. This time was no different.

He had tried, he really did, but with everything that had happened, the image of her reaching her climax in the middle of that corridor still fresh on his mind, he couldn’t fight it much longer. Not if she would not take it easier on him.

“Babe…,” his voice was hoarse, knowing him as well as she did, she had to know what he was planning on saying.

She did not seem to care though, and by the way she smiled at him, he had a feeling this was a revenge for earlier. Since he had not given her a chance to hold it together before, she would not give him one either.

When he burst into the condom inside her, he decided to think of it as her loss more than anything else. By being petty, she had just ruined her chances to have even more fun.

But man, was he wrong. She touched herself in front of him over and over again. No matter how exhausted and drained he was feeling, she somehow got him hard a few more times by putting on such a show.

The sun was already coming up when both of their heads hit the pillow with the plan to go to sleep. Calum was slowly drifting off when she spoke out.

“What’s my number, anyway?” Her voice sounded playful, but she was genuinely curious.

He took a second to think about it before answering. “Eleven,” he finally decided.

“And what do those get?”

“I take them out for breakfast. Now go to sleep.”

#calum hood #calum 5sos #calum hood smut #5sos smut #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer smut #5 seconds of summer fic #calum hood one shot #calum hood fic #5sos one shot

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kumeko · 4 years

Photo

Title: goodbye my hopeless dream

A/N: For the Sylvgrid BB, for watercolorvigilante’s heartbreaking work. I love the angst of separating the Faerghus Four.

Summary: Five years ago, Sylvain had thought they could fix it all. That they could bring Dimitri to the Alliance, that they could end the war and save everyone. Yet…Felix lay face down, Ingrid sobbing on her knees, and Dimitri frozen forever mid snarl. He wasn’t sure how he could pick the pieces up after this, but he had to try.

…

Something was burning. Sylvain stuck his lance in the dirt carelessly, ignoring every lesson he’d ever learned about proper weapon care, and closed his eyes. Something was burning. Possibly someone, the air was full of fat and smoke and his throat grew drier with every breath. There were dozens of small fires nearby, the only outcome in the middle of a battlefield, where mages scorched the earth and fiery arrows rained down on their ashes.

He opened his eyes. Before him spread a war-torn field, survivors picking dragging themselves off the fields and to their respective armies. Something bitter filled his mouth as he saw the bodies strewn across the field, blood pooling in the mud. Crows cawed as they perched on bare trees, their beady eyes taking in the field, and vultures circled above as they eyed their food.

Five years ago, the Battle of Lion and Eagle had been nothing like this. Five years ago, they had all been just kids fighting for bragging rights and victory letters to send home, for stories to seduce strangers and that shiny glory that had seemed all too important at the time.

Five years ago, he had been in with the Kingdom, not the Alliance. Now his Golden Deer family were scattered across the field, helping each other back. The Empire was long gone, Edelgard leaving behind the wounded and the dead alike. The Kingdom was torn apart, shredded into pieces. And Dimitri…

Sylvain shivered at the memory. The one-eyed, raging monster he’d seen hours ago hadn’t been any friend he’d known. The only thing that had motivated him was a long-nursed hatred, one that Sylvain hadn’t seen for all the years he’d known him.

Or maybe he had avoided seeing it, just like how he was now avoiding the dead spread around him, trying not to look at their faces. He didn’t want to see another classmate he used to sneak out with, another beauty he’d flirted with in the shadows.

He was certain Ingrid was doing the exact opposite. She’d always had a masochist streak and unlike him was probably all too intent on memorizing every person she’d killed.

Sylvain looked up. It had been hours since he’d seen her Pegasus. “Ingrid?”

Dread filled him and he yanked his lance out of the dirt. This was Ingrid he was thinking of. She was unkillable. Even Felix’s hardest glares and Sylvain’s worst lies hadn’t done the job.

“It’ll be fine,” he muttered. Whistling, he waited impatiently for his steed to gallop over. His horse’s silken mane was matted in blood and dirt. Grabbing the saddle, Sylvain slung himself over. “I bet I look just as bad,” he murmured, patting his horse’s neck once before squeezing his thighs. “When we find Ingrid, I’ll make sure she gives you her special mixture.”

His horse nickered and quickly trotted through the field. Sylvain scanned his surroundings as they moved, searching for the pure white Pegasus or even just Ingrid’s blonde hair. As he looked, he avoided checking the bodies, refused to check the bodies.

There was no need.

Ingrid wouldn’t be lying in the dirt like that. Not after all the times she’d yelled at him for his slovenly room.

Instead of blonde, he spotted pink. He turned his head.

Ingrid would have stopped.

Sylvain gritted his teeth and guided his horse across the field. A tired, limping Hilda looked up blearily. With her stockings torn, hair awry, and a nasty cut along her chest, she looked as bad as he felt. She even dragged her axe instead of carrying it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He slipped off his horse, wrapping an arm around her waist as he helped her out of the ditch. “You’ve looked better.”

“I’d say you’ve looked worse, but that’s a lie.” Hilda grinned crookedly as she leaned on him. She felt impossibly small, nothing at all like the mischievous woman who was Claude’s right hand. “Glad you made it.”

“Me too.” Sylvain swallowed. “Did you see Ingrid?”

He held his breath as she frowned and shook her head. “No…not for a while.” Noticing his face, Hilda squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s a strong bitch.”

Sylvain couldn’t laugh at the old joke. They’d exchanged it many times after Ingrid had scolded them or knocked them on their asses during practice. “She’s really strong.” His voice came out more of a whisper than he’d intended.

“The strongest,” she agreed, pulling away. Leaning on her axe, she patted his back. “You go find her.”

Sylvain hesitated. “Your chest—”

“Needs Marianne’s loving attention,” Hilda interrupted, winking. Though, with the dirt streaked on her cheeks and her pale skin, she didn’t look half as flirty as she acted. “I can make it back from here.” She forced herself to stand a little straighter but for all her acting, she couldn’t hide her wince. “Who knows, maybe Ingrid’s there already. She’ll be too busy nursing me to health to take care of you.”

Hilda waggled her brows. He wanted to smile but he couldn’t muster the energy.

Ingrid would have helped her regardless.

For all of her faith in him, he’d never been half as good as she’d hoped and not even a quarter as good as she was. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, letting his guilt and fear chase him as he vaulted onto his horse once more, spurring it through the field as though death itself were after them.

Hilda wasn’t critically injured, at least. She could stand and she could joke and one of the others would find her in no time. They’d laugh about it later and she’d tease that he had tunnel vision when it came to Ingrid. The dense idiot that she was, Ingrid wouldn’t understand until maybe years down the road, when he told her everything.

He clenched his fist. “Ingrid? INGRID!”

The only response were the grunts and moans as other survivors crawled, hoping someone, anyone could come to their rescue. He’d save them all after he found Ingrid. He’d personally pick them up, carry them to Flayn and Manuela. He’d even wrap their bandages himself.

He just had to find Ingrid first.

“Sylvain!”

A familiar gold caught his eye, and for a moment Sylvain thought Ingrid before realizing it was Claude’s torn cloak. He pulled his reins tight, heels digging into his horse as he came to a stop just beside the tired leader. Byleth wasn’t by his side for once. Maybe she was out there, picking up her former students.

Maybe she’d already found Hilda.

“Claude.” Sylvain tried to smile. It came out like a grimace. “Have you seen Ingrid?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” Claude chuckled wryly, pulling his gloves off his fingers. His arms had small burns on them, the attacks of enemy mages, and Sylvain tried not to think how much that must have hurt as he loosed arrow after arrow. “No, not yet.”

“Hilda’s that way,” Sylvain blurted out, unable to stop himself. He jabbed over his shoulder. “She’ll need help.”

“Oh.” Claude blinked, resting his hand on the flank of Sylvain’s horse as he looked. His dragon wasn’t with him. Sylvain tried not to wonder why. “I’ll get her then. Thanks.”

They stood there a moment, neither of them moving. Sylvain’s horse panted, nostrils flaring as he caught his breath.

“I…I didn’t think it’d end like this,” Claude admitted quietly, barely audible over the wind. “Edelgard…I knew she wouldn’t listen, but Dimitri?”

It was like a gut punch, remembering Dimitri. When he and Ingrid had heard Dimitri had survived his execution, they’d sworn to bring him over to Claude’s side. Dimitri had been a reasonable person, after all. He should have been reasonable now.

Goddess, why hadn’t he been reasonable now? Sylvain thought, looking away. “I thought he’d come around.”

“Me too. We could have avoided so much…” Claude trailed off. It wasn’t like simple bloodshed could describe everything they’d experienced here today.

“Maybe next time,” Sylvain croaked, licking his chapped lips nervously. The air was still far too dry. It was hard to breathe. “We can talk to Dimitri again. Maybe after he’s had time to calm down.”

Claude snapped his head to him, his expression unreadable. After a few, heart-pounding seconds, he pointed to his left. “Is that a Pegasus?”

Immediately, Sylvain jerked his head up. Further up the hill, almost at the treeline, he could just make out a white horse. A pure white horse, sitting on the ground.

It had to be a Pegasus. It had to be Ingrid’s. He squeezed his thighs, urging his horse into a gallop as he hastily shouted, “Thanks!”

He really did have tunnel vision. Sylvain couldn’t tell anyone, even himself, how he got to Ingrid, what the route was like, anything really. He just kept his eyes fixed on the white horse, watched as its sides became wings and the saddle on its back took on the familiar markings of Ingrid’s. There was no blood on it, as far as he could tell, no injuries at all aside from a few ruffled feathers.

That was good, right? It must have been tired after the long fight. Maybe Ingrid was letting it rest before heading to camp. “Ingrid?” he called out as he reached, jumping off his horse without even waiting for a response.

The silence worried him. She wasn’t beside her steed and she’d never abandon her partner. “Where is she?” he murmured, patting her Pegasus’s nose. Her partner whickered, turning to his right and further up the hill. A bright green cloak stood out amongst the bushes, a familiar coil of blonde braided hair crowning it.

Ingrid.

She was kneeling next to someone. He could just make out their legs, still and unmoving. Of course, she was taking care of an injured solider, the bleeding heart she was. He’d bet the farm that she hadn’t even thought to look for him before doing that.

And if she was doing that, she couldn’t be that injured. Sighing with relief, he jogged to her. “There you are.”

Ingrid looked over her shoulder, cheeks stained with tears. “Sylvain,” she rasped, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for—” He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe after he saw Dimitri lying in front of her. His chest squeezed and he stumbled the final few steps to her side.

Unlike the raging man he’d seen hours ago, Dimitri was utterly still and calm as he lay there. His bright, blue eye stared unseeing at the sky, his mouth half-open as though mid-way through a roar. Ingrid whimpered and Sylvain stared at the lance stuck in Dimitri’s chest.

Luin.

Bile rose in his throat and Sylvain barely crawled forward more than a few steps before he vomited in the bushes. Oh no. Oh no no no. He could just picture it now. Dimitri and Ingrid. And Felix—Sylvain couldn’t stop himself before he looked for a familiar fur-lined jacket.

There was a sword in his hand. He’d died as he’d lived. Sylvain vomited again.

“It’s my fault,” Ingrid sobbed, curling into herself. “I’m sorry.”

His heart broke a second time at the sound. Wiping his mouth, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled back to her side. Sylvain forced back his uneasy stomach, forced back his growing numbness and pain, and gathered her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. “It’s not.”

“It is,” she repeated, apologizing over and over even as she pressed into him. “It is.”

And he couldn’t argue with that, not when her lance was in Dimitri’s chest. It wasn’t like five years ago, when she’d been crushed after they’d changed houses—no one could have predicted the looming war, the fact that they’d be disowned by their own families for something as simple as following their beliefs.

It wasn’t like years ago, after Glen’s death, when Dimitri had broken down, Felix had hardened, and Ingrid had holed herself in her room. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault then. They’d been just kids, taking on more than they should have.

Now, there was only Ingrid.

And Dimitri’s blood was on her hands.

Bile rose once more, pricking his tongue, but he forced it back down. She’d break if he said anything else. She’d break and then he’d break with her. Sylvain buried his face in her hair and shook his head. “Not true.”

“I…I did it,” she sobbed, her fingers digging into his sides.

“He would have killed you.” He realized the truth of his words as he said them. Dimitri would have killed her. The others from their house might not have. Annette and Mercedes and maybe even Dedue could have been talked down, but not Dimitri.

Dimitri hadn’t been himself for a long while.

Maybe he’d always been like that. Felix had been right, calling him a boar.

“He would have killed you,” he repeated, stronger now, hugging her tighter. Sylvain could hear her breath, hear her heart beat like a frightened rabbit. She was alive. She was in one piece. She’d made it through. “You had to protect yourself.”

“I could have injured him,” she mumbled, pressing herself closer as though to hide away from it all. “I could have knocked him out.”

“Anyone else, sure, but not Dimitri. Never Dimitri.” Sylvain closed his eyes. Even before it all, Dimitri would never let himself get captured. Killed, sure, but never captured. “He’s too strong. Was too strong.”

The was stung, burned on his tongue like an ember. Felix had been loyal. Dimitri had been a friend. They’d never be anything else anymore. They might never be anything but the two, angry bodies on the grass. It was hard to remember their smiles when all he could picture was their pale, frozen faces.

“I should have tried,” she insisted, shoulders shaking as she cried. “I should have…I…he’s dead, Sylvain. Dead. They both are and I…”

“I know, I know.” Sylvian stroked her hair, pulling back just enough to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Years ago, she’d done the same for him when he’d killed his brother; he wasn’t sure when he’d started looking at her differently, but he was certain the roots of it had been then. He hoped it brought her twice as much comfort as it had given him, this warmth, this forgiveness and love and gentle acceptance.

She wailed, a wordless cry that sounded more animal than human. He remembered the maids talking about banshees and their mournful screams, and it had to sound something like this. Still stroking her hair, he let her cry it all out, his eyes closed so he didn’t have to see Dimitri or Felix. There was probably a better way to help. Mercedes and Annette had been good at it. He should have learned from them when he had the chance.

He should have done so much more before this all happened, but he’d been barely able to help himself for years, let alone others.

And now it was just them.

No, not just them. Sylvain bit his cheek. That was what had caused this war in the first place, this stubborn belief that they had to stand alone. That was why he and Ingrid had left the Blue Lions in after all, for Claude’s vision of unity. There was Raphael and his hugs, Hilda and her jokes, even Marianne and her quiet companionship.

He could try again. Better this time, in fact. Ingrid hiccupped and he pulled away slightly, still keeping her in the circle of his arms. Now that he was looking at her properly, he could see the cuts on her arms, the gash on her side. Small injuries, for fighting Dimitri, but injuries nonetheless. Sylvain knew every trick in the book when it came to convincing Ingrid to do something that was good for her, even if it was something as unrelenting as guilt.

“Let’s go back to camp together,” he suggested gently, brushing her hair out of her face. Her puffy eyes, still red from her tears, started to slide away from his, to where Dimitri’s corpse grew colder with the passing minute. Before she could, he carefully cupped her cheek, forcing her to stay still. “We need to get patched up.”

“But…Di…Dimitri and Felix,” she mumbled, not fighting him for once.

“We can get them later.” Sylvain didn’t even have to try this time, he just smiled. She’d always been able to draw those out of him, even if she never realized it. “I’ll come back.”

“Me…Me too.” Ingrid shook her head. “I’ll help.”

He bit his lip before reluctantly nodding. There was time to argue about that later. “Okay. Can you stand?”

She nodded. Sylvain wrapped an arm around her waist, slowly hoisting her up as he stood. Keeping his grip firm, he called for his horse. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to fly, so let’s take my horse, okay?”

“Sure.” She sounded distracted, but he didn’t think much of it. With everything that happened, it was hard to focus. As his horse stopped beside him, he let go and quickly adjusted the saddle bags and straps. “You get on first.”

Ingrid didn’t reply and when he turned around, she was beside Dimitri once more. Silently, he cursed himself as he ran back to her side. “Ingrid!”

She didn’t respond, unbuckling her cloak instead. Gently, she spread it out over Dimitri’s body, covering him like she used to put blankets on them as kids, all tired out from practice. Leaning forward, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cold forehead. “Could you give me your cloak?” she asked, her expression unreadable.

Sylvain didn’t hesitate before yanking what was left of his off and draping it gently on her shoulders. Ingrid shook her head, pulling it off. “It’s not for me.”

She moved a little further into the forest, to Felix this time, and tucked the cloak around him. Her fingers shook as she brushed his hair out of his face. Kissing him on the cheek, she whispered something he couldn’t hear before getting up.

“Let’s go back.” Ingrid grabbed his hand now and this time he didn’t let go.

“Yeah.” He didn’t ask her what she said. Sylvain had his own, private words for them, things he’d never repeat to anyone. When they reached his horse, he still kept his grip tight as he hopped on first. She raised a brow, the closest to a positive expression he’d seen so far. Not bothering to explain, he helped pull her up, settling her on his lap in a side-saddle manner.

“I haven’t ridden like this since we were kids,” Ingrid commented, a little stiff as she looked at her dangling feet.

“Not since you realized knights had to ride on their own.” He waited a second before asking. “Just this once?”

“It’s silly.” Yet, she didn’t jump off, didn’t protest, just leaned against him.

He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he wrapped his arms around her, taking the reins and urging his horse into a gentle trot. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not.” She closed her eyes. “Thanks.”

#sylvgrid #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #claude von riegan #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #hilda valentine goneril #felix hugo fraldarius #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fanfic

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bnha-soulchild-au · 4 years

Text

By the age of ten Bukugo Katsuki is convinced he doesn't have any soul bonds. He’s seen the marks on his skin, but he doesn’t believe them for not even one fucking second.

Why should he anyway? It’s not like anyone out there cared even one bit about him.

Well one person might.

He shook his head fiercely, he needed to snap out of it. He didn’t want to think about him, with his wide green eyes and innocent smile. He was close enough to sparking up as it was, it was never a good idea to make it any worse with anger.

He had three marks, if his parents were to be believed. One was a simple black cat, taking a nap with its tail hanging over a ledge. That one was believable enough, simple, it could be anybody really.

The second was a black needle and a red thread, his mother told him that must be his mark for her, since she worked in the fashion industry. He hated that this one fit, that it worked. He hated the fact that he could possibly be bound to the hag by fate. He hated that it meant that every fucked up thing she did to him was justified in the eyes of fate.

He hated that it meant that he was supposed to be here, stewing in frustration and humiliation as the gloves slowly absorbed his sweat. He was quite literally a ticking time bomb, if he so much as moved too quickly his hands would be utterly scorched.

He hated the fact that it meant he somehow deserved it.

The only thing that made it better, was the fact that he had a green mark. It was a green key with two bunny-like ears, he could have laughed. Green marks didn’t exist.

Nobody out there had ever had a green mark, it was unheard of. It made him think that the whole thing was a hoax, an elaborate lie his parents told him to keep him in check. He might not have any soul marks for all he knew, not real ones anyway.

He was fine with that...

...and he was fine, all the way up until the end of his work study with Best Jeanist.

He hadn’t looked at the marks in years, he hadn’t thought about them in years, they were irrelevant, meaningless. Just shapes and colors, there was no meaning to them.

He hadn’t liked the man, he came off as a snob and was always telling him to play nice and smile for the people. It was all pointless showmanship, and by the end of his internship he hadn’t learned a single damn thing, much less been in a real fight.

He got more violence at home in a single night than he got this whole damn week, it was absolutely pathetic.

On the last day of his internship though, something happened. As Jeanist combed gently through his hair, Katsuki noticed something. It was barely visible in the shadow of his long sleeved denim costume, but it was a flash of red just showing in his vision as Jeanist worked from behind him. He had to wait until he got another glance as he repeated the motion, to fully comprehend what he was seeing. It was just on the inside of his wrist, a black explosion in the shape of a mushroom cloud, with a small red heart inside of it.

Katsuki felt a wake of chills hit him, almost instinctively he could tell that the mark was his. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew. That was his mark and Jeanist had it. Katsuki did his best to hide it, the internal crisis he was having as his whole world seemed to be knocked off kilter.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

It was all he could think about, he was running on autopilot, while his mind shut down entirely trying to process that the marks were real and he’d just felt what it was like to find a soul parent.

He couldn’t deny that they were real, not any more, and Katsuki was suddenly overwhelmed with multiple emotions at once, shame that he was bonded permanently to his wretched mother, fear about what the fucking hell a green mark might possibly mean, and some amount of shock that there was one right here, a soul parent.

He wondered dully why he’s never felt this sensation with either of his parents before.

Dragging him forcefully from his thoughts, Jeanist started to speak. “I know that you’re probably disappointed with how this week went. I know we didn’t see much action.”

The gears clicked in Katsuki’s mind after a moment of silence passed between them. He realized that he was expected to reply and gave a simple grunt. “Damn right I am….”. He couldn’t muster more venom than that though, not with his mind as it was. He needed to destroy something before it became too much, he could already feel the nitroglycerin coating his sweaty palms. His racing thoughts made him sweat and he needs to blow it up before it hurts someone.

Though, in this close proximity to Jeanist, the idea was pushed down. With the amount of nitroglycerin built up, all he’d do is either hurt Jeanist or startle him and neither of which was good.

“I do hope you understand why I had you do the exercises I did.” Jeanist prompted, clearly goading Katsuki for a better answer. There’s that condescending tone again, he could practically hear him tilt up his nose in disdain. How the actual hell could he be my soul parent?

“Of course, I fucking do! I’m not a dumbass.” He latched on to the anger, it was familiar, not like the utter confusion that had come with the discovery of the mark.

Jeanist hummed placatingly as he continued to comb through his hair, the damn guy was really into this shit. He was so intensely focused on it that he hadn’t looked anywhere else, it was probably the only thing that saved Katsuki’s sudden change in demeanor from being noticed. “Oh, then tell me. Why did I?”

Katsuki would literally rather be doing anything else, but no, here he was a grown-ass teenager, having his hair done like he was some girl’s doll. The answer he said tasted bitter in his mouth. Especially as he remembered the echo of his mother’s voice screaming similar sentiments just the other day.

“...everyone thinks I’m a villain, because of the way I reacted to being chained to the pedestal at the sports festival. “. Katsuki huffed, doing his best to keep the undesirable emotions from his voice, keying up the annoyance as a cover. It was still lingering just below the surface.

That was his fucking soul parent he was talking to, holy shit.

He violently pushed the desire to just ask the man about the mark on his wrist down. Get your shit together you were in the middle of a damn conversation.

“In order to be a hero, the public needs to trust me right, that’s your damn point, and people won’t trust someone like me?” Katsuki added, summing up the week's events in a single conversation. Tsunagu gave him an affectionate pat to the shoulder.

Why the hell is he so chummy, all I’ve done this week was cuss and yell at him? That wasn’t guilt he felt, he swore to god it wasn’t.

“I’m glad, I was convinced you didn’t listen to a single word I said this week. It seems like I was wrong.” Jeanist finished up his work and spun the chair around so Katsuki was facing him. The man was smiling warmly, the denim mask didn’t hide the way the creases at the corners of his eyes hinted at the smile.

“So what you’re saying is that I have to pretend to be someone I’m not, just to make people happy? That sounds like bullshit.” Katsuki found himself seriously considering what Jeanist was saying for the first time this week, and that was his honest assessment. This was bullshit, so long as he saved their sorry asses they should be grateful. He shouldn’t have to pretend to be nice about it.

Jeanist’s smile faded and he took a moment to consider Katsuki’s question. “Not necessarily, would you say that you are truly to the core a villain?”

Katsuki’s mind froze for a moment, visibly flinching. While Katsuki had hinted at the idea before he hadn’t expected the man in front of him to blatantly ask him about it. If he wasn’t such a mess at the moment, he would have heard the slightly playful tone to the man’s voice, indicating that he didn’t actually believe what he was insinuating. However, when he said those words, all Katsuki could see was his mother. The close connection between the two of them as his supposed soul parents brought to him the stunning realization that everyone believed it, that he was a villain at heart.

For a split second, he considered bolting off, because fuck this. This was too much bullshit and he couldn’t handle it all at once.

Jeanist noticed the change and his brow furrowed slightly in concern. Shit. Calm the fuck down, you asshole of a brain, shut the fuck up just until I can get the hell out of this place, until I can finish this conversation and have some space to breathe. The pro kneeled so that he was eye level to Katsuki, and shit, what the fuck was he supposed to say?

It shouldn’t be that hard of a question. He was going to UA for Christ’s sake, the best hero school in the nation. He was in a hero agency right the fuck now. He was talking to the 4th ranked pro hero in the nation. Why the fucking hell was this such a hard question? Of fucking course he was-

-he was a hero...

...wasn’t he?

All he could see was fucking Deku and his terrified face as he burned his notebook to ashes, as he told him to jump off the roof.

How the hell else was he supposed to deal with that damn nerd?

Especially when the quirkless moron was spouting shit about going to UA to take the entrance exam?

The fucking asshole was going to get himself killed!

What other ch-

“Katsuki?” Jeanist had a hand on his shoulder. The same hand that has that mark. He shook him gently, pulling him from his thoughts. The hero noticed the more focused look in Katsuki’s eyes and continued. “You are a hero, I know that. Sorry, that I didn’t make my intentions more clear.” His brow was still furrowed with concern. “You are a hero, and I may know that, because I know you. However, the person walking down the street only knows you from the media, and the way you act in front of them.” Jeanist sighed. “I only meant to say that you don’t have to pretend. I can see qualities any good hero needs within you, you just need to draw them out.”

He hated how good hearing that made him feel, he hated that his words had affected him so deeply the first time. Is this the soul bond, is there something unnatural making me feel so susceptible to what he’s saying?

Whatever it was Katsuki hated it. He hated caring what his opinion was, because his opinion was the only one he could guarantee was that of his soul parent.

….why was that still getting to him? So what, the hero had a fancy mark on his wrist? What’s the big deal? Does that suddenly make his opinion on Katsuki mean something?

Fucking

Hell

Jeanist decided to add one last statement to his lecture, while Katsuki processed his thoughts. “The only difference between a hero and a villain, is how they use their quirks. You can choose to be a good hero, and nobody can make that choice for you.” Jeanist paused, giving Katsuki time to say something but what the hell should he say. Should he agree? Should he argue? Should he stay quiet?

All he could see was Deku’s stupid face, and hear his mother’s voice telling him how horrible he was. What a horrible child to be bound to for eternity…

..horrible…

..rotten..

..brat…

...demon spawn

...the fucking devil incarnate…

“Katsuki.” The hero’s voice was softer this time, he placed his other hand on his opposite shoulder. God how pathetic must I look to make him wear that expression? The concern was still there, but the man was clearly trying to steady Katsuki. When had he started shaking? He was trembling like a leaf. What the fucking hell is wrong with me today? They were alone in the room, just the two of them. It was silent, except for the two of them. It was like they were wrapped up in their own little world, apart from the rest of reality.

Why is he acting so nice, why the actual hell is he being so nice?

Stuff like this doesn’t normally bother me. Why now?

Katsuki knew why, that mark had given validation to everything that his mother had done to him over the years. That was undeniable proof that the marks were real. That’s why, that’s why it meant so much more when he called him a villain, so much so that for a minute he actually believed him. Even if he hadn’t really said anything at all.

“Tell me what’s going on?” Jeanist gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze. Katsuki’s determination shattered a little at that. It was such an easy way out, stop fighting and let him take over, let him ask questions until he was satisfied. He took a shaky breath, why the hell was he out of breath?

I’m freaking the hell out because my soul parent is right in front of me and I’d convinced myself that they didn't exist. That’s why I’m freaking the fuck out.

He’s right here, just say something.

Say anything…..

“Please, talk to me.” There was no disdain, no hatred, annoyance, or fear. There was no frustration or anger, his voice was soft and reassuring. Jeanist gently shook his shoulders to accentuate the plea. His willpower that was keeping him stubbornly in place buckled, collapsing before him.

Katsuki spoke before he could think about what he’s saying.

“Your wrist, it has a mark on it. I think it’s mine.”

Fuck

Fuck my life.

Oh my fucking god you didn’t actually just say that aloud. Way to go, you couldn’t have been even just a bit more subtle.

Jeanist’s eyes widened as he looked instinctively to the mark just on his wrist, perfectly covered in most cases, except for the once that he hadn’t been paying attention. He looked back to Katsuki with a strange implacable expression.

They stared at each other, and Katsuki could feel his nerve wilting under Jeanist’s soft gaze. Katsuki really couldn’t remember the last person to look at him this way. He figured it must have been Auntie Inko, she was the only person that came to mind.

Without a word, Jeanist finally pulled his sleeve up to show the mark properly. The mark was just a bit larger than a nickel and on the center of his inner wrist, it was two colored, the black explosion contrasting sharp on the pale complexion of his skin that never saw the light of day.

Katsuki could feel it again, it was a faint sensation. It was like a realization, like it had been a long time coming. He had always held all the pieces, but he never knew what picture he was looking at. He stared at it wonder, feeling more than a little awestruck. He almost wanted to touch it but he suddenly and jarringly remembered how soaked his hands were. He quickly pointed his palms away and sparked off the excess nitroglycerin.

Jeanist blinked at the action but otherwise didn’t comment as Katsuki moved on to tug on his collar.

“I’m like 95-ish percent sure that’s my mark.” Katsuki hated how timid he sounded, the gruff gravel was still in his tone but it was softened by uncertainty, the sharp bite to his tone entirely absent. The embarrassment from speaking out was quickly fading in favor of itchy nervousness. “I’ve got a few marks and I’m sure one of them has got to be yours.”

Hearing the waver of his voice Jeanist quickly assured him “Only show me if you truly want to, please don’t feel obligated to.” Katsuki brushed the comment aside.

“It’s not like any of them are in uncomfortable places, there’s no reason not to.” Katsuki commented absently. “Plus, I'll drive myself insane if I don’t make sure.”

He pulled back his collar to reveal the first mark on his collarbone. It was the green key, and Katsuki showed it to the other hero who raised his eyebrows in surprise, but there was no recognition there.

“That’s a soulmark? I’ve never heard of one that color.” Jeanist asked in curiosity.

“I’m pretty sure it is? I have no fucking idea what green is supposed to mean though.” Katsuki commented as he moved on.

Katsuki covered that one up, and moved on to the one on his ankle. He shoved off his boot and rolled up his pant leg to reveal the black cat. Jeanist shook his head softly and Katsuki’s stomach dropped.

Was he really just imagining things?

Was it all in his head?

Did he just make an utter fool out of himself for nothing?

The only mark left was…

A thought occurred to Katsuki, it was a horrible thought. The only way to find out was to show him. Katsuki pulled up his shirt to reveal the last mark on his lower abdomen.

It was the needle and thread, the mark his mother swore was hers. It was the mark she had used to keep him prisoner with her. Many times it was the only reason he didn’t walk away, or tell someone about what it was like at home. It was his soul bond, it was dictated by fate. So why would anyone be able to stop it, even if they tried?

Even if he hadn’t truly believed in them, he hadn’t disbelieved in them either. It was enough to keep him still, with nowhere else to go.

Jeanist looked at the mark and somehow his posture softened further, and a wide grin erupted across his face. He could practically feel the radiating joy and comfort from the hero.

No, fucking way.

He couldn’t believe it, his mother was a horrible manipulative bitch on the best of days but this.

What she had said had done its job, it was intended to make him stay fucking put, to prevent him from questioning her and questioning freedom from her. That’s exactly what it fucking did.

How many times during his childhood did he walk right up to fucking Izuku’s house to tell him or to tell Auntie Inko? How many times did he turn around, figuring that they couldn’t possibly understand? That they wouldn’t do anything because he believed it was his fucking fate, that he fucking deserved every second of it.

He watched Jeanist looking at him like Deku used to look at him, before Katsuki had gotten his quirk. He was looking at him like he was the center of the damn universe and it was way too damn much to death with.

He couldn’t tell how he felt, he felt a little sick like he wanted to vomit as a cold pit of horror settled in his gut, and scream bloody fucking murder at his mother for screwing with his head like that. He really wanted to break out laughing, a little but hysterically because well fuck if her plan didn’t fucking backfire. He’d never trust her again after this, her or his father. If he could help it, he’d spend as little time there as he was able so he could get rid of them as soon as possible.

There was also a metric ton of relief flooded over him. He wasn’t bound to her for life, he didn’t have to listen to her spit those hateful things anymore, or at least he wouldn’t believe them. He just had to bear it a few more years and he could be rid of her, rid of the both of them, forever.

A small part of his mind quietly admitted to him that he was glad he could be different than she was, that he had a chance to be the hero he wanted to be. Not the villain she had convinced him he was.

More than that, most importantly, his real true soul parent believed that he could be a hero. The number four hero who was sitting right in front of him, looking at him like he was looking at the most important thing in the world, the hyper attention made him feel weak with insecurity.

They stared at each other just like that, neither knowing the gravity of the revelations that the other was sorting through. The moment passed quickly and Jeanist pulled him into an awkward hug considering he was still kneeling on the ground and Katsuki was still in the chair.

Katsuki could feel the gentle reverence in the hug, he could feel the simple and untainted affection in it. It was such a welcome and unfamiliar feeling that it made him sink into it, all past worries between them forgotten as they take comfort and pleasure in the simple and honest gesture.

It tore down the last of Katsuki’s composure, he let out a gasp and cried stubbornly into the embrace. He fought it the whole way through, every hiccup and sob was forced its way past the willpower holding it back. Jeanist rubbed gentle circles into his back for as long as he needed, whispering quietly to him.

They missed patrol that day, on the last day of his internship but Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to care.

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empyreanwritings · 4 years

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The Unhelpful Hand (5/10)

Pairing: Sam Wilson x FBI!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: canon violence, mentions of blood and gore, minor character death, hearing loss related to injuries

Chapter Summary: You deal with the aftermath of the explosion, and even though all of the evidence gets destroyed, you’re one step closer to solving the case.

A/N: It has been just a few days less than a year since I last updated this story. Is anyone even around to read it anymore? LMAO dflkajds I am very happy that I managed to get this chapter out. It’s headed exactly where I wanted it to go before I lost all hope for it, so thank you to everyone who has recently reblogged and shown it a little love <3

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated (: x

Sam's ears were ringing, and his eyes stung due to the mixture of ash and heat. He could make out the sounds of people screaming all around him. He didn't want to look up; he knew the horror he was about to face, and he didn't want to see any of it. But he had no choice, and the only thing he could focus on was getting you out of the building before it collapsed on everyone.

"Y/n, hey," he shouted, trying to gently shake your shoulders to wake you up. You stirred slightly but not enough to show signs of consciousness yet.

A beam just inches from where the two of you were crashed to the ground, sending up tiny bits of amber into the air. Sam cursed and ducked his head before any of it got into his eyes. The screaming was starting to get the best of him, and he knew the way the structure groaned above him was not a good sign. He needed to get the two of you out of there. Fast. As much as he wanted to stay back and help everyone else, he didn't have the shield. There was nothing he could do to guarantee their safety if he did try to save them, and that was what killed him most.

He lifted you up slightly and draped your arm over his shoulder as he stood up and steadied himself. Everything was hazy, but he tried to focus on helping you to keep himself from fading. His grip on your side tightened, and he pushed through the rumble towards where the front door used to be. Ignoring the way the flames licked at his skin was harder than he expected - Steve made it look so easy - but he pushed through for you. And for himself.

The second he felt the cool air hit him, he felt relieved.

Not fully refreshed or better, but he was relieved.

Sirens blared in the distance. He could tell they were getting closer, but he wasn't sure if handing you off to the responders was a good idea. It was what you would have wanted because of your blind trust in the local authorities, but you would end up a sitting duck in the hospital. Whoever set off the blast knew you were there and purposefully targeted you. He needed to make sure you were safe - not set you up for someone to come in and take advantage of your drugged-up state in a hospital.

He dragged you towards an alleyway far enough away from the scene to keep the two of you safe and away from prying eyes. As he sat you down on the concrete, making sure to prop your back up against the brick wall, you started to come to. It wasn't much, but your eyes fluttered opened for a split second before they closed again.

It was enough to give him hope.

Calling Bucky was the only good plan he could think of. If Sam could get you back to their apartment, he knew he'd be able to keep you safe. Bucky wasn't a doctor, but he spent enough time patching himself up to know how to take care of others. He knew if Bucky felt like you should go to a hospital, he wouldn't hesitate to take you then, but he just needed to wait it out. It was too dangerous right now.

"Send me your location, I'll come grab you," Bucky replied. The sleepiness in his voice disappeared when he heard the urgency in Sam's. Had it been any other time, Sam would have cracked a joke about him being an old man and falling asleep early. He'd push it off for now, though.

Once he texted Bucky the location, he turned his attention back to you. Your head flopped to the side, and he gently cupped your cheek to help you lift your head back up. There was some blood dripping from your left ear, and he had a feeling that was going to affect your hearing later on, but he silently hoped it wouldn't. Your agency was looking for any excuse to call you incompetent and going deaf in one ear wasn't exactly something you would think would happen to a "good" agent. Sam didn't believe that, but he caught on quickly how your agency seemed to handle things.

"Come on, Y/n, I need you to open your eyes," he quietly begged. "Call me a dumb ass or something, I don't care. I just need you to wake up."

There was a moment where he noticed how soft you looked, and he hated he was noticing something like that now. It was entirely inappropriate, but he couldn't help himself. Despite the chaos going on around you - the screams and the sirens and the sounds of the building getting ready to collapse - you looked as if you were just peacefully sleeping.

It should have worried him more, maybe, but he had a gut feeling that you were okay. His gut never steered him wrong before.

He ran his hands over any part of your body already exposed. He checked for bruising that might indicate any internal bleeding or breaks, and everything seemed okay for now. Even though he wanted you to wake up, he hoped you would wait until after he checked you. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was trying to cop a feel on you when you were incapacitated. You would never let him live something like that down.

You sucked in a breath and slowly opened your eyes. The sudden rush of air made your entire body ache, and you groaned. Sam gently pressed his hand against your chest to keep you from trying to get up. You wanted to laugh at the concerned look on his face but just the thought of laughing made everything in your body ache.

"Don't you dare ask me how many fingers you're holding up." You hated how hoarse your voice sounded, but Sam didn't seem to mind one bit. The fact that you were able to be sarcastic right now was enough to make him happy.

"Bucky is on the way," he told you. "I figured going to a hospital wasn't the best idea right now."

You weakly nodded. "You're right. This was all a set up. The killer knew were going to be here and waited until we least expected it to set the bomb off."

"He knows we're getting closer to him. He's scared."

"He should be. I'm not letting this go now," you paused, forcing yourself to get a cough stuck in your throat out, "There were innocent people in there. They didn't deserve it."

He sighed. "I know. We'll get him, I promise."

Footsteps approached the alleyway, and Sam pulled the gun out of your holster before you could even process his hand going up your dress. His paranoia ate him alive right now. And even though he doubted the killer would confront them out in the open like this, he couldn't be too safe. Especially since he knew you weren't in top form.

A metal hand shot out and yanked the pistol out of Sam's hands just as he pointed it the intruder. He felt the relief wash over him when he realized it was Bucky, and he was thankful the man seemed more amused than irritated over having a gun pointed at him.

"That's one way to say thank you, I guess," Bucky chuckled. He walked over to where you rested and murmured something quietly to you that Sam couldn't quite make out. You nodded, and Bucky gently scooped you into his arms.

Damn super soldier strength, Sam thought. Made him look bad for struggling to carry you out of the building.

"Let's get out of here before anyone sees us," Sam grumbled. He wasn't sure why, but he hated the pit in his stomach that formed when he saw how easily you accepted Bucky's help. Sure, you were injured and probably exhausted, but he silently wished you put up a bigger fight.

---------

The heat of the shower did little to ease the tension in your muscles. Your entire body ached, and you had to keep a hand on the shower wall to keep yourself from falling over. Your balance was off thanks to the damage to your ear, and only time would be able to tell if the hearing would ever return. It wasn't as big of a deal as it should have been to you, but you figured you were just in shock. Nothing fully registered in your brain when you were still reeling from the incident that occurred less than two hours ago.

You ducked your head under the water. Dirt and ash turned the water a milky grey as it swirled down the drain, and you caught yourself just staring at it until it started to run clear again.

You wished life could be that simple - all it takes is some water to wash away all of the marks left inside of you - but it wasn't. No matter how hot the water turned, it wasn't enough to burn off the memories of the day.

"You know you don't have to babysit me," you said once you pulled your head out from under the stream. Sam, who was perched on the sink, chuckled. He couldn't see you through the shower curtain, not that he would try something like that anyways. He just wanted to make sure you didn't pass out without anyone around to help you. "I've been through worse."

"Humor me, will you?"

The vulnerability of the entire situation made your head spin, and it wasn't the damage eardrum affecting it either. You were completely naked, washing away the failures of the day, while Sam stood close enough to make sure nothing happened. The bathroom was tiny enough that if you even tried to squeeze out a quick cry, he would hear you. Which is why you were grateful that you weren't always the crying type, especially not when it involved situations out of your control.

It was one your strengths.

Maybe one of your weaknesses, too.

"Thank you, by the way," you murmured. You kept your focus on the scorching water hitting your skin, so you didn't feel the embarrassment creep up around you. "For pulling me out."

"It's what anyone would have done," Sam replied. "You don't have to thank me."

You shook your head despite him being unable to see you. "I didn't."

"What?"

"I didn't pull him out." Silence filled the bathroom as the weight of your words hit Sam. He realized you were talking about your partner, something that you refused to talk with him about since you blamed the Avengers for his death. "I can still smell the smoke sometimes. There was so much blood, and I didn't even know if he was still alive. The report says I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was a lie…I ran out because I was so scared. I just assumed he was dead. I mean, no one can survive a large piece of glass flying into their jugular, right?"

You ran your hands over your face, trying to wash away the tears before they sprung out of your eyes. "I should have tried to pull him out, and I blame myself for him dying. It's just easier to hate you guys for causing the explosion than myself for not going back to get him."

Sam didn't say anything right away. What could he say to make this moment better? You weren't the type to open up, and he wasn't about to say anything that would make you regret it. He understood why you blamed yourself, but he didn't believe that your partner died because you ran away. But how could he say that without you dismissing him? There was no way to approach that.

"You probably think of me differently now, don't you?"

"I'm going to go make some coffee." Sam hopped off the sink and made his way towards the door. He stopped when he heard you try to shift and let out a sigh. "And for the record, no, I don't think differently of you. It wasn't your fault, Y/n. Nothing you say could convince me that it was."

You heard the door close behind him, and you closed your eyes, finally letting the tears fall freely after so many years of keeping it all inside.

---------

Sam sighed as he took a sip of his coffee. He hated how sore he felt. He wondered if Steve ever had days where he felt worse for wear or if the serum helped him bounce back quicker than anyone else.

Sometimes he wanted to slap himself for constantly comparing himself to Steve, but could anyone blame him? The world loved Steve Rogers as Captain America, even when he was considered a felon. They supported him when he forced them to question everything they knew, and they trusted him to bring back the people they lost even when they started to lose hope. The world blindly loved him; it was something that Sam would have to accept would never happen with him.

Steve could destroy federal property, and the people would cry about how he was a saint, but if Sam tried something like that, he'd be painted as nothing more than a thug with too much responsibility. Everyone wanted to see him fail. Well…

He looked over at you, sitting at the counter with the mug of coffee squeezed between your hands. Maybe not everyone.

Your exasperated breath pulled him out of his thoughts, and he was by your side instantly to make sure it wasn't you trying to deal with the pain.

"I'm fine," you assured him. "Just frustrated. We lost all of that evidence, and I don't think we'll be able to find anything like that again."

"How did he know we would be there?" Sam questioned. He crossed his arms over his chest, brows pinched and frown set as he tried to mull over every possibility. "The gallery takes weeks to prepare, so he already had his art ready to go. He must have set the bomb up last minute when he found out we were attending, but I don't understand how."

"The only person that knew besides us was the one who needed to approve the operation."

He looked over at you as the pieces in your mind started to put themselves together in your mind. "The same person who would have a lot to gain from this case going south."

"If the bureau gets wind that we messed up the investigation somehow, they have to throw it out and start over." You set the mug down and looked over at Sam. Your eyes were wide, and he could tell you were being flooded with realization all at once. "It would get him everything he wanted. I'd be fired, the killer would basically be off the hook, and-"

Sam laughed humorlessly. "And they would take the shield back. You really think Kane is the killer, though?"

"No, but I have a feeling he knows who it is. Probably the exact same person he has in mind to take the Cap mantle."

It was going to be nearly impossible to prove. If Kane was orchestrating everything, it meant he was already two steps ahead of you the entire time. He knew what you were thinking before you thought of it and that made him dangerous. You needed to make sure he believed you were oblivious to everything going on, but you weren't even sure where to begin on how to do that.

Thankfully, you knew someone who was good at damage control.

The first thing you needed to do was make sure you weren't thrown off the case. Kane knew about the explosion, which meant he may have already started trying to push you out. You just needed to find a way to buy yourself more time and get all of the evidence you needed before he could do that.

You needed someone stealthy. Someone who could get in and get out of the building without drawing too much attention. You knew exactly what they needed to look for and where they could find it, you only needed to get them to agree to help you in the first place. It would be difficult because they were retired from the whole criminal-turned-superhero life, but you had a feeling they'd come if Sam was the one to ask.

"I have a plan to expose Kane and close the case," you replied with a smile. "But I'm going to need you to do a little convincing for me.

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fic #sam wilson x you #sam wilson series #sam wilson #mcu #falcon x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu fic #mcu fanfiction #sam wilson one shot #sam wilson imagine

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redschillzone · 4 years

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I Don’t Fucking Care (Iden Versio x Reader)

(Gif found here!) Pairing: Iden Versio x (Gender Neutral) Reader Word Count: 2.0k Words Warnings: A couple cuss words Summary: Iden has had enough of you disobeying orders and being reckless, she finally snaps.

A/N: Sorry it’s so short, was having a very rough day. I hope it’s okay, please enjoy! Maybe a part two will follow? :)

You had done it again, and she was livid this time. You had disobeyed her direct order to retreat and insisted that you could handle the threat alone. She knew what you wanted, and it was to go down in a blaze of glory any chance you could get; You wanted to be the hero that the Republic would talk about for years to come, and it pissed Iden off every time you did it. When she first saw you, she could tell right away what kind of pilot you were. Reckless, daring, headstrong; You were someone only flying to run off of the adrenaline it gave. She was sure you had joined the Republic with good intentions but whenever she was paired with you for missions, you were always throwing yourself recklessly into the middle of the fight. It was always the same thing with you; Her giving you a command, you completely ignoring it and doing your own thing that would damn near get you killed, and you two would return to the base and argue it out in the hangar with the other pilots and mechanics standing around to watch. She would always tell herself she wouldn’t work with you any more if it meant you putting your life on the line, yet she was always dragged back in. She just assumed that maybe Leia thought she could straighten you out, but Maker was she beginning to lose help with you.

“(Y/N)!” Iden’s voice rang out through the hangar, and you couldn’t help but sigh and turn to her as she began to make her way over. You crossed your arms as you leaned back on the x-wing that was marked as yours; It’s paint chipped and covered in so much soot and ash you could make art out of it with your finger if you so wanted. You raised an eyebrow at the commander as she stopped just a few feet in front of you; She was wearing her usual orange pilot suit, the top half tied tightly around her waist and her grey long sleeved shirt fitting her form nicely. You couldn’t help but scan her over, noticing the rage that filled her eyes as she stared you down with a look that could probably kill you if looks could kill. You gave a hum before you replied.

“Yes, Commander Versio?” You spoke, remaining cool and level headed even though you were sure you were about to get your ass chewed out for your little stunt.

“What was that little stunt you pulled out there, huh?” She hissed out, putting her hands on her hips. She was going to get an explanation from you, whether it be the truth or your little lies you liked to tell. It’s how it always seemed to go, you would either lie your ass off to try and make it sound like it was the truth or tell her the honest truth. You couldn’t help but sigh as you pushed yourself off the x-wing, standing with your back straight and your eyes locked on her as you put your arms down beside you.

“I wasn’t about to let my squadmate die out there, Versio.” You hissed out. And you were speaking the truth this time.

The battle was a long one, and it seemed the Empire just wouldn’t run out of ships to send. You had noticed your squadmate had at least three TIEs on their tail; Their engines were already beginning to smoke and you could still recall their screams for help, that they were being chased down by a couple of TIEs. You had heard Iden’s call to retreat and that they’d formulate a better plan, but if you were to listen to her command and retreat instead of going and saving your squadmate, they would surely be dead. So, you kicked your ship into overdrive and flew after them, turning your comm off after hearing Iden yelling at you to return to base.

You spun your ship several times to avoid debris that floated about around you; Debris that had once been ships you had seen close friends fly alongside their droids, also with several Imperial TIE fighters which now floated by in pieces. But you also spun to avoid the TIE fighters that still flew about the area. A few did spot your ship and even flew after you, but you made quick work of them; You used the debris around you to your advantage, flying in as close as you could before spinning away or going straight into the air. You look back just in time to watch as the TIE fighter would explode, crashing into the debris as if they didn’t see the pieces of metal flying about them. A small laugh escaped your form each time; They always fell for the same trick, you noted after many attempts at it. It wasn’t long before you were behind your squadmate and took out the TIE fighters. They gave you a thanks once they spotted your x-wing flying beside them, said that they owed you their life but you just said it was nothing and returned to base with them.

And here you currently were, having this talk with one of your commanders. You had this talk with so many other commanders on base, but eventually they learned there was little to no hope of stopping you from such reckless flying; But Iden thought differently. She thought that maybe she could get you to at least get the thought out of your head that reckless flying got you nowhere, to tell you that there were people here who cared for your safety and hated that you were ready to throw your life away at a second's notice.

“I don’t know how you guys ran things back in the Empire, but we do things differently here. We don’t leave our squadmates behind if we can do something about it.” You spat back, watching as Iden couldn’t help the frown that appeared on her face. You were touching on a subject she really didn’t want to go back and look at, but if this was how you wanted this argument to go she’d gladly bring it up if it meant keeping you alive longer .

“We knew what we were getting into then. We watched out for our squadmates and that’s what I’m trying to do for you, (Y/N). You’re getting yourself into more and more dangerous situations with each risk you take and it’s going to put you to an early grave! I can’t be there to save you each fucking time” She said to you, taking a step closer to you as you scoffed at her words. There was no way she cared for you, she came from the Empire after all; They were trained not to form attachments, weren’t they? It always seemed that way when the Empire would retreat and leave several of their own soldiers behind. Regardless, you shook your head at her.

“I don’t want your sympathy, Versio. I’m here to help win this war, and if I die trying to do what is right then so be it. Nobody here cares for me, so why stick around, huh?” You snapped back, watching as her hands turned to fists. She was beginning to shake a bit. She hated that this is what you were doing to yourself; She had read your file, Leia had given it to her. That thought she had of you having good intentions was still there as she read through it alone one night in her room. You came from a decent family from Naboo, your father having been a pilot for the Rebels and your mother worked at a cantina just nearby. Sadly your father was killed in the line of duty, leaving your mother to raise you by herself. Your mother had succumbed to drinking to forget your father, and it began to take over her life. It didn’t take her long before she crashed and burned, going and joining your father in the afterlife and left you in the hands of your aunt and uncle. They lived on Naboo as well, but supported the Empire more than the Republic. You hated every minute of it and once you were of age you joined the Rebels and took over your father's place as pilot, and here you were. Trying to live out what was left of his dream of stopping this war so you could live a peaceful life, whether you were to live that peaceful life by yourself or with someone by your side was up to your stubborn self. But as you had just said, nobody cared for you, so what did it matter. Right?

All Iden could do was stare at you with wide eyes; You were ready to die here and now and it shook her to her core. She loved you, she was falling for you and she hated it because you were so stubborn, but at times you had a caring spirit. She would occasionally see how you would help out the newer pilots by teaching them where everything was on their x-wing, how you would often share your food with some of the others when away on recon missions. She loved seeing that side of you, but this side? This reckless, adrenaline junkie side of you? It hurt her, and it hurt her bad. You didn’t care what happened to yourself during those missions and if that was the case how would you care for someone you actually loved? Would you treat her like you did your fellow pilots and soldiers, or would you treat her how you treated yourself? She was beginning to have enough of it, and her eyes began to well up with tears before she snapped at you.

“Do you ever think that maybe we don’t want you to die? That maybe we actually want you around?” She snapped, stepping towards you until your back was pinned against the x-wing. You stared into her brown eyes, watching as they glazed over with tears.

“Do you ever think that maybe, just maybe, that there’s someone out there who actually loves you? Who actually cares for your well being and safety? Who panics each time you go out there and has to almost see you fucking die?!” She snaps at you once more, tears running down her face in streaks. If this was how you wanted to be, then that was fine with her. She’d at least get everything off her chest.

“I fucking love you, (Y/N). I love you so damn much but it seems like you’re too damn stubborn to notice how much I love you. So hyped up on adrenaline to notice that when I call for you to come back to base, to step away from the fight that I’m doing so out of my own being. Not as your Commander, but as a friend and a potential lover.” She hissed out, to which your eyes widened once more. Iden loved you? How long had she loved you, and how long was it going to take you to realize that? You swore to yourself you wouldn’t let anyone get close, afraid of losing them like you had your parents. You were afraid if someone else got close to you, they would be ripped away from you just as quickly.

You clearly missed the signs now that you thought about it; Her arguments were her telling you to knock it off, that she was the one waiting for you to come back from those missions and your crazy suicide runs. She was the one who would wait well into the night to make sure you arrived back at the base in one piece and if you were injured she would be there to patch you up and tell you off, telling you to be more careful and to knock off the crazy stunts. You just swallowed hard, watching as she just shook her head at you and began to back away.

“I was wrong to fall in love with you, (Y/N)... You clearly have given up on yourself.” She hissed, turning and began to storm off, wiping her eyes as she did. You watched as her shaking form left the hangar, leaving you alone with just your thoughts and a broken heart.

#Star wars #Iden Versio #Iden Versio x Reader #Battlefront 2 #Battlefront ii Iden Versio #Battlefront ii #Battlefront 2 Iden Versio #Star Wars Iden Versio #x Reader

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