Text
halfway through my run i was kicked in the head with one of the worst migraines i’ve ever had and i was like ????? what the fuck wHERE did this come from
& then i remembered my period is coming tomorrow :)
#ah the joys of being a woman#where’s alastor when you need him eh#fuck like i feel like my skull is splitting in half it hurts so much#clari chatters
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
hey since requests are open could you do a Seventeen reaction to s/o crying while having sex, something where they haven’t figured out the reason for her cry and are confused?
(spoiler alert, her being deliciously split in half is the reason 😫?)
Seventeen reacting to you crying during sex (bc you're being deliciously split in a half)
Seungcheol
hates seeing people cry, especially you. he immediately stops, his face full of concern. "hey, babe! babe! what's wrong?" when you finally manage to tell him that it's because he’s making you feel so good, a cocky grin spreads across his face. "Is that so?" he says, resuming his movements with newfound confidence.
Jeonghan
his eyes widen, and he stops everything, his worry evident and kind of adorable. "shit, are you okay? darling did I do something?" You find his concern cute, and when you finally explain, he relaxes, a sly smile forming on his lips. "oh, really?" he says with a newfound vigor. "let’s see if I can make you cry even harder." he resumes with more intensity, determined to see u cumming with tear streaming your face.
Joshua
his reaction is tender. he immediately caresses your cheeks, his voice soft and soothing. "babe, it’s okay. what’s wrong? tell me.." even after you assure him it’s because of the pleasure, he tries to distract you, his fingers playing with your clit to heighten your experience. "let’s make you feel even better, yeah?"
Junhui
goes completely still, his eyes wide with concern. you manage to choke out that it feels so good, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "oh, I see," he murmurs, resuming his motions. "I’ll keep going, then."
Hoshi
is immediately worried and slides off you, his face a picture of concern. "Y/N-nie did I do something wrong?" when you beg him to be inside you again, his worry turns into amusement. "alright, but you asked for it," he says, thrusting deep and sharp, finding your pleasured tears a fucking tease.
Wonwoo
goes still too, "what did I do wrong babe?" he needs a few moments to process when you explain it’s because of the pleasure. "oh," he says softly, starting to move again. "I didn’t realize you felt that good."
Woozi
holds your hands, his eyes wide with confusion. "why are you crying?" he never thought seeing you cry in this moment would turn him on so much. when you tell him it’s because it feels amazing, he bites his lip, clearly affected.
Minghao
immediately soothes you, his voice calm and gentle. "darling, hey, look at me, what happened?" when you explain, he lets out a relieved breath, resuming his hips, cock stretching your wet pussy. "good to know, baby" he says with a smirk.
Mingyu
looks like a worried puppy, thinking he hurt you. "oh my god, baby, we should stop–" when you grind on him, urging him to continue, he relaxes a bit. "okay, if you say so," he murmurs, resuming his movements still a little concerned.
Seokmin
is surprised at how pretty you look while crying. he never knew he’d find it so arousing. "hm, babe? are you crying? why?" when you tell him it’s because of the pleasure, he grins. "the more you cry, the harder I’ll go," he says, and you cry enen harder, just to feel his cock splitting you open.
Seungkwan
almost panics at first, thinking he’s hurting you. "oh my God, are you okay?" "babe don't stop! please!" you beg and he coos at you, his worry melting away. "hm? it's that good baby? huh?," he whispers, resuming his movements as you roll your eyes at the back of your skull.
Vernon
is the most confused from all of them. "why are you crying?" even though you tell him it’s because it feels good, he resumes with uncertainty. "babe? are you sure? it's not hurting you... it is?" he says, watching you closely until he gets used to seeing your pleasured tears.
Chan
stops immediately, his concern evident. "what’s wrong? should I...stop?" when you squirm and tell him to continue, he resumes, determined to make you cum around his sore cock. "I’ll keep going," he says, his voice soft. "but I’m going to make sure you’re okay." he dries your tears during it, his movements precise and caring.
#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen headcanons#seventeen scenarios#seventeen smut#seventeen x reader#svt smut#seventeen#svt imagines#seventeen fanfic#seventeen x oc#seventeen x you#seventeen x y/n#seungcheol smut#jeonghan smut#joshua hong smut#junhui smut#hoshi smut#soonyoung smut#scoups smut#wonwoo smut#minghao smut#the8 smut#mingyu smut#seokmin smut#dk smut#seungkwan smut#vernon smut#hansol smut#dino smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Rumour
Description: you share with Eddie, your older neighbour, the rumours you've heard about him. They might not be all fictitious...
Warnings: smutty smutty smut smut, lotta angst, tiny fluff. NSFW, Minors DNI I will whack you with a dinner plate, Eddie is mid 30s, tattoo artist, dom, reader uses sher/her pronouns, sub, fem! Oral receiving, praise kink, potential for Sir kink, a tiny bit of penis handling, p in v unprotected sex (wrap it folks) genital and tongue piercings.
A/N: well, this thought gripped to the inside of my thighs and refused to let go. I had to share it with you before I started humping my furniture. Have fun. Again I'm English so I try with the Americanisms, anything I got wrong soz babe. BTW ST 4pt2 never happened soz babycakes ❤ Reblogs are what keep me alive FR. They keep Tumblr alive (and my own heart beating)! If you want more smut reblog my stuff. I'll love you forever, promise.❤
Masterlist Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
5.2k words
Walking back to your ground floor apartment after your shift, your feet aching, you spot your neighbour sitting on a lawn chair in the courtyard smoking a cigarette. Your incredibly hot, older neighbour. Mr Munson.
The neighbour that sends shivers up your spine at the mere mention of him. The neighbour that you think about at night when you're in bed, all alone.
No doubt about it, he looked both hot and intimidating. Not that you would care to admit but that was entirely your type. Mid thirties, broad shouldered, and appeared to be as confident as a wolf, and about as self assured. He reminded you of one; gruff looking, proud, stalking around, making you feel like prey.
He looked particularly jaw dropping tonight in a black button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up; part of his muscular arms were on display, covered in countless tattoos. You've heard that he works in one of the tattoo shops down town. In fact you've heard a lot about him, but that was one rumour that you actually believed.
Elbows resting on his knees, his messy hair fell in waves just brushing his shoulders, full lips taking a drag on a rolled cigarette. Peeking out of his shirt collar, between the waves of hair, you can see a skull like tattoo on the side of his neck.
Is that new? Oh God, he's so hot. Okay just walk past, act normal.
You saunter past him with as much confidence as you could muster.
"Hey Mr Munson." You nod in his direction, trying to stop your voice quaking, fumbling for your keys.
"Hey sweet thing. You good?"
Jesus, does he really need to call me that?
The nickname travels to the pit of your stomach making you squirm hotly.
"Yeah sir, just a long shift at the bar. Idiots tonight, you know?"
Mr Munson shifts in his chair taking a sudden breath in.
"Shit sweetheart, sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?"
Well, it couldn't hurt, right?
You flop down in the chair bedside him, gesturing for a drag on his cigarette.
"Can I?"
He smiles wickedly and puts his roll up to your mouth. The roughness of his fingertips brushes on your lips making you clench, almost rucking your hips up, albeit briefly. You hope he doesn't notice. Of course he does.
Taking half a hit you realise that it's not a fucking cigarette, it's a blunt. It's not like you'd never tried anything like that but it was certainly not what you were expecting. The heavy, sweet, herb feeling lays on your tongue. Eyes wide you breathe out, coughing slightly much to his amusement.
He holds it out at you so you can take a proper hit. Sucking at the blunt so you can take it all in, your lips brush against his calloused hands, adorned with rings.
Breathing out, you gaze at him. His smile splits his face wide open, thick tongue rolling to a point, licking across his upper lip in a teasing manner. You cannot help but focus on the tongue stud pierced right through the middle of the muscle, a long stainless steel bar penetrating his whole tongue. You had certainly never noticed it before. It's presence made you wet, sticking between your thighs at the sheer thought of what he could do with it.
"Something on your mind pretty girl?" A cocky side grin plastered across his handsome features.
Shit, I was totally staring.
Blushing, you look away and try to change the subject.
"You know, you should really warn a girl before she takes a hit of a blunt."
He laughs deep in his throat. "I thought you knew! So, why was today so terrible?"
"Just customers thinking that I'm nice to them because I want them, not because it's literally my fuckin' job. Couple dudes tried to hit on me, one of them grabbed my ass." You sigh into the night air.
"Shit, I hope you taught him a lesson."
"Of course, hit him on the head with my tray."
He laughs out loud at that, throwing his head back. You gawp at his neck, sexy stubble running down past his Adam's apple. Turning his head towards you, he flashes his teeth.
"Didn't know you had it in you. Good girl."
Holy shit.
Your whole lower body clenches at his words of praise as you take in a shaky breath. The apples of your cheeks are on fire. Mr Munson gives you a knowing look, eyes glittering darkly.
You stand up on slightly unsure legs.
"Okay I'm- I'm gonna have a shower. See you around Mr Munson."
You fumble for your keys. Turning to your door you hear a gravelly voice behind you.
"Eddie. Call me Eddie."
********************
A few nights later and your surrounded by the rough brick interior of the bar, busy wiping down sticky tables. There's only half an hour until closing; half an hour and you can go home and rest. It's pretty empty tonight, just three regulars dotted around in the semi dark, nursing their drinks.
You haven't been able to get your latest encounter with Mr Munson, sorry, Eddie, off your mind. You liked to think you were a strong independent woman. You were 22 after all; having had to live on your own since you were 18, life hadn't exactly been kind. You had to be strong to survive. So why exactly was it that a few moments with Eddie had turned you into a blushing, giggling school girl? He had disarmed you with a few words and a rough grin and now you couldn't stop thinking of him. All he had done was call you a good girl and you turned into one. A simpering mess.
Doing a final sweep for glasses, you make your way back behind the bar just as the door opens and a brisk breeze blows in.
Oh fuck its him.
You see his broad frame silhouetted in the doorway for a moment, leather jacket hanging open. His wild mane is in a low messy bun for once, tendrils of loose hair moving in the wind. He stalks over to you and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. Dark eyes finding yours, he leans against the bar on one elbow, towering over you.
Plastering your customer service mask across your face; social armour to hide the nerves, you smile at him.
"Well good evening sir, what can I get ya?"
He grins at you devilishly, biting his lip, like he wants to devour you whole.
"What did I tell you? Call me Eddie."
"Sorry Eddie."
"Good girl. I'll have a bourbon, please."
Only just realising your mouth is hanging open, you slam it shut, cheeks burning. He looks at you smugly, like he's just proven a theory. Your body goes on autopilot, grabbing a glass, adding ice, measuring bourbon.
When you hand his drink over he slides over a twenty dollar bill.
"Keep the change."
You blink at him. "I couldn't, it's too much-"
"Then have a drink on me. I just finished a piece and got paid today. I'm celebrating."
You wouldn't usually, but you're on your own and it's nearly closing. Fuck it.
You pour yourself a bourbon, adding a dash of soda water to yours and take a sip. Eddie beams at you.
"Well thank you." You smile back at him, losing yourself in those dark brown eyes of his, watching the way the skin crinkles at the corners when he grins.
He sticks the ball of his tongue piercing out, rolling it between his lips as he stares at you. It seems like a subconscious movement, you're not sure he's aware that he's doing it.
"Why do you have that?" You blurt out, word vomit pouring off your tongue.
"Have what, pretty girl?" You're staring at his mouth, and he understands, sticking his tongue out at you.
"Thith?" He lisps at you, still poking his tongue out. Giggling, you nod.
His hand drops to the bar, thumb reaching out, stroking back and forth over the knuckles on the back of your hand. An involuntary shiver creeps down your spine at the touch of his rough skin.
"Oh, sweet thing. I think you know exactly what it's for."
His eyes are deep pools, inviting you in. Your thighs clench at his words, biting your lip.
"Oh."
He smirks at you, humming. You pull your hand away, looking at the time.
"Er, just a sec."
You move away slightly and shout out last call. Two of the patrons leave; the other walks over to the bar, slight stagger to his step. Serving him a final Scotch, he pounds it back and walks outside.
It's just you and Eddie. All alone.
"I've got to, um, finish closing up."
"I'll give you a ride if you'll have another drink with me."
You open your mouth. Then close it.
He pouts at you, looking at you with big doe eyes. "Please?"
Well fuck.
"Okay, just let me finish up."
You collect the rest of the glasses, wipe down the last of the sides and sort the nights takings, getting it all in the small safe in the back room.
After locking the front door you return, hang your bar apron up and pour the drinks. Eddie gestures for you to join him on the bar stool next to his. You perch on it lightly; he reaches for his wallet but you wave it away.
"No, I've already done the takings, this ones on me. For the ride, you know."
He shrugs, returning the wallet to his back pocket.
"So" you say, taking a sip of your drink, "you said you finished a piece. You're a tattoo artist, right?"
"Yep, that's right."
"Thought so, I heard a rumour."
"Rumour, eh? What else you heard?" Eyes glittering, he took a mouthful of bourbon.
You giggle "Hmm, well, I heard you were some Satanic cult leader in high school-"
He waved that off, "oh that's so old. If playing D&D is satanic then I'm the devil himself." He sticks his tongue out again, creating little horns with his fingers on his forehead.
You laugh at that, starting to finally feel at ease in his company. The bourbon helped.
"Someone said you sacrificed a goat in the woods once."
He nearly spits his drink at that one. "Now that's more like it, even I've not heard that one. Got any more?"
You blush, realising you've only heard one more.
"I heard you had... other piercings." You mumble, not wanting to say it too loud despite the lack of company.
"What other piercings?" He eyes never leave yours as he finishes his drink.
You're sure it's not normal to have so much blood in your cheeks. You can hear the blood swooshing in your ears. Finishing your own drink for courage, you gaze down at your hands in your lap.
"I heard you have a pierced..."
"Dick?" He ducks his head, trying to catch your eye again, cheeky smile on his face.
"Yeah." Your whole body feels hot and small under his gaze.
He just smirks at you and shrugs.
Is that a no? A yes? Now I'm dying to know!
He winks at your obvious frustration and says "come on I'll take you home."
********************
The ride home in Eddie's Mustang is uneventful. A little small talk is shared, but mostly you're staring out the window, trying to catch glimpses of him when he wasn't looking, eyes wandering to his crotch.
Pretty soon he was dropping you off at your front door, hand leaning on the door frame, crowding into your personal space. Just breathing the same air as him felt suffocating in the best way.
"Well, goodnight then sweet thing." He winks at you, glancing at your lips. For a split second you think he's going to kiss you, but he breaks away and turns to leave.
"Do you wanna come in?" Shit did I just say that out loud?
"You sure?"
You nod and he throws you a wolfish grin. You've never felt so much like a lamb in your entire life. You may as well baa at this point.
You lead him into your tiny apartment, gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch, turning on a couple of dim lamps as you go. He flops down, manspreading, large hand resting on his knee.
"You want another drink? I've got bourbon but no ice I'm afraid."
"Sure thing sweets." He responds whilst slipping his jacket off, placing it on a nearby chair.
"You mind if I smoke? Just a cigarette, promise."
You smile at the reference, "sure, there's an ashtray just there."
He pulls out a pre rolled smoke, lighting it and taking a few drags.
When you've poured the drinks you make your way to the other side of the couch, placing the glasses on the coffee table. He offers his cigarette to you. As you nod, he shifts closer, holding it to your lips. You take a couple of drags, relishing the feel of his fingers on your mouth. Every time your skin touches his it sends a flutter through your nerves.
You watch him take a sip of his drink, seeing him press that perfect bottom lip to the glass. He drinks and puts the glass down. Not even looking your way, he says "something you wanna share, pretty girl?"
"Do you? Is it?" You say doltishly. Well done, real eloquent.
"You really wanna know, huh?"
"Yes!" You say loudly, bourbon well and truly in the drivers seat for that one.
He laughs and looks at you dead in the eye, another chance to make you squirm.
"Yes."
Gaping at him for a few seconds, your brain and mouth finally connect.
"Do you- did it hurt? What's it look like? What kinda-"
Stopping you mid babble with a wave of his hand, he simply asks, "you wanna see it?"
Brain short circuiting, you merely stare at him dumbfounded. You nod, curiosity well and truly getting the best of you.
He stands up and undoes his belt, sound echoing through the apartment. Your gaze is fixated on his large hands as they deftly unbutton his jeans. A glimpse of a tattoo teases you on his lower abdomen. His happy trail is peeking out, leading to the large thatch of hair that snakes down to his manhood. You swallow hard.
He slowly pulls his boxers down and you scoot closer to have a look. It emerges from the fabric, to your surprise half hard.
You gape at it. You've seen dicks before. A handful. And they are just that, a handful. This is more than a handful. You think you'd struggle to get your hand around his. The girth of it was truly intimidating. It certainly looked long too, and that was at half mast.
The end of it was pink and rounded, and the piercing went through the slit at the top, down to the underside of the tip. The piercing was thicker than you imagined, a curved bar with thick steel balls on either end. You never thought you would be into this sort of thing, but just looking at it made you think about what it felt like. What it tasted like. You wet your lips and continue to stare.
On instinct, your hand reaches out. You only notice when it meets the roughness of his jeans, touching ever so closely to his exposed member.
You look up at Eddie's face. He's looking right back at you sinfully.
"Did it hurt?"
"Not as much as you'd think. Ached like a bitch the first time I got a boner though."
You giggle, staring at it again.
"Can I touch it?" What the hell. It just slipped out, unbidden. You see his dick twitch at the thought.
Eddie chuckles darkly. "Did you seriously just ask if you-"
"Sorry that was dumb of me-"
"Sure you can sweet thing."
Before your mind can even comprehend what's happening, your hand shoots forward with sudden bravery, reaching out to hold it. You inspect the tip, looking at the piercing, feeling his hardness grow under your delicate touch. Inquisitively you rub the jewellery with your thumb, inadvertently smoothing the pad of your thumb over his tip in the process. Eddie hisses through his teeth.
"I'm sorry, did that hurt?"
"No," Eddie manages through gritted teeth, "just felt really fuckin' good."
Oh.
You back off, moving your hands from his piercing and placing them in your lap. He tucks himself away again, doing up his jeans, subconsciously palming his length.
"Well? What do you think?" He sits on the couch next to you, denim clad knee touching yours.
"It's really big Eddie."
He laughs, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa.
"You talkin' about the piercing or my dick?"
"Both." You couldn't help it. It had to be said. It was true. You knock your drink back, feeling entirely too sober for this conversation.
Eddie's mouth splits into a lazy smug smile. Finishing his own drink, he turns to you, eyes roaming over your body.
"So, do I get a turn now sweet thing?"
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "At what?"
Well, you got to touch me. Can I touch you?"
Your eyes widen at his brazen attitude, but you'd be lying if you said this wasn't the reason you had invited him in in the first place. The very air around you feels heavy, hot with anticipation.
"Ok."
You stand up shakily, mirroring his movements from earlier, unsure hands unbuttoning your jeans. Eddie's eyes travel down to your core, predatory gaze shamelessly wandering over you. Your jeans are a little big, slipping straight to your ankles when they're undone. You kick them off and away. Standing there in your tank top and tiny white panties you've never felt so exposed in your life.
Eddie stands up for a second looking down at you, eyes shining with mischief. He winks, and drops to his knees between the couch and the coffee table, grabbing your hips and pulling you to face him.
Sizeable hands hovering over the hem of your underwear, he looks up at you. "Can I? Can I take these off?"
You nod, cheeks flaring with heat.
Eddie licks his lips, eyes never leaving your cunt. "I'm gonna need you to say it, sweet thing."
"Y-yes Eddie." You manage to stumble out.
"Atta girl."
He peels them off. They stick for a moment between your thighs, slick and heat pouring from your core. The tops of your thighs are already damp with expectancy. Your muscles clench, pressing together with angst. Eddie pries your thighs apart slightly, thumbs massaging calming circles into the flesh.
Eddie presses a kiss to your mound, stubble scratching the delicate skin ever so slightly.
"Eddie what are you doing?"
"You said I can touch you."
"Yeah, so why-"
Eddie's tongue pushes between your folds firmly, tongue bar flicking right over your clit.
The noise you make is nearly inhuman, breath knocked out of your lungs in shock. Your legs buckle at the knees, ass falling to the carpet. He takes the opportunity to wedge his head between your legs, your thighs pushed as wide as far as the narrow space allowed, stuck between the sofa and the table.
His stubble is burning the insides of your thighs, roughly rubbing against your soft skin. Eddie licks into you, pushing his tongue inside your hole. You feel the warm wetness of his thick tongue and the foreign bump of hard steel forcing shockwaves of pleasure into you. The moan he rips from you reverberates in your chest, full of want.
Eddie groans into you, tongue making it's way to your clit, running in dizzying circles. The feeling is almost too much as you buck up into him, writhing your back on the carpet.
"Oh my God, Eddie!"
You can practically feel him smirking against your dripping pussy, getting his large hands underneath your ass so he can push his face into you even further. His tongue is everywhere, eating you out messily, hungry for you. The occasional rub of steel sends your senses into overload, hips rutting shamelessly into his face.
He moves one hand from underneath you and pushes two fingers deep onto your cunt. You're on the verge of screaming, tears gathering in your eyes, overwhelmed with pleasure. The pressure of your desire collects in the pit of your stomach.
His fingers make you feel so full, reaching somewhere you've never been able to touch on your own. The rough sure movements of his hand so close to sending you over the edge, pussy grateful to have something to clench around.
"Eddie! Holy fuck." You cry out, an unsolicited tear spilling from your eye.
Eddie's mouth unlatches from your heat briefly.
"You gonna come, pretty girl? Come on, soak my face, that's my girl." And he's diving straight back in, tongue movements unmatched, strong fingers fucking into you. Desperate, filthy noises pour from your throat at the sudden onslaught.
Tensing up, you feel the unimaginable tight hot ball of desire suddenly drop. The feeling ignites through you like wildfire, coalescing into a burning, broken scream of his name.
Once you've chased your release as far as it could possibly take you, your back finally touches the floor again. Eddie moves away from you, sitting up, gazing at your fucked out form. Panting, flushing, sweating, you manage to look at him.
Eddie looks wild, feral, hair a mess, face covered and dripping with your slick. You can even see a wet shiny patch on his forehead. You giggle, dopey in your post orgasm haze.
"What? Have I got something on my face?" Eddie stares at you unblinking. You laugh loudly at that, pointing to where it was on his forehead. He laughs back and pulls his t shirt off, wiping his sticky face all over it before tossing it onto the sofa.
Your eyes go wide at the sight of him shirtless. Taunt, muscular frame, dark patch of hair covering his chest, matching the rough hair of his happy trail. He is littered with tattoos, some dark and bold, others lighter and faded. There's small patches of alabaster skin here and there. He's glistening, clearly having worked up a slight sweat just from the force of which he'd eaten you out. Muscles shining, catching the dim light.
He catches your lust filled stare and leans over you, caging your head with his strong arms.
"So, you wanna know why I've got the other piercing?" Sinful smirk turning his mouth up at the corners.
You crash your lips into his, throwing your arms around his neck. Desperate hands snake into his hair as you open your mouth to deepen the kiss. Eddie's kisses are messy but skilful, one hand moulding to the back of your head, pushing you towards him almost painfully. The need for each other is tangible, bodies colliding, rolling into one another. He sits up, pulling you along with him by the waist, tongue continuously dipping into your mouth. Finally, you break from the kiss just to breathe. It's like all the air has been sucked from the room and all you can breathe is Eddie.
He's kissing along your jaw line, down your neck; yearning, robust kisses. Heaving breaths are coming from each of you.
"Bedroom?' Eddie manages between heavy panting and pecks.
You gesture to the hall and he wastes no time in standing up, pulling you along with him, eliciting a surprised squeal from you. You wrap your legs around his waist, firm hands holding you steady, as he attempts to navigate your hallway whilst still kissing you.
Nearly tripping on your discarded jeans, he slams your back into the wall. You couldn't care less, tongue invading his mouth, pressing your naked heat against his solid bulge. His groans are so low they're almost growls, bearish and dominant. He takes the opportunity to press your form against the wall so he can pull your tank top over your head, eyes rolling back at your braless chest.
Finally, he carries you through your bedroom door, dropping you onto the bed. Unbuckling his belt and exposing himself to you for the second time today, this time he's taking his clothes off completely, standing in front of you naked in all his glory. Further tattoos cover his hairy legs, you see his thick thighs flexing. He gives you a ravening look; predacious in its delivery, with a smile that belies the lust in his eyes.
Quivering before him, he roughly widens your legs and slots his hips in between. You feel the hard shaft of his dick pressing against your slick folds, whimpering at the contact.
Hovering over you, one of his hands engulfs the side of your face, stroking down to your chin, holding you there. You stare at him open mouthed, consumed by the feeling of him rubbing up and down your wet pussy.
"You sure you want this, sweet thing?"
"Yes, Eddie please." Your voice doesn't sound like you, its smaller, meek. Your eyes plead with him.
Leaning in to you further, his hot breath whispers, deep voice on the shell of your ear. "Are you sure you can take it? Can you be a good girl for me?"
You moan loudly at him, small hands clasping at his biceps in desperation.
"Yes, please Eddie, I'll be so good for you!" You writhe underneath him.
He chuckles, biting his lip. "I knew you were into that. You got a condom?"
"No I'm on the pill, I need you, please."
"Holy shit." Eddie wastes no more time, rubbing his cock up against your entrance, strange feeling of the piercing hard against your slippery cunt.
He starts to push into you and your mouth falls open, no sound coming out. You grip his shoulders hard, trying so hard to take him. The stretch is intense. He's looking at you with concern, softer than he's ever looked at you.
"You gotta relax, my good girl, or its gonna hurt."
You nod, pupils blown, trying so hard not to clench around him. He bottoms out, the final push making you whimper.
Stroking your face, he gives you a moment to adjust.
"So fuckin' beautiful like this."
Your cheeks burn at the praise, lips enveloping his in a soft kiss.
He moves, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, a loud whine escaping from your lips. The burning feeling has been replaced with pure ecstasy. You're sure you can feel the steel of the piercing hitting that spot inside you.
Thrusting into you slowly a couple of times, you already feel pressure in your stomach, knots tied tight and begging to be released. The sensation tightens further, shoots of it flying down your legs and up your spine. You clench around him hard, moaning.
"Fuck Eddie I'm gonna cum, fuck." You pant out, eyes wide.
"Already? Shit you're gonna give me an ego."
"You already- oh God, fuck- you already have one."
He laughs loud and thrusts into you harder. Instantly you release, the ropes holding your stomach snapping. You come with a high pitched squeal of his name. You hear your wetness before you can feel it, a squelching noise resonating with each drive into your sopping cunt.
"Oh fuck, sweet thing, you squirted. Soaked me. You're- perfect" he groans. You keen at the praise.
Getting on his knees he pulls you bodily into him, slamming into you harder, hands digging at the flesh of your hips. You've never felt so full in your life, his cock piercing nudging your g spot with each thrust.
Eddie's grunting with effort, hair completely loose now, wild around his shoulders. Your fingernails bite into his flexing muscles leaving crescent moons in their wake.
"Shit, sweet thing, oh fuck."
Eddie pushes himself forcefully back on top of you, folding you in half, knees pressed against your stomach.
"Oh Eddie!" It's just so overwhelming. You're full to the brim with him, satisfaction coating your insides, eyelids coated with emotion. Tears spring out the corners of your eyes, running down your temples. You're trembling, inundated with emotion and sensation.
"Hey, hey, you ok?" He slows.
"Yes fuck please Eddie don't fucking stop!"
Grinning wickedly he thrusts into you without restraint, slamming his hip bones into the flesh of your thighs, cock breaching you like nothing ever before.
Clamping down around him, your third orgasm is an ocean; wave after wave of sinful pleasure washing over the very fabric of your being, stripping you back to your bare components and leaving you breathless, sweating, and as exposed as a raw nerve. You babble, and cry, and whine his name, eyes tight shut, utterly taken by the moment.
Eddie's plunges into you start to falter. Feeling him twitching, becoming impossibly harder inside you he comes, spilling his seed deep into your cunt. The warm, rushing feeling just expands the length of your own release, waves finally ebbing and retreating.
Eddie pulls out from you, leaving you feeling emptier than ever before. He lies on his side next to you, thumb approaching to rub a stray tear from your cheek. You're both perspiring; glowing forms gasping for air.
Finally catching some semblance of breath, he strokes your cheek again, wide grin dissipating on his face.
"You ok pretty girl?"
"Yeah you could say that." You huffed a laugh, still trying to focus on how he'd made you feel.
"But you cried?" Its a question, but he looks concerned, hands attempting to comfort you.
"It was just, so much. Too good, you know." Taking in his smirk you say "don't you let that go to your head!"
"Bit fuckin' late for that" he laughs. "C'mere."
He gathers you up in his strong arms, holding you close, and kisses you on the forehead. The affection honestly takes you by surprise, expecting him to have bolted by this point, having got what he wanted.
"Can I level with you?"
Oh shit here we go.
"I've wanted to do that since you moved in." He grins at you.
"Oh, really?" You look up at him, surprised that he'd been feeling the same as you. "Well, same. You're really hot."
He laughs and strokes your back.
"You working tomorrow?"
"No, why? Are you?"
"No. I wanna take you out somewhere, if you want." He almost looks embarrassed. Almost.
"Are you asking me out on a date Mr Munson?" You smirk at him in disbelief.
"I mean, yeah, if you wanna. Unless you just wanted this to be a one time thing, I get it, I can just leave." There's a quaver to his voice. A weakness your not used to hearing.
You stare up at him. Cocky, confident Eddie Munson, was about as unsure as you were. You giggle.
"I'd love to go on a date with you." Smiling, you attempt to hide it into his inked chest.
"So, wanna take a shower?"
"Well" you say, leaning up on your elbow, "we could. Or..."
"Or what, sweet thing?" He rubs your arm, furrowing his brow.
"Or, we could do that again."
Tag list (please reblog this fic if you want to stay in the tags ILY ❤)
@angelsarecallin @cutiecusp @pxrxcxa @spencerinmydrawls @munsquinns @sillypurplemurple @tiannamortis @walleloveseve @sinczir @biblichornerd @frogers @lauraasiain @madiisixx @leftdonkeygothgoop-blog @rafestarkeysblog @kittykatvenom @southside-serpent-bae @psychedelicsandsunsalutations @biblichornerd @angelina16torres-blog @ocean-of-rage @kirksslut @venisvendetta @pretty-vulture @munsonology @miss-nothing29 @lady-jane3 @eddiemunsonwife222 @reidslittlegenius213 @sombodynotimportant @mystars123 @bloodsuccaaa @rabbitsf00t @scrumplump @crazylove-69 @wonderfulw0rldx @ifiwereazombie @spencerinmydrawls @athenamunson1 @soggycinnamonroll @skunknuts-wine @residentdreamy @ab05 @janaedaze @midmare2000 @pollenallergie @spiderlily02 @eddiemunsonsbedroom @gumballsglassofmilk @gnomesboi3002 @kiwi-bitchez @mangodrgnfruit @skinij3fx @6charly66 @50shadesofuncomfortable @fvckpretty @the-fairy-anon @spooks97 @figsfigsfigs @cutiecusp @cherrychilli @devilinthepalemoonlite @magnificantmermaid @chickpeadumpsterfire @lightvixxen @eddiemunsonfuxks @corrodedhawkins @munson-blurbs @indouloureux @eddiemunsonsheart @eddiesprincess86
#eddie munson#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson fan fic#eddie munson fan#eddie munson smut#eddie smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie fluff#eddie x you#eddie munson x you#ms gexy writes#eddie x reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie imagines#eddie imagine#eddie munson au#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson angst#eddie my beloved#eddie my baby#older!eddie#tattoo artist eddie munson#tattoo!au#tattoo artist!eddie#younger reader#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x y/n#eddie x younger reader#stranger things smut#stranger things fan fic
13K notes
·
View notes
Note
I just finished reading Flowers in November, it was amazing!! These were some of my fav parts
Part 1: "Thank you for doin' this," he says, after a while, "I don't think anyone's ever actually..."
Rhett thanking the reader for helping him with his wound and saying no one’s ever done that for him before even though he gets hurt often was heartbreaking.
It was really sweet that Rhett stepped to the side when him and Royal start yelling so that it was led away from the reader.
Rhett reorganizing the house when he’s drunk is so cute!
I love the details that emphasize it’s a different world!(Cows with gold horns, circle pizzas, “mash two potatoes with one fork”).
“That’s it, he coos, voice vibrating against your swollen clit, “pull on my hair while I eat this perfect little pussy of yours.”
"R-Rhett—" struggling to formulate words, "'m close."
"I know," grinning, he doesn't stop what he's doing, loudly slurping at your cunt, "come on, darlin', cum on my tongue for me."
The dirty talk had me sweating 😅
I love that they were both nervous that the hole was gonna open up and it’d be the last time they see each other.
“Someone’s been in here.”
Behind you, Rhett stiffens, gently taking hold of your waist and pulling you back onto the porch. Eyes wide, flickering between you and the wide open door, "what do you mean?" I love that rhett is so protective even though he just met the reader
Part 2
I love how grateful rhett is and that he always compliments the readers cooking even in the beginning when it doesn’t taste too good lol.
rhett comforting reader when they’re crying after they have a dream about their mom was too sweet! 🥹
Also rhett trying to put a bow on nyx was so adorable.
"I don't...nobody's ever...done anything like this for me before." That part was really sad and made me want to kiss him all over his face 😭
It made me happy that the Reader started bringing breakfast to him once or twice a week. And the one time she fed it to him made my heart melt!
So did them splitting the pieces of bacon, something about sharing food is so intimate!
It broke my heart when rhett got jumped by the tillersons (especially since it was Perry’s fault) but I’m glad reader helped take care of him and he’s healing now. It brought tears to my eyes when it mentioned how he spooks easier now.
(1/2)
Oh my goodness, thank you SO much for this 😭💐haha, I didn't think folks even read the old Flowers In November series any more! It was so cool to see all of your thoughts and favorite lines, Rhett's little protective streak, the cooking, the mundane comforts of being around him, the stuffed animal, Nyx the kelpie. I can't believe I forgot about all of this 🥹
It took me forever to figure out how to format this 😔✌ but I've tucked the other half of your ask underneath the 'Keep reading' button!
Part 3
‘A sharp, earsplitting crack rings out, a heavy, elephant-sized fist hitting the ground.’
"It's okay, it's okay," you don't realize you've jumped until Rhett's pulling you down from it, bringing you impossibly closer, "I've got you, baby."
Rhett comforting the reader and holding them close before they were even officially together was just *chef’s kiss* 😚
Rhett punching perry for disrespecting the reader was so sexy
Hearing the backstory of perry and Rebecca damn perry is fr a villain
"You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me," and when he says your name at the end of the sentence, it sounds like a melody. "Y'know that?"
‘Through the conflict of your heart, split between worlds, you find yourself in silent agreement.’
‘Cupping his cheeks, you squish them together, wrenching an amused chuckle from him, "sometimes, I don't believe you're real."
This part is so soft and sweet it has me so 🥰
"This what you wanted?" His deep voice rumbles against your scalp, rattling around your skull. Why does something so simple turn me on so much?’
Feeling him speaking against my head would fix me
"Fuck," leaning down, he presses a kiss to your upper chest, just above your cleavage, "fuck, you're beautiful."
"Has anyone told you how perfect you are?"
"Could fuckin' die happy between these pretty legs of yours," speaking directly into your wetness, vibrating deliciously up your core, "y'know how long I've thought 'bout this?"
"You like my finger, darlin'?" Adding another finger to join the first, working you, "God, you're takin' them so well for me."
The dirty talk along with Rhett’s arms trembling when he first slides into the reader had me foaming at the mouth 🤤
"Like a fuckin' daydream on top of me," he says against your lips, "y'know that?" The way he looks up at you tells you that he means every word. Smitten.’ Please rhett saying all these sweet things is a NEED not a want
"Stretchin' for me so well, darlin'," the squelch of your wetness is filthy, "god damn, your hot little cunt is so wet."
"Sweetie, please," pleading around a shaky breath, "want—wanna cum."
"Baby, baby," those eyes barely open, breath hitching, "feels good. Fuck, it feels good."
"You're so sensitive," cooing as you feel his thighs tremble beneath you, "you gonna cum in me, sweet boy?"
Rhett’s eyes crossing when he came cause it felt so good has forever changed me, I will be thinking about it several times a day for the rest of my life 🥵
Part 4
"Is this your stuffed animal?" You ask when he steps into the room.’
Rhett grins at the sight of the old thing, "yeah, that's Toast."
The name fits the little guy perfectly. A light brown body with dark brown feet and a spot on his left eye. Visibly loved, its fur matted and missing in places.’
"I almost feel bad for defiling his home like we did," every time you look at this little twin bed, you remember that night, especially what happened the morning after.’
‘There's no need for you to look to know that Rhett's cheeks are heating up; you can feel it radiating off of him in waves. Arms wind around your waist, burying his hot face into the back of your neck.’
I always love a fic where rhett blushes, he’s just a cute, bashful cowboy ☺️
And it’s so precious to think about little rhett sleeping with a stuffie when he was younger and getting so attached to it that he keeps it 🥹🥰
Him turning toast around when he gets a blowjob, he is too cute for words to describe!
‘Here he is. Your big cowboy whimpering into his own palm as you suck him off in his childhood bedroom. Helpless to do nothing but take it.’
Him going from just previously being shy about the night you had sex in his twin-size bed to covering his mouth with his palm to prevent moaning like a little slut had me dizzy and panting 😮💨😵💫
I loved how rhett made the reader breakfast even though he’s not the best cook. It melted my heart!
"I can't imagine a day in my life without you," his voice breaks, gradually becoming watery, "and I promise you that as long as my heart's still beatin', I'm gonna be there." With every word, he shakes a little harder, trembling just like your quivering heart is.’
Pushing your noses together, those final words tumble off his tongue, "I love you," breath hitching, "and ain't nothin' in this world can get between that."
That was one of my fave parts and it just made what happened next all the more heartbreaking
"Please don't let go of me," quivering like a leaf, you squeeze as close to Rhett as possible.
"'m not gonna let you go," he promises, stepping further down the fence line, away from the hole, "I promise, baby, you're not goin' anywhere."
Please that part was so sweet and heartbreaking. It had me tearing up. It was also so intense and I love that not only rhett tried to save the reader but how Nyx tried to save the reader too and I’m glad that Nyx got to go with the reader and that the reader didn’t have to go into her old world all alone
"You found your necklace," you mutter, turning it around to sit correctly on his neck.’
"I'm glad you weren't there to see me ballin' my damn eyes out over it," but that watery grin tells you that you may witness it anyhow.’
A tear escapes; is quickly wiped away by your ring finger. He catches the glint of the stones in the light, grins, and presses a kiss to it when he finds the chance.’
"I hope you didn't find that stack of letters," you never did finish them, did you?’
"I read every single one," and then Rhett curls his hands around your cheeks, guiding you down to press your foreheads and noses together, "I love you too."
Thinking about rhett finding the necklace and letters and crying just broke my heart but I loved it at the same time!! It was one of the parts that tugged most at my heartstrings!
I love that rhett took toast with him! He’s so adorable!
Them going to go get a bag of concrete mix to cover up the purple flower at the end was so smart!
The epilogue was so funny and cute! I’m so glad they got a happy ending! And were able to play pizza box frisbee together lol 😂
It was such a fantastic series!! 🩷🩷🩷
8 notes
·
View notes
Note
How about ☔️ ? As for the f/o, I leave the choice entirely to you :3
☔ — f/o and s/i got caught in the rain... write about how they handle it! did either of them bring an umbrella?
I’ve had some serious Mandy brainrot today, so I went with her for this! Also the snippet got away from me schwoopsieeeeeee lmao. No real content warnings here aside from a couple suggestive lines. For the most part it’s just cutesy fluffy stuff!! :3
I tapped a fingernail against the glass, breath leaving a puff of condensation from just how damn cold it was outside. “I don’t think this is gonna let up anytime soon,” I admitted. We’d already waited at the diner for a half hour longer than we’d intended. The rain had only gotten more intense, pounding against the window as if determined to force its way inside.
Amanda made a noncommittal sound of agreement. She looked tiny on the other side of the table, as if the faded red vinyl of the booth was going to swallow her up. But she looked at ease with that idea. At ease just sitting here, drinking endless amounts of coffee and talking about nothing. Talking about everything. As if the world didn’t exist outside the preciously unremarkable 24 hour diner.
As much as I wanted to wring Jigsaw’s neck for what he’d done to me – to us – I had to admit. I did appreciate the little things so much more now.
“We can’t just stay here all night.”
“Why not?” Mandy asked, propping a fist against her cheek and fixing me with a wide-eyed, almost pleading look. But she had on a soft smile. Fuck, I wished I could capture the image of her smile in my brain forever.
“You can’t expect me to sleep in these booths. Who knows the last time they got cleaned with more than a wet cloth.” I said it jokingly, but the idea of passing out here did have me repressing a shudder. It’s not like a Jigsaw trap could solve my goddamn germaphobia.
She glanced out the window and sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
She sounded so reluctant, it took everything in me not to capture her hands and say, If I could spend the rest of my goddamn life with you trapped in a mediocre diner just to see you smile and laugh and never worry again, I would. I wish I could. I want to. But that wasn’t the reality we lived in, the reality of long work days and paying rent and the hell of our own minds and the quiet nights with too few hours.
I shrugged with an apologetic smile. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Amanda met my gaze. “Yeah,” she said softly. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Because there had to be. For us, there had to be a tomorrow. We'd fought and maimed and killed to live to see that tomorrow.
We split the bill, Amanda tipping back the last bitter dregs of her coffee and me tipping back the last heart-destroyingly sweet dregs of mine, then threw on our coats and huddled by the door. Neither of our coats were waterproof. Neither of us had brought an umbrella; neither of us even owned an umbrella. The fucking forecast had said it wasn’t going to rain till past midnight, but the fucking forecast had been wrong.
“On three,” Amanda whispered.
“This is gonna suck,” I whispered back. “It’s gonna be cold as fuck.”
“I can warm you up afterwards.” Amanda gave me a pointed look. I couldn’t help the stupidass snort that escaped me. “Okay. One…. Two…..”
“This is gonna suck so bad.”
“….Three!”
She shoved the door open and bolted. I was right behind her. The coats did absolutely fuckall. I was soaked and shivering in seconds, teeth chattering so hard I could practically feel my skull vibrating. I was right. This sucked ass. But at least there weren’t that many other people out because of it. We raced down the sidewalk, barreling through the puddles in our wake and not stopping once, because if either of us stopped it would be even worse starting again.
It felt like it took fucking forever to get back to my tiny apartment, and I was trembling so hard it fucking hurt, but we made it. I yanked off my boots, peeled off my drenched socks, and hurled my equally-soaked coat onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Holy FUCK it’s cold.”
Amanda was on me in an instant. She was soaked too, her coat shed alongside mine and her hair plastered to the sides of her face. She looked like she’d been thrown into a washing machine. But she was standing on her tiptoes and had her arms thrown around my neck and was pressing kisses to my face and I couldn't ignore the sheer delight that made me feel.
“I said I’d warm you up,” she said slyly.
….She did say that, didn’t she? Well, who the hell was I to say no to that offer?
#heehee this was so self-indulgent. giggling and kicking my feet about it tbh#ace writes#🐽💚#🃏🫀#friend montana <3#ask game
5 notes
·
View notes
Note
And hoot again :D
Yeah, you’re very right (both with so quickly depending on it being overwhelming and with it showing how much I needed it)
The trip to therapy went quite well! The bus wasn‘t overly full on both ways, so I could sit down which was really good. I‘m still nervous for the first time that I’ll sit down on the floor if all seats are taken (it would be safer and better for me, but before I was always too scared to do that. Now that I have a cane that makes it sort of visible that I have trouble walking/standing, I want to try to do it).
I have suspected that I have hypermobile joints for a while (the problem is that I’m not in enough pain to really struggle so much that it would really be worth seeing a doctor for, but I’ll mention it when I got my next appointment). Part of the problem is my bad memory, because due to that I honestly can‘t even remember if I’m in pain (I know stuff constantly and quickly starts hurting but that’s probably normal in most cases and I also have a really high pain tolerance).
My body can do things it‘s apparently not supposed to do though
But I feel it with the cane, cause my wrist always sort of wobbles cause it’s really not stable. So I tried applying tape today, but only went to the very near grocery store that takes like a minute to walk to. So I don’t really know how much it has helped yet regarding walking with the cane. I do feel more comfortable though, and I think it‘s also helping me with writing and drawing
(On the video I watched the guy explained what the hypermobile thing in that hand he was showing it on is exactly, what it would look like if it wasn‘t hypermobile and what the tape is gonna do. And my thumb has the exact position that is a result of the joint being hypermobile (so like my suspicion doesn’t seem to be too wrong)
Since noon I had a really really bad headache that felt like my skull was split open and my brain crushed. So really not nice. I took 1,5 ibuprofen and later one paracetamol but nothing helped.
Then I tested myself cause I remembered that the only time I had such a bad headache was when I had COVID and boom! Positive
So yeah. I‘ll stay in bed tomorrow (and my head hurts so fucking much. I hate it)
I‘ll send you pics when the order gets here if you want! :D
But two pairs of Doc Martens sounds very nice!
A really sweet and funny story:
A friend of mine asked me to explain Ghost (as in, explain everything).
Three days ago I sent a video of like a few clips of Jutty, one of which being this clip in which he is like “unfollowing is bullying“ and “wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨“
And since then, we‘ve constantly been sending “wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨” back and forth (then we started to send the clip as a only one time viewable video so it wouldn’t be visible beforehand).
Today, I cut off the beginning of an edit and put that clip behind that to hide it and sent it to them. They have also hidden it in a poll on WhatsApp already
It turned into a game and we can‘t stop laughing about it because it‘s so fucking silly xD (it‘s practically like Rick-rolling)
wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨
(You just got wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨-ed. You‘re welcome xD)
~ @owlishanon
I'm glad it's still going well! It's good that it gives you so much peace of mind and that you feel confident doing what you need to do now without worrying that something awful is going to happen. But I'm so sorry that you have COVID! It's rotten. I hope you get lots of rest and your headache doesn't last too long. Sleep and drink lots of water! You can definitely send me pictures of the stuff you get when it comes in! I always love to see people's hauls! I am very excited about my docs. I paid $140 for both pairs, which is like half of one what one of them costs brand new. I feel VERY lucky about it. One pair is rusty orange suede, they're short boots. Great for every day. The other are standard black knee highs which have been my dream boots since, like, forever (I've owed many, many pairs of knee high lace-up boots, but none of them were Docs). The wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨 thing has me giggling. Thank you for that. What a great joke to have with your friends, seriously. Fucking Jutty. He kills me in the best ways.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
When I do or say something in excitement or jus… normally. I literally freak tf out of my skull, like afterwards cuz I feel like I did some awkward assed shit, some kind of crap that is soo wrong . And I have to be like it’s oky… right?? ^^;;
But then in my head, it’s always as if it isn’t & den & den.. I’m like okyyy~ ^^ next time I’ll jus shut the fuck up! becuz this is so embarrassingly (insert ableist word). ;D hahahahahajajaj!! 🤡🤡✨✨✨
Like do u even know how fucked that is? Lol . Urgh. -3- I wanna go live on another planet, so that I don’t have to embarrass myself cuz every single day now, since like idk how long now…
It’s as if I can’t communicate with the outside world, the human beings. Cuz I feel like I did some shit wrong, and I know that’s stemming from heavily telling ppl to keep on reminding me if I said something.
IF I fucking hurt u then lemme FUCKEN KNOW. Stop letting it slide, becuz now I get anxious n scared. I even have to go BACKK, & check up on wtf I said cuz I’m like writing sum thing then a few seconds later after I leave it, the places where I wrote shit up……
It’s like. I don’t even remember wtf I . I like don’t even recall whatever I said or done n then I get soo fucken anxious . Then if I do read it n makes senses…
I have this fear of being .. idk how to word it without quite literally discriminating me. Lolololo, I really do hate myself sooo much. But ik it’s jus mi fears n past things that has jus become. More aware of?
It’s like basically being on full on higher alerts n never EVERR backing back downnnn, like alll the wayyy downnnn on myself n my things hat I do be doing.
This “sometimes to most” times, makes me wanna crack split open my skull in half lol… ^^; or prompts me to become soo suicidal . I guess it’s a spiral?? 😒 is that wtf dis shit is?? Lol . Okys.. I guess!! ^^ 🙃🤷🏻♀️
0 notes
Text
SMITTEN || TASM SERIAL KILLER/STALKER AU
APRIL IS FOR AU’S EVENT | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | EPILOGUE
WARNINGS: (All the warnings from Part One apply to this entire series. Read them HERE)
Chapter Two Warnings: non con/reluctance, detailed smut, sleeping/unconscious touching, use of drugs to subdue a woman, mention of a needle, nude photographing without consent, talks and mentions of abusive relationship, mentions of blood, general creepy and awfulness
Chapter Two
Her eyes shot open to stare at a concrete ceiling.
Her thoughts felt sluggish like she was trying to find her way through a thick fog. Her skull felt as if it was being split in half and the headache plaguing her brain made her feel nauseous. It was difficult to think straight through the pain. She brought a hand up to her eyes and gently rubbed them with a soft moan. Slowly, took in more of her surroundings.
This was a place she had never been before. It looked like an older woman’s bedroom but something was off. Perhaps it was the void of any windows that gave her an uneasy feeling. Carefully, she struggled into a sitting position. A wave of nausea washed over her at the motion but she did her best to breathe through it. A young man was sitting in the corner of the room in a soft pink arm chair. He was asleep and breathing quietly. A lock of dark hair brushed against his forehead into a loose curl. He looked familiar. It took a second to remember.
Peter. Her neighbor.
“Hello?” Her voice came out scratchy and dry. For the first time since waking up, she realized how thirsty she was. A glass of water sat at her bedside table. She lunged for it and gulped it down. As she drank, she heard the man stir.
“You’re awake.” His voice was soft and calming.
She finished the glass and stared back at him, “Where am I? What happened?”
Peter frowned and sat up a little straighter, “You don’t remember?”
She shook her head, immediately wincing and regretting moving her head like that, and opted for a shrug instead, “No. Was I in an accident? This doesn’t look like a hospital.”
The man kept a respectful distance, never moving from his spot on his chair, but kept his worried eyes locked onto her face. “You really don’t remember?” He pointed to her forehead and she reached out to touch a wad of gauze secured to her head. “You were screaming at my door in the middle of the night. You were covered in blood and crying. The second I opened the door, you practically forced your way instead. You kept saying that he was going to kill you. There was blood everywhere. You told me that Jake was going to finally murder you and you needed some place to hide. You begged me not to call the cops. You said they would just send you back to him. You were sobbing and bleeding so much. You made me promise not to bring you to the hospital. Then you collapsed in my arms. I wasn’t sure what to do. I carried you into my spare bedroom, cleaned you up the best I could, and have been waiting for you to wake up. If you hadn’t woken up by midday, I was going to call an ambulance anyway.”
His words rang no memory for her. She couldn’t remember any of that, “No…no that’s not right. Jake wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t hurt me.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.
Peter licked his lips and gave her a sympathetic look, “You said he was angry because you hit him. Something about not wanting have sex with him. You said he called you an ungrateful bitch and a filthy whore. You told me he had finally snapped. That he finally had enough. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more but that was all you gave me last night. I’ve been worried sick waiting for you to wake up. I was hoping you would be able to fill in the rest. You begged me so hard to not call anyone. I was afraid what might happen to you if I did.”
A glimmer of memory flashed behind her eyes now. She remembered hearing those words as Jake spat them out at her. She remembered how he tried to fuck her ass in the car. He refused to use lube or warm her up. He liked to hear her scream at the pain. He liked to watch her in pain. She remembered how she had enough. She had slapped him and ran out of the car. He dragged her back in, told her she would pay for that back at home, and sped far too fast the whole way home. She remembered how scared she had been to go back inside their house. Once those doors closed, who knew what would happen to her. That’s where her memory got foggy. Was it really that far of a stretch to think Jake was capable of something like that?
She tenderly touched the bandage on her head and looked down at the blood splattered over her shirt. Peter’s story was starting to sound more realistic by the second. Her breath caught in her throat. What was she going to do? She always knew Jake would finally snap some day. The past few months had been building up to it. He was getting worse with his aggression. But she had nowhere to go. Jake had made sure of that. She had no family to speak of. Her friend’s had long since been isolated from her life. The only company she kept was Jake and his buddies. They were all cops. Jake’s father was head of the police. Whenever they were called to a domestic dispute before, they had always sided with him, brushed it under the rug. That’s why they had moved from their old neighborhood. The neighbors could hear the fighting every night. They kept calling the police. It only made Jake worse. She had no money to her name. She didn’t work. Everything she needed relied on Jake and his funds. He had threatened her with murder so many times in the past. He used to taunt her that he knew how to hide a body. That he knew how to get away with it. That no one would ever miss her.
And he was right.
No one would ever miss her. All Jake had to do was say she’d left him and moved away. No one would ever be the wiser. She was entirely alone with nowhere else to go.
Her bottom lip quivered and tears blurred her vision, “He’s going to kill me! I have nowhere to go. You can’t call the police.” She begged Peter. “Please, please. You have to understand. If they know where I am, they will tell Jake. He’ll find me. He’ll kill me. Oh god…what am I going to do?” Sobs racked through her chest and she wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I have no one! I’m trapped.”
Peter finally stood up from his chair. He quietly crossed the room towards her and sat down on the bed beside her. He gently rested an arm around her shoulders, waiting to see if she’d shrug him off her not. When she crumpled into him instead, he wrapped her up in a hug.
“Shh,” he shushed her. “It’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let him hurt you. You’re safe here. He doesn’t know that you’re here. No one does. Just you and me. You’re not trapped and you’re not alone. You have me. I can help you. We’ll find some place for you to stay.”
She cried quietly into his chest while he ran his hands down her back in a soothing motion, “Would you let me stay here? Please. I promise I won’t take up much room. I can be a good house guest. I’ll cook and clean for you if you want. I’ll stay out of your way. Please. I can’t go out there. Not yet. He’ll find me. I know he will.” This might be the only chance that she had. She had no other options. If Jake had finally snapped then this was what she would have to do to survive.
Peter was her only hope.
With her head tucked into the safety of his chest, she couldn’t see the dark smile that flashed across his lips before it was quickly hidden by a look of concern, “Of course you can. I’ll let you stay as long as you need.”
That had gone easier than he expected. It seemed her head injury was a good enough excuse to make up for her lack of memory. His story was convincing enough from everything he had witnessed between them. It didn’t take much to fill in the blanks. Clearly an abusive, unstable relationship. It wasn’t rocket science to fabricate the rest. He played his part well. Pretended to be asleep while she woke up, stayed his distance while he acted worried and concerned for her, and finally inched his way closer until she was willingly crying in his arms.
Just like that, he had planted the seed. He crafted his words carefully enough that she took the bait. He made her think it was her own idea to stay there locked away in the basement. After all, this room would be the safest place for her. There were no windows for evil boyfriend’s to spy through. She was out of sight. Hidden away in safety. And he had made her think it was all her idea.
Peter hummed a happy tune to himself while he pulled his truck back into his driveway. A takeaway bag from her favorite local Mexican restaurant was placed in his passenger seat. After a little prodding, he had convinced her that it would be okay to go retrieve dinner. She was starving and in need of food. He let her pick where he went. Nothing screamed trust more than bringing one their favorite meal. While he was out, he leant her some of his clothes and urged her to take a shower during his absence. She would feel better once the filth of the past night was cleansed from her body.
As he was getting out of his vehicle, he heard someone shout at the end of his driveway. Peter tucked the bag of food under his arms and turned to face a disheveled looking Jake. His hung limply on his forehead having lost the usual bounce to it, his eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and he looked as if he had been crying for the past few hours.
“Hey, sorry to bother you, but can I ask you something?” He stayed hovering at the end of the driveway.
Peter gave a nonchalant shrug, “Sure. What can I do for you, Jake?” He no longer felt the pressing rage when he looked at him. Now Peter was the one in charge. He had exactly what he wanted. Any previous feelings of resentment towards Jake disappeared. She was no longer his. She belonged to Peter.
“It’s just…I haven’t seen Mia since last night. You didn’t happen to see her, have you? She left her phone in the house. I don’t know why she would leave without it.” His voice wavered as he spoke like he was trying to hold back tears. “I really need to get her back.”
It took everything in him to refrain from giving the other man a smug smile. He kept his face neutral. “Oh, yeah. I saw her early this morning when I was bringing my barrels out. She was getting into a cab. She had a bag with her. I asked if she was going on a trip. She mentioned something about going away for a while. She didn’t really say much. It looked like she had a nasty cut on her head. Is she alright?”
Jake gave a sharp inhale, “Getting into a cab?” He ran a hand over his face. “Thanks, man. I gotta go. Sorry for bothering you.”
Peter watched in triumph as he scurried back to his house. A sinister smile spread over his face and he continued his joyful humming as he turned back into his house. His darling was waiting for him. She was hungry. He didn’t want to keep her waiting.
“This was delicious. Thank you, Peter.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin and leaned back on the bed.
“If you’re going to stay down here, I think I better set up a table and some chairs for us to have some place to eat. I don’t think it’s safe for you to go upstairs yet. Too many windows.” Peter mimicked her actions and also wiped his face before leaning back in the arm chair. He was doing a good job of keeping his distance from her. It took everything he had him to not jump on her. He wanted her so badly but he knew this wasn’t the way he was supposed to do it. He kept his cool the best he could. “I saw Jake outside.”
She froze. Her body tensed. “You did?” Her breath caught in her throat. “Did he say anything to you?”
Peter put on a face of worry, “Yeah…he wasn’t happy. I didn’t want to tell you until after you ate. I didn’t want to ruin your meal. He was asking about you. Well, screaming is more like it. Looked like he was in a drunken rage. He kept muttering something about how sorry you were going to be when he finally gets his hands on you. He asked if I’d seen you.”
Her eyes filled with fear, “What did you say?”
He gave her a soothing smile, “I told him I hadn’t seen you. Obviously. You really think I give you away that easily? I told you. You’re safe here.”
She let out a sigh of relief and settled back against the headboard, “You know, my mother used to cook me chicken tortilla soup whenever I had a bad day. She took the recipe with her to the grave. I tried to replicate it but never could get it right. I tried so many different Mexican restaurants to find one that tasted even remotely similar to hers. This one was the first place I found that was close enough.” She nodded to the logo on the take away bag and gave a sad laugh. “The first time I tried it, I cried because it made me think of my mother.” She swallowed and closed her eyes with a sigh. “Jake hated Mexican food though. He never let us order it. I could only get it when he was off on his camping trips.” She shook her head, her eyes opening to show tears glistening in them. “What am I going to do? I’m trapped! I have nothing.”
Peter’s jaw tightened, “You’re not trapped!” It came out harsher than he intended and he quickly put a smile onto his face to cover up his annoyance. He was sick of her talking about Jake. “What I meant to say is, you’re safe here. I told you. You can stay as long as you need. I’ll keep an eye on Jake. I’ll watch him and let you know when things have calmed down. Then we can work together to find a solution to your problem. You don’t have nothing. You have me.”
She gave him a grateful smile which was followed by a loud yawn. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, “Oh, gosh. Sorry. I suddenly feel very tired.” She scooted her way down the bed, her eyes starting to droop. Her body rested over the covers, an arm draped over her eyes, and her lips parted with quiet breaths. “I don’t know why I feel so drowsy. I’m so sorry. It…it must…be the…stress…” She muttered as her eyes slipped close.
Yes, the stress. Not the crushed up sleeping pills Peter had slipped into in her soup. Having her in his house was becoming too much. She was too close and he still wasn’t allowed to touch her. It was obvious she wasn’t ready for him in her conscious state. Not yet. That would take time and planning. It would be something they would enjoy together. But, much like his obsessive urges to kill, Peter needed to be satisfied and he needed her body to do it. He was sure she wouldn’t mind. If the roles were reversed, he would gladly give up his body for her to pleasure herself with. This should be no different. She’d be asleep. She’d be none the wiser. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.
She had rolled onto her side, making quiet noises as she snuggled her face into the pillow. Peter stood up and crossed the room to her. He called out her name and gave her shoulder a shake. She responded with a muffled moan but didn’t move otherwise.
He leaned over her sleeping form and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be right back. You wait here, my sleeping princess.”
He jogged out of the room and dashed up the basement stairs two at a time. Barging into his bedroom, he grabbed his polaroid camera, double checking to make sure there was still film inside then ran back down to her. His heart was leaping out his chest with excitement. It was finally time. He would finally get to explore her. Those agonizing nights forcing himself to dream about what it might feel like had all led up to this moment. This was it.
Peter carefully crawled into bed behind her. She didn’t stir once which gave him the confidence he needed to wrap his arm around her waist and bury his face into the back of her head. Her curls brushed across his cheek and tickled his skin. They held the lingering smell of Aunt May’s favorite shampoo. When he had created the room for May, he had made sure to fill it with her favorite products as well. It must have been what she used when she showered earlier. The smell brought May’s memories to the forefront of his brain. She was the only woman he had ever loved beside the one he currently had cradled in his arms. Her death happened too soon. Peter hadn’t been prepared for it. She had cared for him his whole life. Even when he was a troubled child, she never blamed him for the way he acted. She protected him from the world. She kept him safe. Loved. The night she died was the night he made his first kill. Without her in the world, there was nothing left to hold him back. Smelling her again brought back a wave of new emotions he thought he had long forgotten how to feel. Tears burned in his eyes. He closed them and inhaled deeply, filling his body with the scent of his sweet Aunt May.
As he let his senses wash over him, his hand slid up inside of her shirt. It was an old band shirt of his he had given her to change into after her shower. The tips of his fingers grazed along her stomach. He could feel goosebumps spring up along her skin in wake of his soft touch. He imagined what she would look like fully naked and splayed out of the bed. A goddess. She would be his new protector from the evils of the world just like his Aunt May had been. She would love him and care for him. In return, he would give her anything she wanted. He would promise to please her until the day he died. She would be his and he would be hers. Forever.
Peter allowed his hand to travel further up until he placed it directly over her bare breast and gasped. She must have opted not to put her bra back on after her shower. They were small enough that his hand easily dwarfed them in his grasp. He felt her nipple raise against the center of his palm as a welcome to the new touch. His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the feeling. Her mind might be asleep but her body was waking up for him. Slowly, he began a gentle kneading of the flesh, taking his time so as not to disturb her too much. He figured she'd stay sleeping with the drugs but he still wanted to keep her comfortable. He brushed her curls out of the way so he could press his needy lips to the side of her neck. He inhaled her own scent mixing with that of May’s, trailing his tongue over the flesh, and nibbling at her smooth skin.
He pinched her hardened nipple between her index and middle finger, brushing fast strokes over the tip. A heavy sigh exhaled through her lips. Her sleeping body turned into his touch and a smile grew over Peter’s face.
“Look at you,” he whispered. “Perfect.”
He kept at his careful manipulation of her breast, simply allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of finally having her flesh in his hands. Every so soften, a quiet moan would peep out of her and Peter would feel a rush of pride. Even in her sleep she craved him. It shouldn’t take long for her to realize who her real love was. She would be melting into his arms soon enough without the use of drugs. Once he was able to prove to her how much he adored her, she wouldn’t be able to resist.
He wondered if his manipulations on her chest had any other effects on her body. From the way she was breathing, it made him think he might be doing more than fulfilling himself. Peter was still learning her body. Overtime, he would learn exactly what made her scream in pleasure. If her nipples were this sensitive during sleep, he couldn’t wait to devour them when she was conscious. Imagine the noises she would make...
His hands slid down her stomach and under the waistband of her leggings. His first venture into her depths. He was desperate to see if he was successful in her pleasures. Heat was radiating from her core. Peter had to grip onto her thigh to pull her legs further apart for better access. The second he had available room, his hand slipped through and cupped over her wet core. He was rewarded with the slick feeling of her fluid pooling between her legs.
“This wet already?” He murmured in her ear. “Such a good girl. Not even awake and you already want me.”
His heart fluttered as he collected as much of her slick onto his finger as he could. He carefully pulled his hand out from under her waistband and held his glistening digit up to the light, admiring how it reflected off the wetness. It reminded him of how much he enjoyed the feeling of warm blood covering his skin. He brought his finger down to his face and held it under his nose, sniffing the precious nectar. His eyes rolled into the back of his head once more as he was filled with her scent.
“Oh, fuck, baby,” he breathed. “You smell so good.”
He placed his finger inside of his mouth and slowly licked her from his hand. If it were possible, she tasted even better than she smelled. How had he been missing out on this little taste of heaven for this long? She had been living next door this entire time and he had been so blind. He needed more.
Peter untangled himself from around her and rolled over her instead. He slowly peeled the tight leggings, along with her underwear, down her thighs and off her legs. He was so desperate for more of her. Gently, he gripped her ankles, bending her legs towards her then slowly pushing them to the side as if he was revealing a cherished present.
“Wow,” his words were no more than a fleeting whisper. He had never seen anything so precious in his life.
He settled onto his stomach between her legs. His fingers parted the entrance to her glistening vagina. His neck arched forward until his mouth was hovering over her entrance. Tenderly, his tongue extended out to take his first taste directly from this beauty. He licked the length of her once then delved deeper into her hole. He moaned as he lapped her juices into his craving mouth. He latched onto her, working her with his tongue, tasting her, loving her, enjoying what she had to offer him. His entire body shivered with excitement. Never in his life had he experienced pleasure as divine as this. In her sleep, she’d let out occasional quiet moans and whimpers. Her hips would twitch or she’d move her head to the side. Small, tiny movements to let him know somewhere deep inside her mind she was enjoying this as much as he was. He ate her out until his jaw began to ache. It was only then he unlatched himself from between her thighs.
Peter scooted up to rest on his knees between her legs. He fished his dick from his pants, reaching down to coat his hand in a mixture between her slick and his lingering saliva coating her pussy, and wiped it over the length of him. It created enough lubrication for him to start jerking himself in his hand while she slept. As much as he would love to push himself into her, he restrained. He wanted their first time to be together. He rolled off the bed and stood beside her. He’d have to get himself off while staring at her instead.
He eased her shirt up enough so he could feast his eyes on her breasts. They were covered in goosebumps. He’d have to remember to turn the heat up down here. The basement was always so cold. Despite the chill in the air, Peter was sweating. He reached with shaky hands to caress over her shoulder, skin so soft and smooth, and down her arms. Greedy hands slid over her breasts to stoke at her small, but beautiful, tits. Callused thumbs ran across her hard nipples. He used his other hand to frantically jerk at his aching cock. He wanted to be inside of her so badly. He was going to have to try harder if he ever wanted to get to that point. His hand slid down her vulnerable body, curving over her hips, cupping her heated core and slipping a finger inside.
“Fuck, baby. Look what you do to me,” he muttered. “So perfect. My sweet girl. You feel so good.”
Inspiration struck Peter like a lightning bolt as his eyes landed on her hand. He pulled his out from inside her and brought up to her delicate wrist. He placed her hand over his throbbing cock and used his long fingers to wrap her first around him. With her help, he used her body to help jack himself off.
“Oh god, yes. That’s it,” he hissed. “My good girl. Being so sweet to me. Helping me find my release. Thank you, pretty girl. Thank you.”
It only took a few minutes of molesting her unconscious body before Peter felt himself about to explode. His grip around her hand tightened and he used her to push himself closer. With a low grunt, he positioned himself above her and came over her exposed tits, painting her breasts with his love.
Peter took a moment to pant and catch his breath. He licked his lips, admiring his work, and gave her a lazy smile.
“I knew you would look angelic covered in my cum. You’re nothing less than perfect.” He grabbed for his camera and aimed it at her violated body. The flash went off and the undeveloped picture spewed out the other end. Peter grabbed it and gently placed it on the bedside table.
The drugs should last through the night. She should sleep peacefully and wake in the morning completely unaware of his mischievous nightly endeavors.
“Let me clean you up. I’ll get you tucked away under the covers and tomorrow we’ll start the real fun.”
She awoke with the familiar sensation of the pounding headache. It took a moment to remember where she was. Her heart filled with a heavy sadness as she looked around at her new home. How long would she have to hide away here? She missed the comforts of being surrounded by her own belongings. How had her life come to this?
She struggled to push away the wave of tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. She was alone in the room this morning. Peter wasn’t in his usual spot in the chair. She took that as a sign to get out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. After relieving herself and brushing her teeth with the spare toothbrush Peter had provided for her, she carefully peeled back the gauze over her cut. It was no longer bleeding but it was deep and oozed some kind of clear liquid. The bandages needed to be changed. Unfortunately, she was used to tending to her own wounds. Jake had done a number on her over the years.
She searched the cabinets in the bathroom for any kind of bandages or medical supplies but came up empty handed. Maybe Peter kept them upstairs. If she stayed out of view from the windows, it shouldn’t be too bad. She fluffed out her hair and headed back into the bedroom. The skirt and blouse she was wearing the day she arrived here was folded up nicely on the armchair Peter usually sat in. There was no longer any blood on her shirt. He must have washed them for her. She discarded the old clothes he had let her borrow and changed back into her usual attire. She already felt a little more like herself as she peeked open the bedroom door and took a look around.
It looked more like a normal basement on this side of the room apart from, what looked to be, a lab table. There were beakers and a bunsen burner, things she remembered from high school science class, but everything else was foreign to her. It occurred to her that she had no idea what her neighbor did for work. From the looks of things, he was probably a scientist of some sort.
She passed by a washer and dryer and silently headed up the creaky, wooden stairs. It was the first time she got a good look at Peter’s house. It wasn’t anything fancy. The appliances and furnishings were outdated. They were all mismatched and looked like they were picked up at yard sales or off the side of the roads. It didn’t seem like he had a lot of money to his name.
“Hello?” She called out. “Peter? Are you up here?”
When he didn’t respond, she took it as a sign that he wasn’t home. Carefully, she avoided the windows the best she could, and made her way to the upstairs bathroom. It was much bigger than the one she had. There was a bathtub with a shower attached and a his and her sink set next to the toilet. She pulled open the cabinet under the sinks and was happy to find a first aid kit. She made quick work to pull it out and fix up her head with a new bandage after cleaning it out. She packed everything back where it belonged and tucked it back into place under the sink.
Her stomach growled. Peter probably wouldn’t mind if she grabbed herself some food. As she walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, her eyes traveled into his bedroom. The door was wide open. She knew she shouldn’t snoop. It was awfully rude of her. She was a guest in his house. Still, something drew her deeper into his bedroom.
It held the same outdated, old, beat up furniture as the rest of his house. She realized that the tiny room she was staying in was actually furnished the nicest. It had a theme and color pallet. Nice, subtle décor. None of the furnishings looked or felt like they had been previously used. Whoever the room was meant for was held in high standards in Peter’s eyes.
On his bedside table she noticed a book. Her heart surged with glee when she realized it was the same one she was currently reading at her house. She felt a shared fondness for her new friend. They had more in common than she was originally led to believe. Maybe he would let her borrow it some time if she asked nicely.
Something pulled her towards his bedside table. Never in her life had she snooped like this but she couldn’t stop. One little look couldn’t hurt. There was probably nothing but a few condoms or junk thrown in the drawer anyway. Typical man things. Her hand reached out for the drawer and she pulled it open. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped in surprise.
Breathlessly, she reached inside and pulled out a handful of pictures. Some were polaroids, some were ones that had been developed, but all of them were of her. She recognized herself immediately. Her heart raced as she flicked through the pictures. They were crude and of her intimate moments she shared with Jake. It was the night she had hit him. The night Jake threatened to kill her. The night she ended up here. Her blood ran with ice when she landed on the last picture. A polaroid. Her naked, unconscious body splayed out on the bed downstairs. Semen caked over her breasts. Her stomach churned. Her eyes flicked back into the drawer. Sitting under the pictures was a pair of her black underwear. The fabric was hardened and she could only guess as to why. She could feel the panic rising. Under her panties were more polaroids. She pushed the underwear aside and took a quick glance. Her panic spilled over. She only had to see one picture to know she was in trouble. The sight of a bloodied male body with cold, dead eyes staring back at her was all it took. The haunting image would stay burned in her brain forever. She didn’t want to see the rest.
This wasn’t a safe place. Peter wasn’t safe. She had to get out of here.
The photos fell from her hand as she turned and ran out of the room. She was unfamiliar with the layout of his house. She stumbled into the kitchen and felt a flood of relief when she caught sight of the back door. Her hand fumbled for the knob when a heavy hand snaked over her mouth and clamped down. She let out a muffled scream and kicked out her legs. Strong arms wrapped around her and easily picked her off the ground. She thrashed and kicked and scratched but nothing she did made any difference. She felt weak and useless. Fear bubbled up inside of her and hot tears spilled from her eyes. The hand clamped around her mouth refused to let her scream. She knew it was Peter despite not seeing his face. He dragged her back down the basement stairs. Sobs shook through her and her body went limp in defeat. She was pulled back into her bedroom. What she had once thought as mildly charming now suddenly felt like a prison. Peter kicked the door closed and pressed his back against it. He held her close.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay.” He whispered to her. The sound of his voice made her skin crawl. How could she have been so stupid? So trusting? Had Jake even tried to kill her that night? Was it all a lie? How did she even get here? Her memory told her that some of the story was true. She remembered the start of that night. She remembered how scared she was. Jake was so angry. She didn’t trust Peter but she certainly didn’t trust her safety with Jake either. Did she just happen to run from one creep to another? No matter which way she turned, she was still trapped. She shrunk into herself as Peter nuzzled his face against the back of her head. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. You want to be here, remember? You chose to be here. I’m taking care of you. No one is going to hurt you. I promise. You don’t have to be scared.”
He carried her to the bed and laid her down. The second his hand was released from her mouth, she let out a loud scream, “Help me! Help! Someone help me! Hel-” His hand was forced over her mouth again, cutting her off, and his legs straddled her hips to pin her down to the mattress.
He let out a long sigh, “I’m so sorry, sweetie. This is for your own good. You need to sleep now.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Her vision was partially covered by the hand over the bottom half of her face but she got a quick glimpse of a needle. She tried to squirm away but he was too strong. Tears leaked down her cheeks and she let out a quiet, fearful whimper as it entered her skin.
Her body relaxed and her eyes slipped closed.
Peter waited until she stopped moving before climbing off of her. He let out a loud, angry scream and kicked out at the wooden dresser. This wasn’t supposed to be how this went. She wasn’t supposed to see that. He should have locked the basement door. He thought her sleeping pills would have lasted longer. He was too careless. Too trusting. Of all the drawers to look through, she found that one. Rage seethed through his body. This was not how this was supposed to happen.
“Why?” He screamed at her unconscious body. “Why would you do this?! Why would you leave me? How could you betray me like that? After everything I’ve done for you!”
No, no, no, no, no. She couldn’t leave him. He was doing so well. She was starting to trust him. In a few days, he could have slowly progressed further with her willing consent. He had no doubt that he could have made her love him if he had the time. Now it was all ruined. All of that effort was thrown out the window. She wouldn’t trust him again. No. No. He’d have to make her love him. He was just going to have to push back harder.
Peter paced violently around the room, tugging at her hair, and finding it difficult to control his ragged breathing. The anger flowing through his veins turned his thoughts towards Jake. Oh, how he would love to sink a knife into his gut at this very moment. He’d love to feel that cockroach’s blood spill over his hand and drip down his arm as he twisted the knife in his stomach.
Peter shook his head to try and clear his racing thoughts. He couldn’t do that. Not yet. Right now, Jake was the only thing keeping her here with him. She might be afraid of Peter now but she was still more scared of Jake. He had a long history of control over her. Returning her to the abuse of her boyfriend hanging as a constant threat over her head would be Peter’s saving grace. He could use that. All hope wasn’t lost. Peter could still make her love him. This wasn’t the end. He’d have to change his tactics.
He had work to do. He would make this right.
She would be his once more.
She was pulled from her sleep and jerked awake with a panicked force. Her eyes darted around her chambers to find the source of her disturbance. Peter was standing in the shadows in the corner of her room. Only a single light was on. The one sitting on her bedside table. It cast elongated shadows over every surface. Her heart started to race as he approached her. Even in her groggy state, she remembered what had happened. The fear overtook her the closer he got. She made a dash to the door, knowing full well she would never make it all the way out, but hoping for a miracle anyway.
She had only taken two steps when she was dragged back up against his solid chest. His heavy hand sliding over her mouth to stifle her scream. She trashed against his body but her small frame was nothing in comparison to his. He shushed her with a hiss. His freed large, calloused hand splayed over the gentle swell of her stomach, drawing her up even firmer against his warm body. She struggled wildly, nails scraping the smooth skin of his forearm, as she fought to free herself from his iron grip.
“Please, calm down,” he muttered in a husky, low voice. It was different from his usual tone she had gotten used to. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I’m trying to protect you. It’s not safe out there. You know that. Listen to me, please. I had to put locks on your door. I’m so sorry. It’s for your own good. I can’t let him get you. He’d take you from me. He’d hurt you again.”
She whimpered against his palm. He twisted her around in his grasp and forced her back against the cold, concrete wall. Her small hands pushed against his chest in an attempt to free herself but he grabbed her hands, lacing his fingers through hers, and hugging them behind his back.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
Through her tear hazed eyes, she looked up at him. She knew she was looking into the eyes of a potential killer but she was shocked that she didn’t find a murderous psychopath staring back at her. Instead, his eyes were soft. They were wide and gazed down at her with a concerned love. It was not the look she was expecting to see. Her body relaxed, her muscles unclenching, and her shoulders sagging in defeat. He didn’t look like someone who was about to murder her.
A warm smile grew on his face, “See? I’m not so bad. I promise. I’m not going to hurt you. I know what you saw. I know it was probably really scary and I’m so sorry.” He released one of her hands to brush his fingers over her tear stained cheek. She flinched at the touch but stayed quiet. “I didn’t want you to see that. That wasn’t meant for your eyes, love. My sweet, beautiful darling. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I’ll have to punish myself later for scaring you. You’re safe now. Don’t worry. I’ll take such good care of you. Just like I promised. Nothing has changed.”
This was not a sane man. She had to be smart. If he meant what he said he did, then he didn’t intend to murder her. At least not yet. She’d have to play along if she wanted to survive. If she could stay alive long enough, maybe he would eventually let down his guard, and she could make her escape. Keep him happy. That would be her goal.
She watched as Peter licked his lips as he looked down at her. A lustful look flickered behind his eyes. Her stomach hurt thinking about what she assumed would come next. She had seen the picture of her. He had already violated her body once before. In a way, she was used to this. Jake would take what he wanted, when he wanted. He never cared about her comfort before. If Peter was anything like him, she knew what was coming. She expected pain and to be roughly used. She knew how to fade her mind away into her happy place until it was all over. What difference does it make if it’s Jake or Peter? All men were the same. That was clear to her now.
His tall, lean body pinned her against the wall. Her soft breasts were crushed against his chest. She stilled as her eyes locked with his honey brown ones only to begin struggling anew as she felt his thigh pressing between hers. Her eyes widened in shock as she felt the pressure pushing against her crotch. The only other man she had slept with was Jake. They had been together since she was 16. Over six years of her life were spent with that man. While she knew he had cheated on her and slept around with other women, she had stayed truthful to him. He was all she knew. She was torn between keeping up the fight and giving in, used to submitting before a man, and being used for his pleasure.
Peter’s lips covered hers firmly. He was taking what he wanted from her just like her boyfriend had. This was familiar to her. It made sense. His fingers tangled in her thick, curly hair and tilted her chin up for better access. His lips were warm and soft despite their needy nature. She willingly allowed his tongue to slip into the moist depths of her mouth without a fight. The way his hand caressed her face was unlike anything she was used to. They were tender and kind. Soft and gentle. It wasn’t what she was expecting. Her body and mind were at war with each other.
She whimpered against his mouth as he deepened the kiss, knowing she should fight him, that she should resist, but swiftly losing herself the heady sensations flooding her. Her lashes fluttered close as he seduced her with his drugging kiss. She found her muscles starting to relax and herself leaning into him.
Up until this morning, he had been so kind to her. He never once presented himself as someone who wanted to harm her. Then why would he have those photos in his drawer? She thought about the look in his eyes when she first woke up in this room. They were filled with such care. She remembered thinking how handsome he was when he stopped by to deliver her fresh baked cookies. She was enchanted by his presence. No one ever went out of their way for her like that. That night as she lay alone in her room, her vibrator in hand, she had masturbated to the thought of him running over to her rescue. She imagined him saving her from Jake and pulling her into the safety of his arms. It was no wonder she ran to his house when she was frightened. If that was even true…she didn’t know anymore. Everything was so confusing.
She melted against Peter as his mouth coaxed hers into a soft submission. His thigh pressed between her legs was something for her to rest on. Every time he moved a fraction of an inch, a jolt of electricity would shoot through her body. Her lower half was needy with a throbbing ache and she subtly grinded her hips against his thigh.
She paid little attention to the feeling of his hands bunching up the fabric of her skirt at her thighs. The chilly air of the room wafted between her legs as she drowned in his kiss. She was breathless and needy, lost in the sensual heat that he was weaving around them.
It was only when she felt the heated trail of his fingers brush over her bottom, dragging the skirt up above her hips, did the sense of reality begin to intrude her hazy thoughts. She didn’t really know this man. Peter was a stranger. He was keeping her captive. This shouldn’t be happening.
“No,” she whimpered as she tore her mouth from his.
Peter ignored her protests, his hands gripping her hips as her skirt draped over his arms. He gently shushed her, “I can’t. I’ve tried, I’m sorry. I tried to play this differently but this is how it has to go. Trust me. I know what you need. This will help. I promise. I need to feel you. Undress you. Touch you. Fill my hands with your delicate breasts and let my tongue taste deep inside of your depths. I’ll treat you to feelings you didn’t even know were possible, sweet girl. I can show you colors that don’t exist and give you more than you could ever dream. Let me take care of you.”
Her stomach fluttered and her legs trembled at his words. No one had ever promised her such things before. Heat rose in her face and she licked her drying lips. The wetness pooling between her thighs soaked into her cotton underwear and rubbed uncomfortably over her sensitive skin. Why was she so turned on by this? Not once in their relationship had Jake ever spoken such longing words for her. He was always the villain in her story. A terrible, terrible man she was trapped with. Now here she was with a stranger promising her the world. She knew she shouldn’t give in so easily but she was weak. A weak, little girl. Forever trapped. Never free.
She shivered as he gently released her hips to cup her breasts in his hands. He molded them over her thin blouse and his lips parted, his eyes glazing over, as he let out a shaky breath at the feeling. He was memorized by her body like her mere presence had cast a spell over him. Her knees practically gave way at the exquisite delicateness of his touch as he teased her nipples into hard tips under his gentle caress. This was nothing like she had anticipated him to be.
She was unable to gaze away from his deep eyes. They seemed to look into her soul and searched for a hidden part of her that she kept locked up. Who was Peter? Who was this man?
“Why are you doing this?” She asked breathlessly, feeling a shameful excitement overtake her as his fingers rolled and plucked at the hard buds beneath her shirt.
Peter leaned down to leave a trail of kisses along her jaw, “Because I love you.”
How could he love her? He didn’t know her. She wasn’t even sure he knew her name. He never called her by it. How had she ended up here? How would she ever escape? Where could she even go?
“What do you want from me?” Tears burned in her eyes. She was still torn between the reality of the situation and the betrayal of her body. She was ashamed to admit that she wanted him to touch her. He was beautiful. His face was perfectly sculpted, his body lean and inviting, and his eyes...his eyes drew her in. She wanted to stare at them forever. She wanted to learn all his secrets. She wants him to have all of her.
No. No. She couldn’t. This wasn’t right. This was wrong. She was his captive. His play thing.
“I want to be inside of you,” Peter murmured, brushing his lips across hers as he pinched her nipple hard between his fingers. She gasped at the sensation and pushed her hips against his thigh once more, aching for something more. She was unable to control the thick wetness flowing out of her as continued to play with her tender breasts. They had always been so sensitive and needy. “I want to come into your slick heat, feeling it clench around me, as I push deep inside of you. I want to bury myself into your aching pussy. I want to feel you grab tightly onto me as I bring you to the brink of ecstasy. I know you want it just as much as me, doll. I can feel it. Look at you. So hungry for my touch. Look at how your body responds to me.”
A moan rumbled out her throat when his hand slipped down over her belly, under her skirt, and cupped her mound. She knew he could feel the heat. He could feel her damp underwear. It was wrong. So wrong. His fingers pushed the fabric barrier to the side and parted her lush lips to delve into the velvety fold. So wrong. Yet, so right.
“No,” she tried to speak, her words unconvincing as he gently stroked her. “No. You can’t do this.” Her lashes fluttered close as a fire raged between her thighs. Her hips parted for him to gain better access and she arched them against his hand. Seeking, demanding, his touch.
“Your body can’t lie, doll. You can pretend all you want but I know the truth. You want me. I’ll take good care of you. Be a good girl and I’ll treat you so right.” His knee eased her quivering thighs further apart as his mouth pressed light kisses over her cheeks and closed eyes.
She shuddered against his chest that held her pinned to the wall, feeling her body drown in the sensations like she had never felt before. Not even Jake had got her this excited during their time together. Peter’s finger worked its way inside of her and she groaned.
“No. Please,” she cried softly. Her words did not match with her actions as her hips rolled into his hand. His finger probed deep into her, massaging the walls of her thick pussy as his thumb teased her clit.
He smiled at her reaction. It was a soft, loving smile. His eyes were filled with nothing but kindness. It was all so confusing.
“Open yourself to me, doll.” He whispered, coaxing a second finger to ease inside of her. “Let me in. It’s okay.”
She shook her head, “No, no...I can’t...this isn’t right. Please, Peter. Please.”
His entire body shuddered as his name fell from her lips. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and a smile grew on his mouth. “Say it again,” he urged, ignoring her please. “Say my name again and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day.”
She swallowed and took a deep breath, “Peter. Peter...Please, Peter.”
He let out a low moan, suddenly slipping his hands out from inside of her and grinding his hips into hers. She could feel his stiff rod pressing against her. His head nuzzled into the crook of her neck and his breath was ragged, “Again. Say it again.”
Her voice sounded so small but she felt the need to please him, “Peter.”
He began to thrust his clothed hips into her, rubbing himself over her skirt, desperate for any relief. She found herself repeating his name. Whispering it into his ear. Her arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer to her. Over and over again she whispered the name “Peter” while he used their clothed bodies, frantically grinding against her, to finally achieve an orgasm. His entire body shook violently as he came into his pants. A loud yelp ripped from deep inside of his throat. His body collapsed on top of her. His chest rising and falling. She could feel his sweat seeping into her clothes and his musk filled her nose.
He started to whimper. His back shook with quiet sobs. He was crying. Almost instinctively, she started to soothe him. Her fingers massaged soft circles into his scalp. She patted his back, whispering to him, soothing him. He suddenly seemed so weak compared to earlier. She found her heart breaking for him, needing to pick up his broken pieces. This was how she got sucked into a relationship with Jake. Her overly need to be a caregiver to broken, shattered men.
“Shh,” she quieted his tears. “It’s okay, Peter. It’s okay.”
He lifted his tear stained face and kissed her softly, tenderly. A finger trailed down the curve of her cheek and his hand rested against his neck. She sighed in content at the warmth of the kiss.
“I’m so sorry,” Peter spoke when he finally pulled away from her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to be like this. I love you. You do something to me that no one ever has. You’re special. I can’t lose you. I need you. So badly. I need you, please. Don’t ever leave me.” His lip quivered and he brushed stray tears from his cheek. “I’ll leave you alone for today like I promised. I always keep my promises.” He looked in her eyes as he said that. She knew what he was referring to. He had promised to keep her safe. He had promised not to hurt her. For whatever naive reason, she found herself believing him. “You’ve been so good to me since you’ve been here. I’ll make it right. I’ll make it up to you.”
He gave her one last, soft kiss then turned without another word, walking out of the door, and locking it behind him.
Her body collapsed against the wall the second she was alone. Her legs were trembling under her. She cupped her hands between her legs and held them over her aching core.
Why did she feel so empty without him there?
[PART THREE]
[Chapter Index]
Tag List: @ongreenergrasses @captaindanvxrs @liz-allyn @coolchick333 @mrshipsmcgee @holyheadharpies99 @aphrodites-perfume @spidervee @magnitude101999 @jayw916 @lilacvine @amazingspideyslut
#the amazing spiderman#tasm#tasm x reader#andrew garfield#tasm peter parker#peter parker#peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm peter x reader#spiderman#spiderman x reader#tasm!andrew#andrew garfield!peter parker x reader#tasm fic#spiderman fic#smitten fic#tasm!peter au event#smitten part two#tasm au#peter parker au#smitten chapter two#smitten#blooming violets#blooming violets fic#blooming-violets
219 notes
·
View notes
Text
am i warm enough for you?
➳ tags ;; soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst but mostly fluff, some-what canon compliant, bakugo katsuki is bad at feelings, lots of Feelings™, you guys are adults but the end of the fic but the fic is sfw, alcohol, drunk confessions
➳ wc ;; 5.6k..
➳ plot summary ;; you see your soulmate in dreams - sometimes in bits and pieces and other times in full. bakugo is less than inclined to admit he even has a soulmate - and you learn how to cope with it, one day at a time.
bakugo learns that this soulmate shit is no joke. that has to be why he keeps falling for you so helplessly.
➳ a/n ;; i wasn’t even gonna comeback this early but it felt so wrong not to post on my bfs birthday so alas </3 for anyone who cares to know this is @elysianseraph but with my new url. nice to see u all <3
this was originally posted on 4/20 but im reposting cause it didn’t show up in the tags dskjds
It’s hazy.
A cloud of smoke settles over your body, permeating your lung. It smells like sugar, like burning, like smoke and a little like leather. You can feel your toes curl and your hands moving but your body is separate from you in a way you can’t describe. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth that spreads, creeping up from behind your neck till it’s soft and cradling your skull. It’s soft like the touch of a mother, like wool over your ears.
It’s a pleasant feeling, that’s all. Almost cozy but there’s a fading sense of distress that chills in your lungs as you encompass it. Your hands are too small to reach forward, and truthfully the sensation is so powerful that you’re afraid to reach out. You’re 6 years old, so all you know is how it makes you feel. You can’t remember many details, but you feel pleasant. Something about it is soft, but there’s a sharp edge right at the end that has your lungs gasping for air.
It’s a flash of colors. Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red. Orange. Red.
And then it fades into a feeling again. A blurry feeling. You feel conflict, then concern, then inadequacy in heavy waves almost like it’s drowning you. It’s the first time you’ve experienced such a pain, so your wailing and wiping tears away with chubby fingers and saying a name you don’t know and can’t remember.
Ka. You know the sound, Ka. But you don’t know of anything more. It repeats rhythmically in your mind like a knock on the door, rapping with urgency - but it doesn’t do anything to jog your memory. Someone is trying to be let in but you don’t know how to answer them, and you’re still crying. The distress, the inadequacy shakes you and all you feel is frustration in short simple bursts.
Your first encounter with your soulmate is written this way in your memory. A sense of urgency laced with frustration - but they’re not towards you. It’s him, his feelings - you can feel them even deeper then he can. They pierce you in a way that makes it hard to breathe, no matter how you try to escape them it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The only way to escape the feelings of a dream is either to control them, or to face them and swim through the fog.
Soulmates have an urgency to them, in general. His is different, you can tell as much. Your first soulmate dream leaves the heaviest impression and each one thereafter is like pieces of a puzzle.
Sometimes you simply share random dreams, like a split screen in a video game - the two of you witness different parts of the same dreamverse. Other times, and honestly - most times, you’re experiencing their emotions or feelings. You experience their core memories, their life, in flashes and bits and pieces.
It’s not enough to know them or who they are, it’s like know everything about them except the things that matter
Sometimes you meet too. Just barely.
MEETING 1:
The room is white. When you blink, colors flash in order - red, pale yellow, orange, forest green and you know. You blink a few more times, stretching your hands out in front of yourself. Curling your hands into fist then into stretched palms, you lean forward and stretch. You wriggle your toes - notice you're wearing shoes. Clothes from your closet. Strange.
You take a look around the room but there isn't much to see. There’s a wall in front of you with a glass divider and a mirrored empty room. The room across from yours has spiky decor littered against the walls. An orange dresser, plastic grenades and play guns. You know who it is without a second warning - and a foggy part in the back of your head tells you that it’s him, again but with more force. You don’t see anything in your room, but you figure he might. All of it is confusing to you.
Before you can blink, there’s a loud thud coming from the other side of the glass. It’s a silhouette, the outline of a face - but nothing clear. Dream logic dictates you can’t know a face you’ve never seen, yet somehow you know his outline. Spiky, he’s spiky everywhere.
“Hello?,” you call out, overly tentative. The figure pauses, seems to take in whatever they must be seeing. You’re not sure what response you’re expecting, really. There’s no expectations at all.
“...Who the fuck are you?,” says a pitchy, male voice. He sounds like he’s your same age, a highschool boy. His throat is rough, yet not overly deep. It’s almost scratchy.
“Uhm,”
You’re not sure how to reply. You can see him through the glass, but not really. Still, you take note of his shadows like they’re going to tell you anything more. You shove your hands in your pockets, messing around with something inside.
“Uh.. your soulmate, I think,” you reply.
Scratching the back of your neck as an awkward silence settles, you take a few minutes to try and figure what more to say.
“We met when we were kids once too,” you explain awkwardly. He must know, has too - this soulmate thing is a two way thing, but his silence is deafening. You just want to feel this space. Is it always this awkward?
“Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Forest Green,” you repeat, like a mantra. You hear him take in a sharp breath, and freeze. For some reason, you’d like to avoid upsetting him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking to the information too well.
“I don’t have time for this damn bullshit… whatever quirk you’ve got to mimic this - cut it the fuck out,”
Hostile.
You pause, not sure how to feel. Half of you is offended, the other half is confused - had you done something to upset him? You can feel how he feels - but you don’t understand it. You sit with your mouth agape, like a fish out of water. Unsure of how to proceed, you scoff a little.
“Woah.. this isn’t a quirk thing. We’re.. soulmates? That’s already a thing,”
More silence. You’ve.. he doesn’t seem upset, but you can tell he’s not all that keen to the idea. It’s a bare minimum improvement that you find yourself valuing, without your consent. He breathes again, throat even more hoarse than before. His voice is angry but it doesn’t fit his responses, his feelings - so you don’t pay attention to his madness. Something is off.
“... I’m not supposed to have a soulmate. No fucking way I have a soulmate,” he grits. You step back, stumbling. You didn’t have any expectations.. but this wasn’t what you had been expecting at all. You feel uneasy, sick. It must be a shared feeling if the way he leans against a wall counts for anything.
A beat of silence passes before you open your mouth to speak.
“... I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that,” you admit. He scoffs.
“Nothing you damn extra. Leave me the fuck alone,”
You don’t reply, too stunned. This was your soulmate? This.. asshole? Not that you were a peach entirely either, but this was supposedly the person that the universe had decided for you?
You shake your head. Maybe you’re just being rash? He could be a nice guy behind all the chaos. You try your best to hold onto that, that this was literally someone chosen for you before you gave up all hope. You sigh, cracking your neck.
“You can say whatever you want but.. we’re here, you know? It’s more productive to just go with it.. isn’t it?,”
“Go fuck yourself,”
“After meeting you, I’m not exactly over the fucking moon about it either. It is what is,”
“You’re not my fucking.. soulmate or whatever the fuck. Leave me alone,”
Your heart both aches with anger and sadness. You don’t know what to do. What does this shit-head know about you, anyway? You know he’s been through some shit, same as you - what makes him so entitled? You swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts. It pierces. Stupid soulmate bonds.
“Yeah? Alright. Fuck you too,”
You see him pace around for a longer before he disappears in a cloud of smoke. You didn’t even catch his name, and you’re not sure you wanted too. It must be morning, but at least you're away from him. It feels lonely, but it must just be you.
Your eyes flutter open but your heart is heavy with regret. You don’t know who it belongs to, but you’ve got class in an hour and not enough time to think about it. If he doesn’t want to meet you that’s fine.
It’s fine. Not like you wanted to meet your soulmate anyway.
__
You don’t have another meeting with your soulmate for months. Lately your dreams have little if anything to do with him or where he is, how he’s been. You have some of those split screen ones, where you know he’s there but neither of you acknowledge each other, even in spirit, like how you did before. When you wake up feeling angsty, you don’t know how to distinguish the feeling but you don’t try.
You wonder idly if he can feel your apathy, if he cares enough too. Maybe he also mistakes it for his own? It seems likely.
It’s a weekday where you’re getting ready for remedial classes at your school. First year advanced courses were no joke, and you find yourself regretting your choice to participate in them.
Still you get dressed anyway, put your uniform on and brush your teeth - wash your face with your eyes half open and look presentable. No one's home in the morning, the house is empty of any life but you. Food becomes a last minute priority, so you make an egg sandwich with cheese and eat it on the way to the train station.
You stare down at your feet as you step outside, music drowning out the noise of your surroundings aptly. The walk to the station is long and the ride is longer, but the streets are packed edge to edge. Musutafu is busy this time of year - the U.A. Sports Festival is taking place today and everything seems to reflect that. You barely manage to squeeze past all the strangers on the subway - clearly on their way to see it.
When you get to school, you're greeted by a mostly empty classroom with a teacher. These classes were straightforward as always, do the work you need to correct, have it approved and leave. It repeats until your finished with all the assignments and you get to be done. You give a respectful nod to your teacher before grabbing your work from your bag.
It goes on and on - occasionally, you hear an excited gasp and quiet chatter from classmates. It’s about the festival, the happenings - but you’re too caught up in completing your work that day and trying to get the fuck out of their as soon as possible.
Shit like that didn’t matter to you, anyways. It’s just a festival.
You leave around the same time the festival seems to have ended, the streets flooded with people - you miss the first station and wander towards an electronics store a block away from your highschool.
It’s the winners on TV. A guy with split hair - Shouto Todoroki, Endeavors son. A guy with a bird head, and a blonde with red eyes - muzzled to the pole.
When you see them, your heart stops. You can feel anger, an unfamiliar rage and humiliation building in your chest. It feels the word has stopped as you watch from afar, through screens. Your soulmate seems upset about something, but you wouldn’t know what.
And that blonde on TV, you wonder if you know him from somewhere.
MEETING 2:
Red.Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red.
You feel him before you even know what’s happening - and it catches you completely off-guard. You haven’t had a proper soulmate dream in two years. Smoke clouds your lungs, the taste of sugar burning your tongue as you cough yourself into awareness. This time, you’re not in a room but it’s a campground. In the middle of the space is a bonfire, burning warmly. This one feels more vivid, more real.
But you know it’s not, your body feel unusually light and your hands can’t hold anything for too long. You know it’s a dream, but you sit in the chair anyway. It feels like you're floating. You feel oddly warm. Dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Even though it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to your soulmate - you can’t forget the terrible first encounter. It sticks to the roof of your mouth - a bitter memory that fills you with unexplainable, irrational resentment.
But it’s not like you hadn’t been seeing him, to an extent. You’ve seen all his memories in bits and pieces - all of them tragic and painful. This time, you see people but they come in the form of small scraps. Spiky Red. Electricity. Tape. Pink with Horns. Music. Green. So much green and red - like Christmas, you’ve called it. You’ve seen disappearances, fear, anguish - so much anguish.
In the weeks after All Might’s fall, you were in so much pain - you couldn’t stop crying for days. It’s been enough time to know what feelings were yours and which were his - and these ones felt so much like him. It went on for nearly a year - you’d almost got accustomed to it. If tears showed up to blot the ink of your lecture notes, you didn’t think twice about it. You tried to keep yourself calm, steady - in hopes you could lend your soothing to him. Even if he hated your guts, you could barely believe so much sadness could exist in one person. You didn’t know what happened but whatever it was - it must’ve been terrible. At the very least, you felt sympathy.
Sympathy was enough to get by for a long time. A neutral, level-headed sympathy that helped soothe some of your own hurt.
All that said, you were hardly expecting to see him again - especially not this soon. You don’t remember the last time you thought about him in anything other than passing - actively. It’s one thing to know what's happening - you’ve felt him passively everyday for damn near two years.
But it’s another thing to see him in front of you, force yourself to acknowledge him as your soulmate even if he insists on not doing the same.
You squirm in your chair, noticing that you’re wearing PJ’s instead of clothes. Just a hoodie and sweats, none of which fit you quite right. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fiddling with the stray strand of thread loose.
“What the fuck is this shit?,”
Your stomach drops. Unsure of what to say, you opt to say nothing at all. Just let him be, sit quietly in your dreams and mind your business. Maybe he’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over.
You can’t see him from the corner of your vision but you can hear him shuffle. The way he touches things, noticing how they make noise but don’t feel quite right in his hands. How it feels real but doesn’t, how it is real and isn’t. Surely, he’s noticed you by now. The lingering silence makes you squirm.
“...It’s you,”
You flinch, lifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but it’s different from before. In a fleeting moment, something occurs to you.
You can see him. What he looks like. Blonde with red eyes, and a sharp chin and thin waist. You know it must mean you’ve seen him before - perhaps you’d even seen each other, but for your life you can’t remember where you’ve seen his face. It’s right there, on the edge of your mind, but you’re stumped.
“Hello?,”
“Oh,” your reply comes short, strained. Your eyes flutter as you press your lips into a flat line. “Uh, hi,”
The blonde sits in the chair, slumping down. His eyes go towards the flickering flames without another word and you decide it’s best not to engage. It stays like that for a while, a beat of silence - not awkward but not comfortable, passing by without another thought. It all feels real, present - not like normal dreams. This must be the special kind of soulmate thing you find yourself feeling resentful towards.
His eyes are heavy. Relief is overwhelming him, with an iron grip and he’s worried you can feel it. If you can, you don’t say a word.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admits.
The words sound tender passing through his mouth, unmistakably so - but you don’t get your hopes up. Instead, you give him a placating laugh, leaning forward towards the fire and mirroring him.
“I didn’t think so either,”
When it falls silent, it feels comfortable. It’s not like either of you have anything to say to each other right now, with no manual on how this was supposed to go. If he even wanted to go there.
“I can.. see you,” you start. He squints.
“You couldn’t before?,”
This takes you by surprise. You shake your head.
“No..Could you? See me, I mean?,”
Bakugo feels heat rise to his skin. Oh. Huh.
“Yeah,” he replies, a sharp inhale leaving his lungs “I can see you,”
There’s something tense in the air. It’s a strange sensation - to know the deepest and most intimate parts of someone without even knowing their name proper, or where they went to school, or what they normally eat for breakfast. All that connects you are these mutual feelings, shared grief that holds you two to the title of soulmates. This odd bond.
“..d’ya still think I’m a quirk wielding villain?,” you laugh, or try too - you’re doing your best to cut the tension. He can feel your hurt all the way from your sit, so deep in his gut - it’s been haunting him for years. How many nights of sleep he’s lost knowing there are soft and helpless tears coming from these suppressed feelings. He doesn’t know how to say sorry, so he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s changed a lot in two years - but not enough to be good at this.
“No, I don’t,”
“Oh,”
He smiles, just a little. It’s gentle, casts shadow on his face from the light of the fire. It’s warm, everything feels warm and better and invigorating. When you look at him and his uneasy expression - you know he feels it too.
“By the way, uhm - what’s your name? Ka.. something? Right?,”
His eyes shoot up in surprise. He nods a little.
“Katsuki Bakugo,” he replies, expectantly. You seem surprised that he wants to know yours.
“Y/N Y/L/N,” comes your reply.
“Nice to meet you,” says him, Bakugo - your soulmate.
“Nice to meet you too,”
__
Getting to know Bakugo is unusually easy. You get the feeling it wouldn’t be, in the case that you were anything but soulmates - but Bakugo has never known being this intimate with someone other than you. Despite himself, how much he hates himself - you never seem too. Even though you feel and see all the ugliest parts of him - have since he was small enough to still be innocent, you always treat him the same.
Your conversations are short, and shallow. Regardless, he’s not used to talking so much about himself. But you’re always curious, so much so Bakugo doesn’t have the heart to see your countless questions go unanswered.
You keep a little notebook of all of your encounters. You remember them by heart but write them down too, just in case you miss something. You ask about his friends - Spiky Red and Soft Green, referring to them that way even after you’ve known their names. You ask about his work - the life of a dangerous hero, and if he ever gets nervous flying through the air.
Admittedly, he’s mean to you. He teases you so frequently, he’s lost count of all the times you’ve huffed and puffed at his sarcastic remarks. Still, you never turn away from him. You stand with your foot down and your arms crossed over your chest - insistent on making him feel flustered too. And it works, somehow - because you know all too much about Bakugou and always gets him right where he’s most conscious about. You don’t have to tease him about his feelings since you know them like the palms of your hand.
But these shallow conversations always mean a little more to him that he knows how to verbalize, and half the time he doesn’t need to do that at all. You’ve learned the masterful of working around him quietly, making all the parts of that feel too big to love - something small and fragile. Somehow, you’ve made being with him, even as friends - feel like less of an impossible feat but a dream.
Katsuki Bakugo has been in love with you since he was 6 years old. There must be some feelings we cannot share with our soulmates, because he has no idea if you feel it or not. He just knows he does, somewhere deep in the cavern of his heart, he loves you.
You never cross the barrier of romance with him, though. A paralyzing fear seems to settle in your bones when you breach too close to love and intimacy - and Bakugo understands those feelings, even if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re there. It’s not something you’ve decided to tell him yet, but he feels it in the same way he feels your loneliness. You may be kind but you’re more guarded than he is, and not fearless but reckless.
But he still finds himself aching to love and be loved by you, no matter how much he hates it. The yearning still manages to swallow him, even late into the night.
MEETING 3:
It’s been a while since your last meeting with Bakugo but not long. You were 21 now, but your dream visits were frequent. When you weren't speaking or seeing him through dreams - you were watching him on TV. You’d been yet to meet with him in real life but to you, that was okay. Seeing him like this had been more than enough.
Today was different. Normally, that bonfire was always a back-drop to these little encounters but it was a field today - a filed with rolling hills and hundreds of flowers and tall grass that made you feel itchy. The sun was permanently stuck right before it set but it was so warm everywhere. When you get there, there’s a blanket on the top of one of the hills. You sit on it cautiously and watch the wind pass. Everything is tinged orange, and red - you know he’s there with you before he appears.
When he does, he seems different. You glance over at him as he stumbles towards you in a stupor, and when he does finally sit - you get a whiff of alcohol coming from his neck and mouth. It’s strong enough to make a little dizzy. Blinking owlishly, he sits crisscross besides you, staring a little at the surroundings.
“..the fuck?,” he slurs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh. He nearly falls over, body swaying so you bring his head down to your shoulder wordlessly, a furious heat running all over your skin. Even though you can’t feel him, the gesture makes you feel something in your belly.
“Why’re you so drunk?,”
“Birthday,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen in surprise. Bakugo is seemingly unfazed, eyes drooping with tiredness. He’s completely inebriated.
You feel yourself grow tender. You’d have to wake up and remember the days date. Despite all the times you’ve met, you had no clue about his birthday or how he celebrated. You feel your heart ache at the idea you’ve spent the latter half of it together, in your own way.
“Happy Birthday, Bakugo.”
“Bakugo this, Bakugo that,” he growls, a little incoherent “We’re supposed to be fucking soulmates and you still call me by that.. damn name.”
He hiccups a little as you sit there stunned. You blink.
“.. You think of us as soulmates?,”
“Are you some kind of moron?,”
You scowl, flicking his forehead with your thumb and forefinger. He makes a noise of indignance.
“Well, how would I know? When we first met, you didn’t seem enthused about it,”
Bakugo sighs tiredly.
“I was 15 and an asshole - clearly I don’t fuckin’ feel that anymore,”
You seem surprised again.
“..You don’t?,”
Instead of swearing at you, he closes his eyes and gets closer to you. The liquor runs through his system like liquid courage and he nods a little.
“Not at all,”
“What do you..”
“What do you think I mean?,” he barks a laugh. You feel your pulse under your skin, drumming against your chest like a hammer. You can’t even breathe.
You’ve had feelings for Bakugo from the second proper meeting you’d had with him. It was clear as a day that he was your soulmate for good reason, that inexplicable draw that kept your heart from ever belonging to anyone else. You tried to - tried to go on dates and see other opportunities through but he was always so one of a kind.
Yet, you’d given up all hope that it would mean anything to harbor these feelings, convinced that Bakugo simply wasn’t interested in you In doing any of this. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t want - so you kept your distance with hope that he’d still be in your life. It was enough, or you’d wanted it to be.
It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t started thinking about it more and more as the days pass. What it would be like to see him, touch him and love him and be with him for real - these passive daydreams gone vivid. If he could see your dreams, he must know about them. But you didn’t know how to approach it - how to approach love at all.
That’s the thing with soulmates. You’re told that you’ll just have the answers, destiny will do the hard work but that’s far from true. Because even now, with Bakugo leaning on your shoulder with this confession lingering in the air - you don’t know what to do.
“Stop being so nervous,” he mumbles. You stumble a little over yourself.
“Sorry,”
He chuckles.
“You really need me to say it, huh?,” he sighs. He picks himself. If he’s drunk and reckless, then fuck it - he’s gonna take it all the way. He drops his head onto your lap with a tired sigh.
“I think you’re my soulmate, you fuckin’ idiot,” he admits.
And it’s hard to say, because feelings don’t come easy for Bakugo Katsuki - but it’s the least he can do. All Bakugo Katsuki has ever known is to be lonely. It’s a loneliness that he’d forced on himself. Bottling up all the anger and sadness and swallowing it. It’s long since sunk it’s claws into him. That overwhelming, all consuming ugly feeling that lingers underneath that superiority complex.
That no one would ever, could ever love the ugliness that lingers in him. That no one who knew him for what he truly is, could care for him. Deku was the first of many disbeliefs and not much had changed.
Except for when it did. Except for when he met you - in a dream, and you were real and beautiful even at 15. That the universe hadn’t been playing some sick joke on him when he kept seeing you in his dreams, so soothing to his teenage loneliness. You were real and that was so fucking scary.
But you loved him anyway. Looked out for him when he was at his lowest - the soothing beat of your heart in the days after All Mights end . When he cried himself into sleep and dreamed of you. God, how he dreamed of you. Not especially romantic dreams, but dreams of how you made breakfast. How you watched cartoons on Sunday and read manga in your classes instead of the assigned work. How you fell asleep on the train station and always ate icecream after big tests. How you were especially mundane and how he got to be apart of that everyday routine.
After all, you see dreams of each other, but Bakugo has no clue what your dreams of him look like. His have always looked like you though.
When he was worthless and empty and unable to give you anything meaningful, to apologize or put his pride away - you had loved him anyway. Felt for him with clumsy hands and held on, not letting go. Even when he was begging for you to leave him alone, in fear of this all being nothing more than a cruel dream - you held on tightly to him. With your silly notebook questions and dumb names.
Bakugo Katsuki has never known what it means to love someone who isn’t you. Even if you found someone else and there was someone better than you for him, he would grit his teeth and bear it. He wonders if he’ll ever believe he deserves you. He wants to believe you’re his soulmate - to believe you wont ever leave. To believe that he did something right enough that the universe could give him someone like you.
And he wishes he could say all this, but he can’t - he just closes his eyes and hopes you can feel it.
“You’re so mean,”
“Isn’t that why you like me?,” he grins.
And you can feel his sincerity. He should feels yours too.
“I love you, actually,”
He gasps, a sharp breath that stabs his lungs. He feels sober from the confession.
His voice is gravelly when he speaks.
“Yeah, shit - me too,”
__
Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The address is correct, it has to be with the way this place looks. Only a hero could live here, with the floors that lead up to skies. He lives on 3rd floor, so you swallow your fear. You give yourself a thumbs up in the glass window pane of the building before entering through the doors.
When you get there, a box sits. You press the button next to his place, bouncing on the balls of your feet until you answer.
“Hello?,”
His voice feels different in real life. You cough.
“Uh, hi,” you greet awkwardly “I’m here,”
“Oh,” he says. You hear something buzz and then him again. “Come on up,”
And you do. The elevator ride feels like it stretches mild, classic piano echoing against the empty walls. You feel yourself feel sick but you’re not sure it’s from the movement. All you can do is fidget and wait.
When the doors open, you peak your head out into the hallway. He’s the first one on the left, just as promised. You can see a welcome mat - forest green, and something in you knows that it’s the right one.
You step up and knock, three times precisely. Your heart is all the way in your ears and everything in you is filled with unease and excitement.
When the door swings open, the world stops. You gape like a fish out of water in disbelief. He’s tall and big like he promised he’d be, but you’re unprepared. His chin is scruffy, eyes full of sleep. Strong chest and arms that seem to crowd your vision, you don’t know what do.
His expression is full to the brim with feelings you’ve never seen. He steps aside with his head ducked down.
“Come in,”
“Ah.. right,”
You take your shoes off and place them in the slippers meant for you - they fit you just right, and it can’t be a coincidence. Your heart swells up a little as you take your coat off, hanging it on the rack. You can feel his eyes as they linger on your silhouette.
“So -,”
Before you can get a word out, you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist. His scruff brushes against the skin of your neck as he holds you tightly too him. The warmth of his breath lingers on your neck - and he hiccups, a sob stored in his rib cages let out with a howl. The tears blur your vision too. You can feel his drip onto your shoulder as you snivel into his neck. Your legs feel weak, but he holds you up at the door - the only thing keeping you standing.
You cling around him tightly, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. It’s him, your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugo. He’s real and holding you - and he smells like leather and sugar and a fireplace. He’s warm and strong and overwhelming and your crying into his shoulder with so much feeling you don’t know what to do. You hit him weakly, unsure of what do with yourself and he laughs.
“Damn you, shitty woman - makin’ me fucking cry,” but his voice is strained. It’s like something connected, how you feel each other so intimately in that moment. Not only because you’re soulmates, but because you love each other so deeply. Your heart feels heavy.
When you pull away, you manage to give him a warbly smile.
Your hands cradle his face - so handsome and wonderful. You lean forward, emboldened, and peck him. He melts into your touch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. It makes you grin.
Maybe you don’t realize that he had.
He’d been waiting for you all this time.
#bakugou x reader#bakugo x you#bnha x reader#bnha x you#bnha imagines#bakugou imagine#bakugou imagines#PLEASE SHOW UP IM BEGGING
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
I.R.L.📷1
Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight stalking, masturbation, naughty talk.
This is dark!(camboy!)Andy Barber. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your guilty pleasures becomes and all too real terror.
Note: I split this into two because it kept stretching on and on ahah. But I hope you’re ready for a creepy ass camboy.
Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!
As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3
You could blame your break-up or the pandemic but you were just lonely. Besides, Cam left you a year ago and the quarantine was long over. It seemed the whole word had moved on except you.
You always got that fluttery feeling when you opened up the tab and typed in the address. You keyed in your username and password and that moment of shame and guilt quickly passed. Men did this all the time so what was the big deal? You had the money and time to waste on the shallow release.
You scrolled through the active rooms and found ‘SuitNTie80’. There were a few times you tried other rooms but you quickly left, always keeping to your comfort zone, not that you were ever very comfortable. There was that shadow of guilt that lingered after but you learned to live with it.
You sat up and leaned on your arm as you watched the window load and the chat popped up first on the side. You were desensitized to the image of the naked body, the large hand around the thick shaft, stroking and teasing as he issued intoxicating groans. You piled your pillows behind you and bent your legs as you watched lazily.
You were mostly quiet but you were there at least twice a week. You didn’t have much to say in the text box and the thought of a private voice chat was too intimidating for the price. You sent your donations and went on your way once you got yours.
You tickled your leg as your eyes clung to the hair along his muscled chest and stomach, his thick thighs bent and bulging as he gripped his dick firmly. He was huge, not that you were ever a size queen, but it was a nice escape, a careless fantasy. It wasn’t hurting anyone to look.
You hummed and reached for your vibe. You leaned back and teased your clit. You got wetter as he moved around and the bold yellow font popped up in the chat box. You hit ‘pay’ and bypassed the tier. The chat dwindled and the muscular body laid back so that his dick stood straight. He continued to play with himself as he pushed his head into the pillow.
You grabbed your dildo and angled it down along your folds. You poked and prodded until you slipped inside just a little. You pulled back and pushed back in until you could take most of it, the vibe still buzzing against your bud.
Another paywall popped up and again you hit the big button and confirmed. You kept the transactions on your credit card and didn’t think much until the statement showed up. Again, the audience dwindled. It was Wednesday, there weren’t as many as the weekends.
You got comfortable again and pumped the toy as you rubbed the stimulator against your clit. You bit your lip and whined, close. The deep voice stopped you.
“Looks like it's just you,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and kept his hand moving.
You typed a hey into the chat and sent another tip. He smiled, only the bottom half of his face visible, the trimmed beard defined his already sharp jaw. You fell back again as you tried to focus on his hand.
“You’re here a lot, honey,” he purred and rasped as he rolled his palm around his tip, “every week…”
You froze and sat up stiffly, careful not to push the toy deeper.
“You don’t have to be shy,” he cooed, “we can go into a private room.”
You didn’t know what to say. You just wanted to cum and lay down. Forget about another long day back in the office.
“No charge,” he offered, “I’d just like to hear your voice.”
Your fingers tapped noisily over the whir of the toy, ‘why?’
“You’re my most loyal customer,” he slowed his hand, “just curious.”
You just sat there, your heart pounding. You liked not being seen, just watching quietly, just being there in the audience. You were embarrassed he even noticed the frequency of your attendance. You eased the toy out of you as you leaned an arm on your leg. You hovered the cursor over the leave icon.
The invited for a private room popped up and kept you from clicking, “just a few minutes, honey, I’m almost done and I wanna help you finish.”
You bit the inside of your lip and dragged your finger down the trackpad. You hit ‘accept’ and a pop-out window buffered as it requested access to your microphone. You could mute once you were in. You confirmed and the private room loaded. You maximized it and drew your hand back sharply, already regretting the decision.
“How are you doing, honey?” he asked, “anyway you want me?”
You stared at the screen, overwhelmed by the spontaneity and your natural shyness.
“I hear your toy,” he said softly, “why don’t you tell me what you’re playing with?”
You gulped and the mattress spring squeaked as you shifted, “um, I’m okay,” you answered his first question, “how are you?”
“I’m great,” he pushed the camera back and sat so that you could see all of him, “it’s nice to hear the voice behind the name.” His teeth grazed his lip as his muscles tensed and he groaned, “so what do we got, hmm?”
“Er,” you looked down, the toy buzzing against your thigh as you’d let it slip thoughtlessly, “a vibe and... “
“And…” he coaxed, “what else, honey?”
“Um, a dildo?” you said weakly, “erm, yeah.”
“Is it inside you?” he asked.
You choked and tried to smother it. You sniffed and clicked off the toy. “Sorry, I don’t think--”
“I want it inside you, now,” he said firmly as he stroked himself, “I want you to imagine it’s me, that i’m stretching you.”
You gaped at the screen as he watched you expectantly, almost as if he could see you. You always kept your camera covered though so at least he could only hear how clueless you were.
“Turn the vibe back on and put that dick inside of you,” he snarled, “come on, honey, for me.”
“I…” you breathed, “okay…”
You shakily hit the button so it vibed again. You asked yourself what you were doing as you slipped it down against your clit and pushed the dildo into you before it could slip out completely. You squeaked and he growled as his hand sped up.
“Mmm, is it in?” he asked, “all of it?”
“Y-yeah,” you murmured, “as much as… I can.”
You cringed at your own answer and he grinned.
“Oh, you’re tight?” he teased, “sounds like you need to be broken in.” You let out a breath as you sat unmoving, filled but paralysed by the intimacy of the chat, “go on, I wanna hear you, honey. I can’t finish if I can’t hear you.”
You hesitated but laid back against the mountain of pillows. You rolled the vibe flat to your clit and moved the dildo slowly. You quivered as the ripples flowed through you and made your toes curl, your legs splayed wide around your laptop. You can hear how wet you are as instinctively you move the toy faster and moan.
“That’s it, honey,” he cooed, “listen to you, hmm? So we for me…” his voice was a series of gasps as he added lube to his length and sped up, “how close are you?”
“C-close,” you rasped.
“Good, good,” his knuckles turned white as he worked his hand even faster, “I want you to picture me… balls deep… fucking you until your hips hurt… until you can’t walk…”
You let out a pathetic mewl as you fucked yourself harder with the toy, to the point of pain.
“What’s you’re favourite position, honey?” he asked as he used both hands on himself.
“Oh, uh…” you shuddered as you thought, trying to keep the toys in action, “doggy… I think.”
“Mmm, wouldn’t you like me behind you, pounding into that tight little cunt,” he puffed, “I can only imagine how tight you’d squeeze me… the way you’d shake… you think you could take it? Hmm?”
“Y… y… yes,” your voice fizzled out and you let out a strained cry as you came abruptly.
You panted wildly and turned onto your side as you squeezed both toys between your legs and groaned. A grunt brought your attention back to the screen as you twitched. The man cradled his sack as he came and strings spilled from his tip as his voice rumbled from the speakers. He smeared his cum all down his length until he was a mess and let his shoulders fall as he stilled his hand.
“Was that good, honey?” he asked as he looked into the camera.
“Mhmm,” you uttered as you sat up and slid the dildo out, sending a shiver up your spine.
“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” he stood and came closer to the camera, bending so that you could see his face clearly, he was startlingly handsome, “can we do it again?”
“I… don’t know,” you replied as you turned off the vibe and covered yourself as if he could see you, “maybe.”
“You did really well, sweetie,” he smiled, “and I really like your voice.”
“I…” you sniffed and swallowed as you glanced around your dark bedroom. Is this what you’d come to? “I gotta go.”
You hit ‘leave’ and immediately felt awful. As much for leaving him hanging as even indulging in the chat. You rubbed your temples and bent your fingers against your skull as you gripped your head. How sad could your existence be?
📷
The disconnect icon came up and Andy sighed. He closed down the chat and logged out. He sat and cleaned himself, gently as he was overly sensitive from over an hour of stimulation. He enjoyed his little sessions and he made a decent penny, not that he really needed the money. It was more the high than the dollar sign.
He pulled on a loose pair of silk pajama pants and the fabric tickled his tip cloyingly. He closed the lid of his laptop and tidied the room, stripping the bed and putting the plain cotton sheets back on. He sat heavily to catch his breath and leaned back on the heels of his hands.
He always saw her username in the chat when she entered and tipped but she never said anything. He didn’t think much of it, she was just another regular. LacyLilac; it was a cute name. He was just bored and wanted to try something new. It was fun and thrilling and just the sound of her wet cunt made him twitch.
He kept thinking about her voice. He was disappointed she left so quickly. He would’ve liked to talk a little longer but it was just a porn chat after all. What more did they have to say to each other?
He tried to match her voice to a face in his head. She was probably cute; she sounded young. Well, lots of people were younger than him. He was probably one of the oldest cammers on the site.
She was shy though and he liked that. He’d married the outspoken one and he was over it. That turned to shit fast and look where it got him. Alone and pimping himself out for kicks. Yeah, it was fun at first, he liked being watched, it was always a game for him. He used to play with himself at his desk in his office, sometimes the interns caught him but they never said anything. They were too afraid.
That was all gone too. That life was behind him, so far it almost felt like it never happened. He wished it never had; wished he hadn’t wasted the time.
He stood and sighed. He took his laptop from the table and slipped it under his arm. He went downstairs and opened it on the counter. He let the screen saver bounce as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap off with the edge of the granite and watched the little wisp of mist rise from the neck.
He tapped on the pad and scrolled through his activity log. He found her name and clicked on it. Her profile was mostly empty except for the profile pic, a stock photo of lilacs. He got nothing from scrolling up and down the blank fields. Well, he knew a few tricks the cops passed onto him back in the day.
He opened another tab and quickly generated the link. He went back to her profile and clicked the little speech bubble beside her username. He took a moment before he began to type.
‘Hey, honey, I had fun. I hope to see you again on Friday <3. My schedule’s changing soon, you can see it here.’ He attached the link and hit send. He took a swig of the hoppy beer and leaned an elbow on the counter.
All she had to do was click that link, if she didn’t, he’d have to figure something else out. Or maybe just give up.
The computer chirped as a green dot appeared beside her name. She was online. He saw the little eye beside his message and the dots as she typed. She stopped and he waited. Nothing.
He clicked back to the other window and opened up the visitation log for the link. He smiled and took another deep gulp. She’d done it. She tried to use the link and now he could see everything; her IP, her location, her internet provider. It was just enough to work with.
Bing. He switched back over to the chat and finally her response hung beneath his in a bubble.
‘Thx. I’ll try. The link doesn’t work tho.’
He typed with one hand as he finished his beer in sips, ‘sorry, honey. I’ll fix that and send an updated link when I get a chance. Have a good night <3.’
‘Good night,’ she responded and the green dot disappeared.
He set aside his empty bottle and closed the laptop. He was hard again. It didn’t usually happen so soon after a session. It was why he spaced them out. But he was throbbing so violently that just standing straight made him groan.
He gripped the counter and shoved his hand down his pants. He closed his eyes and exhaled as he quaked at his own touch. He thought of her little ‘ums’ and ‘ers’ and the buzz of her toy. Such a shy little thing acting so innocent and yet she was always there, watching him.
Fuck, it wouldn’t take much more. Not as he thought of how she couldn’t even fit the whole toy in her sweet cunt. He would help her with that.
📷
The anomaly soon grew to a habit. The second meeting was just as awkward. You didn’t do private chats, it was just easier to fade into the background, but the third was easier. Despite how your nerves flurried and your hair stood on edge, he made you feel comfortable, made you relax as you neared the tipping point.
That night, you promised him you’d be in the chat but things always went to shit when you had plans. You were almost relieved as your after hours activities were starting to get in the way of your work. You found it hard to focus when he kept sending you messages that filled your burner email.
You sat before the blue-tinted hue of the monitor, your eyes watering as the colours seared into your retinas. The spreadsheet left a template in your vision and you saw the little boxes even as you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. Maybe another hour and you could go and forget about the colour-coded rectangles.
You sighed and took out your phone. You looked out at the pen of cubicles, your small office forgotten in the corner. You handled the numbers and those only mattered when someone needed a new chair or the holiday party was coming near, and those tasks were easier left to the interns.
You yawned and swiveled back and forth in your chair. The little envelope floated in the margin. You dragged down the status bar and hit the icon. Your inbox was filled with alerts to new messages on the chat site. You only had your shell email account attached to your phone and kept to incognito mode on your laptop.
Only Lucy was still around and she was having a loud phone call on speaker a few offices down. She basically lived at her desk and served as a harbinger of your future. You opened a private window and signed in. You went to your profile and checked the blinking message box.
‘Hey, starting soon.’
‘On live now!’
‘Where are you, honey?’
‘About to go private.’
The last message was a sad-looking emoji and you shook your head. This was why you needed to stop. It felt special at first to be noticed, to feel wanted even if you were just a money sign, but it was growing exhausting. You hardly even enjoyed it anymore, you were just there to get off and get it over with.
‘Srry, caught up at work. Not going to make it tn.’
You hit send and blacked out your phone. You went back to the lifeless excel columns and compared it with the garbled mess corrupted on the second monitor. You told Stuart over and over to eject it properly and didn’t understand how the file hadn’t been uploaded to the company cloud. You shuffled through your papers and shrugged it off. No use being angry, no one cared.
Your phone vibed again. You ignored it and kept typing, looking through reports by the month as you keyed in numbers. A year's worth of tracking all down the drain. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Your phone wouldn’t stop.
You opened up your phone and went back to the private window. ‘You couldn’t tell me earlier?’ ‘Hello?’ ‘What did I do, honey?’
The messages came close together and you looked over at the log. His chat had gone inactive; it was early. You were slightly addled and confused by that.
‘It’s work. I haven’t had a chance. Can’t talk. Logging off. See you Friday.’ You hit the arrow and excited the window.
You dropped your phone face down and hung your head back in exasperation. Your guilty pleasure was becoming a second job. The guy had enough viewers, he could hardly be missing your wallet that much. It was starting to get weird and you weren’t so sure you were going to tune in that Friday, you might be better off to catch up on your sleep.
📷
You kept your laptop off on Friday and opted instead to catch up the latest episodes of your favourite trash tv. The week was long enough to have you dozing off by the second episode and you woke early on Saturday, feeling more groggy than refreshed. Even so, you had two days to yourself.
Two days to catch up with your personal life. You went to the kitchen and used the last of the coffee. And the cream. Time for a shop. Well, you could still make a fun day out of it. There was a café in the same plaza as the grocery store so you could stop in and pretend like you were enjoying your time off with whatever specialty flavour they offered that day.
You didn’t get out before noon as you dragged your feet. Your mind kept drifting to your claustrophobic office and the migraine-inducing spreadsheets. You tried not to, fought your own mind as you steered into the parking lot, but you knew you had another week of bullshit awaiting you.
You grabbed a cart and made your rounds of the aisles, sighing as you waited on octogenarians to decide on a grain of bread. You hurried to check-out before you could get caught behind another dawdler and paid, piling your goods in your cart impatiently. You rolled out the lot and filled your trunk, pushing the cart back to the receptacle with the rest.
You hit the lock button on your keys and headed to the cafe. You eyed the strawberry and cream latte on the board as you stood in line. A deep voice drew your attention from the menu and your heart stuttered as you looked at the man at the till. It couldn’t be.
You got a better look at his face as he eyed the desserts in the glass case and pointed to the one he wanted. How in the fuck? The world couldn’t be that small. You tucked your chin down as your cheeks burned. You could only think about the image of him, or really his more intimate parts, and his low moans.
He swiped his card and moved along the counter. You stood frozen, not moving until the person behind you told you it was your turn. You apologized and moved up to the till. You stammered out your order and fumbled with your wallet, keeping your head down as you paid.
You kept your distance as you moved to wait in the corner until your turn at the window was called. You stared at the floor and tried to dissipate into the air as you pondered just leaving without your drink. When your name rang in your ears, you stepped up without look and collided with another.
“Oh, sorry,” the familiar voice made your eyes round, “shoot.”
You winced and pulled your shirt away from your chest as the hot coffee seeped down your front. You shook out the fabric and shook your head.
“It’s fine, I-- I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you dared to look up at him, unsurprised by your luck, “I hope I didn’t, er, spill too much.”
“I’m more worried about burning you,” he said, “you sure you’re alright?”
“Fine,” you repeated curtly and stepped around him, “really.”
You grabbed the paper cup and spilled even more hot liquid onto your fingers in your urgency. When you turned back the man was just ahead of you and he waited as he held the door for you. You ducked your head down as you passed him and thanked him with a mumble.
“No problem,” he said as he dropped the door.
You stepped off the curb and almost tripped. You didn’t look back as you rushed over to your car and searched for your keys in your pockets. You hit the button and quickly opened the door and flopped into the seat, placing your cup in the holder as more foam and espresso spilled from under the lid.
You hung your head back and sighed. You cringed and wanted to scream. You gripped the steering wheel and shook the whole car in your tantrum. As if your life couldn’t get worse. You were just one disaster after the other.
You wiped your hand on your jeans and started the car. Oh well, a forgettable slip-up. You wouldn’t remember it next week and he likely wouldn’t either. He didn’t even know who you were. Didn’t know you were one of the perverts watching him on their screen as they sat in the dark, lonely and desperate.
You pulled out of your spot and steered between the rows as you neared the exit. Fuck, you thought to yourself, you probably paid for that coffee. Ugh, why were you doing this to yourself? Making yourself feel worse and for what? He put himself on the internet, you were just supporting him.
“Just shut up,” you said to your inner voice as you turned out into traffic, “just stop.”
#andy barber#dark andy barber#dark!andy barber#andy barber x reader#camboy!andy barber#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#two shot#one shot#irl#defending jacob
725 notes
·
View notes
Text
beautiful when the damage is done
part one | part two
characters: todoroki touya | dabi, todoroki natsuo
genre: smut laced with angst and a pinch of fluff
notes: part two of getting naughty with natsuo!! please please heed the warnings!! | title cred: sick thoughts by lewis blissett
warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, sadism, punishment via overstimulation, pseudo-incest (stepcest), vaguely implied incest, emotional manipulation, a hint of degradation, toxic relationships, poly relationship, dom/sub dynamics, a LOT of crying (dacryphilia), slight size kink/size difference, rough sex
words: 4.6k
synopsis:
And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.
It’s musty, air thick with the haze of sweat and sex, saturated the smell of tears and cum, so potent you swear you can almost see it in the atmosphere of Touya’s room. Uncontrollable quivers course through your entire body, never-ending chills erupting across bare, damp skin that shines every time it catches in the dim beams coming from Touya’s desk lamp.
Your scalp is still sore from where Touya yanked you off of Natsuo—back in the living room, how many hours ago? It feels as though it’s been forever since then, memory murky and swimming as you try to think—one strong hand wrapped in your hair jerking you up with such force you nearly stumbled. The pain is dull, a throbbing ache that radiates fading waves of hurt along your skull.
It’s constant, though, brewing a headache that is equal parts agony and dehydration, and you wish to rub at the spot, to place your palm over it in a futile attempt to soothe the discomfort at least a little, but you can’t.
Because it feels as if your blood has been replaced with sand, dense and heavy as it clogs your veins, weighing your arms down and keeping them firmly locked around Natsuo’s neck, steadying you in his lap.
But the ache in your scalp is nothing compared to the burn between your legs.
You can feel it, your third orgasm, churning in the depths of your stomach as it builds, a blistering warmth furling into a tight, concentrated ball of fire. It’s almost sickening, now, the heat roiling inside of you as heavy as lead, wracking destruction on your body as tender muscles, already quaking from exhaustion, begin to tense once more, to coil and wind up the way a lithe tiger does right before it strikes.
“Nat-Natsuo, I can’t,” the words wobble as they spill from between clattering teeth, you head shaking sluggishly as fresh tears sting your eyes.
“Yes, you can,” he murmurs softly to you, gentler than he’s ever been before but refusing to slow his movements as he bounces you on his cock, concerned stone eyes searching your face while his fingers flex on your hips, readjusting their grip on the slippery skin.
“You better,” Touya spits from his place on his bed, peering down at the two of you with something akin to disgust, to derision, saturating his features. And it stings, blazing sapphire searing his glare into your skin much like how he had carved his name into you, years ago.
A wet sob hitches in time with Natsuo’s rough thrusts, has you choking on it, concentrated with thick saliva that sticks in your throat and forces your breaths to escape in wheezes, hands clasping tighter behind Natsuo’s neck.
Yet, despite the pain, there are still sparks of pleasure that accompany each catch of your puffy clit on Natsuo’s slick skin, flickers of lust interspersed with those excruciating spikes that shoot through your abdomen.
It hits suddenly, that third orgasm—you’re halfway through your punishment now, Touya reminds you—has your tightly shut eyelids springing open with a gasp, entire body freezing up in Natsuo’s strong grasp, a grunt falling from his chapped lips as he drives his hips to piston into your rigid body.
He follows only a few moments later with a deep groan that rumbles in his chest, body vibrating with the force of it as his thick cock throbs, filling your little cunt with spurt after spurt of cum that feels almost cool in comparison to your scalding insides.
Touya allows half hour breaks between each orgasm—a short refraction period for you and Natsuo to regain infinitesimal amounts of strength—and not a second more, he had spit after the second orgasm, cutting off your plea for just a few more moments of rest, because this is plenty of time, more than you need, really and you should be grateful he’s so generous.
By the time you’re due for your fourth orgasm, you can barely move, and Natsuo doesn’t have the arm strength to hold you up anymore, to force your hips to keep gyrating or to bounce you on his cock, his entire upper half spent.
“Lay her on the floor, then,” Touya instructs coldly, voice firm and void of any compassion, though it’s hard to miss the sadistic glint in his eyes, hard to ignore the way the corners of his lips quirk up in an ill-concealed smile.
The look Natsuo gives him is almost heartbreaking, a puppy looking up at its owner with its tail tucked between its legs, eyebrows knitted together so tightly they crease his forehead, a deep frown—no, pout—etched into his face as he gazes at his big brother, glazed stone eyes pleading.
“Nii-san, can’t we use—”
“No,” Touya cuts him off harshly, sapphire eyes flashing, and Natsuo flinches. “You’re fucking her on the Goddamn floor for all five—it’s part of your punishment,”
Natuso doesn’t argue, but his lips twitch, and his eyes blur, and his nose sniffles, and he gives his brother a curt little nod of understanding, head bowed in submission.
The hardwood is cold against your heated skin, and you exhale a hiss through gritted teeth as Natsuo positions you as gently as he can, one large palm cradling your head, the other positioned on your back, slight tremors running through his exhausted muscles as he reclines you.
A wrecked little whine pries its way past your lips as Natsuo pushes in again, face scrunching up as sharp, needle-like pinpricks shoot through your gut, your raw, sensitive cunt stinging as Natsuo’s cock reopens previous sutures, skin split further, wounds dug deeper.
The sound your skin makes as it scrapes against the hardwood from Natsuo’s clumsy bucks has all three of you cringing, a piercing squeal that only adds to the symphony of your sobs and Natsuo’s grunts, flesh inflamed and chaffed from being repeated rubbed against the surface.
It’s getting harder and harder for you to cum, even with the generous breaks Touya allows, sparks of pleasure faded to mere cinders now, each shallow drag of Natsuo’s cock causing both of your bodies to recoil, and it’s too much, too much.
“Please, nii-chan,” you beg in a tiny whimper, teary eyes flying to Touya’s face, partially shrouded in shadows as glowing sapphire gazes down at you in scrutiny. “S’enough now,”
“We’ve learned our lesson, p-promise,” Natsuo adds, nodding frenetically.
“P-Pinky promise, nii-chan, please, stop,”
Touya scoffs. “You wanted to cum, didn’t you?” he pauses, cobalt eyes darting between your faces, an eyebrow raising in question. “Well, now I’m allowing you to. Now you have my permission; the permission you knew you needed so bad, but refused to request,”
And it’s then that it dawns on each of you that he had heard the both of you, had heard the entire fucking conversation, while he was doing his work in the kitchen.
How could either of you thought that he wouldn’t? How could either of you been so fucking stupid? Nii-san knows everything—nii-san always knows everything.
“Please, please, we’re sorry, nii-san, we’re sorry,”
“We won’t ever do it again!”
The laugh that claws its way up Touya’s throat is soaked with ridicule, and he shakes his head, a gleeful little grin present on his lips, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, as if it’s so ludicrous it’s funny.
“Wait, wait, wait—let me get this straight…you two wanted it so bad, and now you have the balls to complain when nii-chan complies?”
His voice is painfully apathetic, almost nonchalant in a way, as if it makes no difference to him even though it so clearly does, or you and Natsuo wouldn’t be shivering messes of tangled limbs on the floor.
Excuses begin tumbling from two pairs of lips, words stuttered and choked on and sandwiched between pleads and apologies, jumbling together in a mess of garbled, wet, desperate sounds.
“Enough,” Touya growls, and both voices cut off in an instant. “I don’t want to fucking hear it anymore! Keep acting like ungrateful little brats and I’ll make this punishment longer, I swear to God,”
But you can’t halt the words bubbling up past your lips, regardless of Touya’s threat, regardless of the fact that you know he’s deadly serious. They’re compulsive, automatic, almost instinctual in nature as you seek out comfort, hunt for solace and fragments of relief in the hulking man blanketing you.
“I-I don’t wanna anymore, Natsuo,” you’re weeping into his chest, hot tears leaking from the corners of tightly shut eyes, streaming down the sides of your head and into your hair. “I don’t wanna,”
“I know, baby, I know,” Natsuo murmurs, though his bottom lip is beginning to tremble.
“Make him stop, Natsuo, make nii-chan stop,”
“I can’t,” his voice breaks on the word, facial features saturated in concern, in fear, wincing as if it physically pains him to deny you. “You know I would if I could,” he nearly whimpers, and his eyes search yours almost frantically, as if he’s begging you to understand. “But I can’t,”
But your head is shaking as you wail louder, fingers weakly curling against his skin, nails pressing into the flesh of his shoulders and clinging to him.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Natsuo’s saying, the words cracking in his throat, voice hoarse. He pauses, clearing it twice, eyes closing briefly as he sighs out a slow, deep, stammering breath, gathering his strength. “One more after this, princess,” he begins as his hips start to speed up their rutting, procuring a yelp from you. “That’s it, jus’ one more after this one. C’mon, we can do it,”
“No, no, no,” you chant as pretty, gleaming tears roll down your face. And you can see it, the potent guilt swirling in his gunmetal eyes, from the way his pupils expand as they focus on the salt water sullying your cheeks, from the way his cock twitches despite it all. “I don’wanna, I don’wanna, stop, Natsuo, stop,”
His motions pause immediately, the moment the word falls from your lips, but he starts up just as quickly as Touya dictates from his spot on the mattress above.
“Stop, and I’ll add another two,” he promises, ruthless and unforgiving. Chills skitter along your glistening skin, erupting across your damp body at his tone. Both of you know he isn’t bluffing, that he’ll add as many orgasms as he wants to, and that he’ll continue to pull them from your fatigued and worn-out bodies one way or another, even if he has to do it completely by himself.
“Focus on me,” Natsuo instructs gently, though there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, a frenzied need to calm you down before Touya loses his patience completely. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Just focus on me, look at me,”
So you do, blinking the bleariness from your gaze as you direct all of your attention to him. And although there’s that ever-present guilt still swimming in his irises, in his unshed tears, there’s also love in his stare, so much love it’s nearly overflowing, overpowering the remorse and instilling a deep sense of comfort in your stammering chest.
Because at least you’re not alone in this; at least you have each other—each other to find comfort in, to cry and whine and beg with, to protect.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s whispering over your wails like a broken mantra, those tears that have been glazing his eyes, that have been collecting behind his lashline, finally beginning to fall.
His hips speed up, as fast as he possibly can as he gathers every last ounce of power and manages to wring another one out of you, another one out of himself, sore cunt clenching painfully around him, your fourth orgasm feeling as if it’s been punched out of you, despite the fact that Natsuo’s thrusts have been shallow.
And by the time your fifth orgasm rolls around, you’re nothing more than Jell-o in the shape of a human, though Natsuo’s not much better, barely able to move other than the uneven rutting of his hips, a crushing deadweight on top of you as his weary hips give pitiful little thrusts, pubic bone dragging across your hypersensitive clit, every tug against it ripping another ragged cry from your throat.
But you’re having trouble, both of you struggling to do anything other than feebly hump against each other, unable to secure enough strength to pump—to milk—that final orgasm out of yourselves, sniveling little protests punctuated by wrecked sobs leaking from your mouths.
Touya’s pissed—beyond pissed—sharp jaw clenching while seething insults burn his tongue and slice your skin, berating the both of you for being so fucking weak, so fucking pathetic, because he’s forced more orgasms out of the both of you before, so why is this so fucking difficult?
Touya’s too stubborn, and he refuses to end the punishment early irrespective of the fact that you’re both entirely drained, reminding you in a callous voice that you each must cum five times before it’s over while he aggressively roots through one of his desk drawers, snickering to himself when he finds what he’s looking for, hooking his index finger in it and pulling it out.
And the look on his face when he turns back to face you and Natsuo is positively petrifying, idly swinging the cockring around on his finger as his head tilts slightly, observing the both of you with that sharp smile you’ve come to know so well on his lips, eyes glittering with pure delight, features lit up with his own personal brand of sadistic excitement.
Natsuo starts to say something, voice forming around a word that sounds suspiciously similar to no, but he catches himself before it fully leaves his mouth, pressing quivering lips together tightly as he stares up at his brother with wet eyes.
Touya chuckles, raising an eyebrow with that trademark lopsided smirk, as if he’s challenging Natsuo to dispute him, to resist.
He doesn’t, of course, because he never would, but he does finally allow full shuddery sobs to escape his chest, Touya’s condescending shh’s and hush, now’s doing nothing to calm them as he slides the cockring on.
Natsuo nearly howls when Touya turns the tiny, pretty pink device on, his entire body jerking with that initial vibration.
“The faster you cum, the faster I’ll take it off,” Touya says calmly over the stifled little shrieks Natsuo’s continulously trying to swallow back down, nodding his understanding as he repositions himself between your thighs, holding his vibrating cock in one massive palm as he guides himself back into you.
And you want to tell him no!, don’t!, stop!, you want to shove him off, to kick and scream and beg and cry, but your heavy head sluggishly lolling from side to side seems to be all you can manage, words snagging in your throat, nothing more than incoherent babbling leaving your lips.
Because you can barely speak, barely think, barely breathe, vision fading in and out of focus as Natsuo rocks stuttering hips against yours, warm salt water rolling down the bridge of his nose, dripping onto your cheeks and mixing with yours. You’re both more each other, more one than two separate entities now, spit and cum and tears so interspersed you can’t tell which belongs to who anymore, limbs and fluids, thoughts and sounds, endlessly flowing into one another.
“Tell her to behave, Natsuo,” Touya barks, though there’s twisted amusement dancing in his eyes as he observes. “Tell her to finish the fucking punishment,”
And Natsuo, ever the perfectly trained pet, does as he says immediately.
“We can—We can do it,” Natsuo keens from above you, full body shudders wracking his hulking form, alabaster hair clinging to his forehead in uneven clumps, drenched in sweat as he forces words through his own bawling, hips grinding into yours. “We can do it, let’s be good for nii-san, yeah? L-Let’s make nii-san proud—c’mon, you wanna make him proud, don’t you?”
You do—of course you do. You never want anything else. But…But you’re not entirely sure you can, hiccupped sobs peppering your slurred words. Unconsciousness tugs at the edges of your hazy mind, whispers enticing promises of repose and relaxation as weighted eyelids begin to sag.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Natsuo cuts you off gently, shaky knuckles brushing against your cheek in a poor imitation of a caress. “I’ll do it, baby, I’ll do it,”
You don’t even remember cumming a fifth time, only a feeling of hot coals smoldering in the pit of your stomach, but you must have, because then Touya’s hooking his arms under Natsuo’s and dragging him off of you, propping him up against the side of the bed and kneeling as lithe fingers remove the toy from his cock.
And the sense of relief that seeps into your body and floods your veins is so intense it almost feels like a rush of adrenaline instead. You did it. You both did it. Finally, it is over.
Or so you and Natsuo thought.
—
Spikes of fear piece through his heart as Natsuo blearily watches Touya gather your limp body in his arms, hauling you up with a soft grunt.
And it’s astounding, the way you still curl into him, still seek that familiarity, that solace, in his chest, mumbled out honorific padded by hitched half-sobs as you cling to him. It’s astounding, because even after all he’s done to you, after everything he just put the two of you through, you will crawl back to him each and every time, over shards of glass on your hands and knees with his name on your lips—his name in devotion, in submission, in love—without a single question asked.
And Natsuo realizes that he would, too.
The thought inspires a bittersweet taste to settle on his tongue, like sticky toffee and black coffee, alien feelings swirling in his chest, clashes of consoling blooms of warmth and spiky shards of ice.
But Natsuo doesn’t have time to meditate on his newfound emotions, your faint pleas recapturing his attention.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Touya murmurs, large hands repositioning you.
And he really does sound sorry, even though Natsuo knows he isn’t.
“Wh-What are you…”
“It isn’t over yet,” Touya says simply, though the smile stretched taut across his face is severe, terrifying, azure eyes sparkling in merciless amusement at the horror that shows on Natsuo’s face when he realizes, eyes widening as they fill with thick tears again, bottom lip jutting out into an involuntary pout as panic surges through his veins.
His heart palpitates violently against his ribcage, tongue turned to cotton as worry signs itself in the creases of his forehead.
“Nii-san,” Natsuo begins cautiously, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. “I don’t think—I-I mean, is that really necessary?”
“Of course it is,” his big brother responds without looking at him, preoccupied with folding your lifeless limbs up, knees bent and pressed to your chest.
“Why?” the word slips out without Natsuo’s permission, grey eyes widening in shock as he swallows thickly, shaking his head a little as if to say I didn’t mean to!, though Touya doesn’t seem to mind.
“Because the overstimulation was her punishment,” Touya glances over at him, the amusement dancing in his eyes turned vicious as his smile stretches wider—so wide Natsuo’s surprised it doesn’t split his face clean in two—cruel and brutal. “This is yours,”
Natsuo isn’t quite sure he understands, brain doused in a thick fog and having difficulty grasping the concept, the knowledge of what his nii-san truly means turning to dense, ashy smoke any time he tries to grasp it, metaphorically slipping through his fingers.
But then you’re speaking again, and Natsuo’s head whips towards you, chest tightening at how completely wrecked you sound.
“No, please, no more,” the words gurgle in your throat, escaping as nothing more but jumbled, spit-soaked whines that have Touya chuckling as he shoves his cock into your aching little hole.
“You’re in no position to be making demands, princess,” he speaks through a patronizing pout, a mockery of your own expression, voice syrupy and supercilious. “If you weren’t such a needy little whore always desperate for a hard cock to grind on, this wouldn’t be happening,”
The words are spit in the same demeaning tone Touya had been using earlier, the same demeaning tone he always uses, and Natsuo’s powerless to stop the words flowing from his mouth.
“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” he reassures you, though his voice cracks under the emotion, words wavering as his chin trembles.
“You’re right,” Touya muses, slight breathlessness the only indication that he’s railing the absolute life out of you. “It’s yours,”
And suddenly, Natsuo understands what nii-san had meant when he said this was his punishment.
Because he’s right.
It’s got to be the harshest punishment Touya’s ever bestowed on him.
Because it’s hard to watch the way your lax, abused body is forced to just take it, Touya’s thrusts so rough they jostle you up the mattress; even harder to hear as you bawl and beg and scream, and Natsuo’s nose twitches as the threat of new tears climbs up his throat, lodging in the column as he fights against them.
He feels sick, like some sort of depraved pervert, for the weak twitches his cock gives, for the faint embers that flicker in the pit of his stomach, igniting a dull blaze as he watches, almost entranced by the grotesque situation unfolding in front of him. He feels sicker, knowing that both of those would be stronger, much stronger, had Touya not forced him to fuck his entire soul into you.
And Touya—Well, Touya’s been hard from it all—high from it all—the whole time, and Natsuo can almost see the sheer power flowing through his veins, an aura that envelopes him, that radiates off of him in intoxicating waves, that licks at his skin like flames of blue fire. Natsuo bets—no, knows— it’s better than any drug Touya’s ever taken.
Protests marinate on his tongue, bitter and acidic, pleads of stop and enough scraping against the walls of his throat as he forcefully swallows them back down, emitting pathetic little whimpers in their place.
Because he knows if he starts, Touya will only make it worse for you, so he suffers in silence, readily agreeing with Touya every time he reminds Natsuo that this is all his fault and neither of you would be in pain if Natsuo could’ve just kept it in his fucking pants for a few minutes longer.
It hurts, because it’s true, nii-san’s words sending thick, piercing stakes spearing through Natsuo’s heart, through Natsuo’s very soul, straight to the core of his body. Acrid bile climbs up his throat as Touya’s moans mingle with your sobs, so exhausted that they’re barely more than little wheezes at this point. It’s abundantly clear that Touya doesn’t feel a shred of remorse, and that makes Natsuo feel even worse—if only he had said no, if only he had waited and asked, if only he had been stronger, you wouldn’t be suffering.
The tears collecting in the column of his throat sprout talons and claw their way up, past his steadily weaking resolve, prying their way through his lips in the form of jagged sobs.
It’s magnificent, really, the way Touya can render Natsuo a snotty, shivering mess with only a few choice words. And Natsuo—Natsuo only ever cries in front of his big brother, only ever cries for his big brother, full-on weeping that slashes through his sputtering chest, coughing around and choking on his own sobs of nii-san, I’m sorry!
But it ends eventually, finally, Touya tearing one last orgasm from you, gentle words contradicting his cruel, ruthless actions, murmurs of come on baby, just one more, one more for nii-chan. You can do this for nii-chan, can’t you? You can be a good little girl for me and cum one more time, right? lingering on his lips
And somehow, you find the strength to obey, to be his good baby, because you always do, entire body convulsing with a raspy shriek of the honorific, Touya praising you only moments later as his hips still and his cock pumps you full.
—
It’s cute, really, how fucked out the two of you are. Touya thinks you’re both so beautiful when you’re like this, with glassy eyes and tearstained cheeks, lashes clumped together with residual water and swollen faces stained with streaks of salt, all dazed and fucked and stupid for him, from him.
Natsuo’s doing better than you are, of course—Natsuo wasn’t subjected to being fucked again. But Natsuo still needs to rest, Touya softly tutting his tongue with a disapproving shake of his head as Natsuo attempts to aid him with your aftercare, movements clumsy as he stumbles to his feet, inept and awkward as he blunders towards you.
“No,” Touya’s large hands wrap around his younger brother’s shoulders, halting him, steadying him, forcing Natsuo to look at him. “You rest,” he instructs sternly, guiding Natsuo back to his previous spot and delicately depositing him onto the desk chair. “I’ll get to you in a minute, okay, Natsuo-kun?”
Natsuo hums out an affirmation, eyes closing briefly as Touya’s fingertips affectionately trace the curve of his cheek, palm patting it once.
It’s in moments such as these, nights after hours and hours of extreme punishment, that Touya automatically, perhaps unknowingly, slips into Big Brother mode, and you’re reminded of the age gap between them.
Because even though Natsuo’s bigger than Touya, taller than Touya, beefier than Touya, he looks so tiny under his older brother’s protective gaze.
You both must reek terribly, covered in drool and sweat and cum, must look like hot messes, strands of tangled hair saturated with salt and sticking to your cheeks, but your Touya-nii is still right there regardless, whispering the sweetest affirmations and the tenderest praises to the both of you as he wipes each of you down with a damp cloth infused with lavender, telling the both of you how good you did, how proud you made nii-san, how pretty both of you are.
Nimble fingers spend a decent amount of time rubbing soothing circles of moisturizing cream into each of you, your most sensitive skin rubbed raw, aching and puffy from such intense maltreatment, before Touya-nii dresses each of you in his softest, comfiest clothes, steady stream of pure, unadulterated love never stopping as it pours from his lips.
And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.
You’re all each other need, after all; because he loves you both more than he could ever put into words—and you each love him back just the same—and that will always be more than enough.
Touya reaches across your body, arm a pleasant, heavy weight as it rests on you, and runs slender fingers through Natsuo’s sweaty hair as you snuggle into your nii-chan’s chest, and Natsuo nearly mewls, nuzzling into his nii-san’s touch as Touya instructs the both of you to sleep, now, a film playing softly in the background as the three of you drift into unconsciousness together.
#todoroki touya x reader#dabi x reader#dabi smut#natsuo smut#todoroki natsuo x reader#AAAAAAAH jesus finally#this is A Lot lol#tw:incest#tw noncon
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Of Migraines and Bad Days - M. Izuku
wc: 0.9k -ish
cw: gn!reader(no pronouns used), a few pet names (baby, love, bug idk why but i threw it there and it stuck), kind of a sickfic? reader has a migraine, definetly not proofread
a/n: SUPER self indulgent, based on my migraines that make me throw up + cry bc of the pain and fuse myself with my blankets, i'm not that happy with the ending so might try writing another in the future? sickfics arent something i read willingly 🥲
It was fine one minute, the next it was like a drill trying to split open your skull, it hurt to breathe, the birds singing and the sound of your heart was like a stabbing wound and the sunlight made you want to rip off your eyes to make the pain stop. You swear under your breath, the day was already going so bad, work was hell with all the new interns, the trip home was horrible; you had to let go of two trains to ride one without having an elbow to the face, it was like everone decided to take the train today, one villain attack with hostages in your area, and with you now standing in the middle of your kitchen planning dinner, of course a migraine was bound to happen, it was too much to wish for the day to end on a good note.
"Motherfucker could not wait until after dinner" you mutter, "where's the migraine medicine?". Walking to the living room cabinet that has first aid kits and pain meds felt like having a heavy metal band doing a wild concert in your brain, but still bearable, at least you could still move on your own. But as said, the day was horrible and it was too much wish for it to end peacefully; you ran out of migraine medicine and forgot to refill it. Taking out your phone you call Izuku.
After 4 headpounding rings he picks up "Baby? is everything okay?" you grimace at his almost scream, he must be in a crowded street for him to talk that loud, or it may be the fucking monster of a headache incoming too. "No," you cut him before he jumps on an anxious rampage "but it's nothing serious, we just ran out of my meds and I have one hell of a migraine" the next words come almost as a sob, "could you please bring some on the way home?". The next time he speaks is almost as a whisper and you swear that if you could kiss him through the phone you would "Of course Love, my patrol hopefully ends in about half an hour," he pauses, "do you think you can wait a bit more than 40 minutes until i'm home?" you hum an affirmative, to which he continues, even more softer "in the agency infirmary they must have some of your meds, see you home, love ya!", and before you can force yourself to speak, he hangs up.
Knowing he isn't going to call again, you discard your phone in the living room table, and on the way to bed you enter the kitchen and take one of the gel packs out of the freezer whispering "this'll do until he gets home", every step feels like hell, and closing your eyes adds to the nausea. And if it wasnt so painful moving maybe you could wait Izu under the cold water of the shower. Once you make it to your room, closing the door behind you, you throw the gel pack on the bed and close the blinds until theres not a ray of sunlight visible, changing to comfy pjs and burying yourself into the bed between the fluffy pillows and blankets, now waiting for Izuku.
Between the pain, being drowsy from it and the relief of the cold in your head, time seems to pass quickly and you kind of fall asleep, because the next thing you hear is the soft click of the front door, followed by a soft "I'm home!". Finally, your savior is here with godsend medicine. After some time, the bedroom door opens barely enough for your husband to slip in, "Hi baby, here's some medicine and water" he whispers, barely audible "I've also asked Shouto to bring us soup from that place you like, if you feel like eating later" you hear the sound of glass hit the bedside table and feel the bed dip where he sits, and then a soft, careful kiss on your forehead.
That kiss was the straw that broke the camels back and you started sobbing, "Izu, it hurts so bad, I had the worst day in the world, everything went wrong the whole day," you sniffle "and I wanted to wait for you with dinner ready, but then it started to hurt so much I almost couldn't see", he shushes you "I know bug, take your medicine and try to sleep" you let out a watery laugh "stop making fun of me, I'm not a moth". "But look at you in this fine cocoon!" he hands you the glass of water and the pill, giving you a pinch in the cheek, and takes it back when you're done, "Now sleep, bug" you pout at the nickname, but it goes undetected due to the darkness of the room.
"Would you stay with me until I fall asleep?" He almost doesn't catch it, due to how low you said it, as if fearing he would ever said no to you. "Of course baby, but first let me take off my jacket". You pout at the loss of warmth, but as fast as he got up, he was back at your side, now inviting you in his embrace. "Thank you for staying Izu" and almost inaudible, but he could feel you mouthing "I love you" in his chest. After another kiss on your forehead, he starts to lightly pet your hair, and in the loving embrace of your husband, your last thought before finally falling in a painless sleep was 'I hope you're always there to make this migraines go away, it would be hell to go through them alone'.
reblogs are appreciated!!
do not repost or translate!! this work belongs to hiperacid2
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
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.
#sorry this update took a hot sec#blame my full time job and depression lmao#bakugo x you#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x you#bakugo katsuki x you#deaf!bakugou#bakugo/reader#bakugo/you#katsuki bakugo#bakugo#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo/you#mha#my writings#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#fanfic
209 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!
Savior - Negan Killer AU
Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol
A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words
"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.
"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.
"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."
"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."
"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.
"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.
"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.
There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.
"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.
"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.
"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.
"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.
"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."
"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.
"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.
~~~
"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.
"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."
"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.
"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."
"Do you kill everyone?"
"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.
"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.
"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"
"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.
"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.
"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."
"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."
"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.
"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."
"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"
~~~
Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.
"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.
"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.
"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."
"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."
"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.
"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"
"Sounds good."
~~~
I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.
Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.
Suddenly, my door opened.
"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"
"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.
"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"
"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"
"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.
"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"
"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.
"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.
"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.
"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.
"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."
"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.
"Yes, what, princess?"
"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.
We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.
"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.
"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.
"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.
"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.
"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"
"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.
"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.
"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.
"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."
#negan x reader#negan x y/n#negan smut#negan x you#negan smith#au!negan#the walking dead#twd smut#twd negan
161 notes
·
View notes
Text
Green (Bucky x Reader)
Word Count: ~3k
***Warnings*** : Graphic and explicit consensual non-consent. It’s all pre-negotiated roleplay, but it includes fighting, struggling, spitting, scratching, the whole nine yards.
A/N: The companion fic to Red. You do not need to read that first; this stands on its own. However, without that as an introduction, there’s no obvious indication until about two-thirds into the fic that what’s happening is consensual.
More on this in another note at the end, but thanks to @thoughtslikeaminefield @fangirlxwritesx67 @katwillrise @mskathywriteswords @cracksinthewalls @littlegreenplasticsoldier @stunudo and the rest of the Slack squad for helping me sort out my feelings about “dark” fic, and for being a safe space to talk through stuff like this. This was really fucking difficult for me to write, but I’m glad I did.
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
- From “Wild Geese,” by Mary Oliver
It’s just like any other Friday night, until it’s not.
One moment I’m turning on the light in the entryway, hanging up my coat — next there’s a prickle down my spine, some primal reptile-brain instinct —
Run! Now!
— but there’s no time to recognize it for what it is. My body isn’t in the habit of being threatened; my body is tired and lazy, moving on autopilot through the comforting routine of Friday night. In the heartbeat between instinct and action, he pounces.
The hand over my mouth is metal: unyielding, unliving, chilling me down to my core, and if it wasn’t for the heat of the rest of his body all down my back, I wouldn’t assume he was human. His right arm is around my ribs, locking me in place, and it feels feverish in contrast but it’s trapping me as securely as if it was iron.
I can’t reconcile the cool metal against the human warmth, or the awful metallic tang mingled with the barely-there whiff of sweat. My mind is moving all jerky and slow. I can’t make sense of this.
Doesn’t matter, though, because I’m trapped anyway, like a wild animal in a snare. Trying to make sense of it won’t change the fact that vicious iron jaws snapped shut around me.
It was just like any other Friday night.
Panic clutches around my lungs all at once, adrenaline flooding in, and everything in me screams, fight back.
I thrash and squirm in his grasp, but he has my arms pinned down at my sides, and I’m small and helpless against the solid wall of muscle that is his chest. My raw strangled gasps come out as tiny hitched sobs, muffled by metal, barely audible in the still half-dark entryway of my apartment. He leans back, hefting me up so that my feet don’t quite touch the floor any more, like I weigh nothing, and takes a few steps away from the door.
“Don’t make a sound,” he snaps, before spinning me around, slamming me back against the wall and pinning me there with his metal hand at my throat.
Panic makes everything sharper. It’s too sharp, sharp like the shadows cast by the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, sharp like the way he’s watching me with pale hard eyes.
“Why — why are you here?”
He tilts his head, considering me.
“I was sent,” he says simply, in a low rasp of a voice.
“What do you want?”
Something cracks open in his eyes, like a tectonic shift bringing magma to the surface, and then the strangest expression spreads slowly over his features, fierce hunger and wild terror all at once. Fear splinters like lightning down my spine.
“Take off your clothes,” he says quietly. “Let me see you.”
I lash out with both hands, ready to claw at his eyes, but with his arm outstretched, he’s just out of my reach; when I scratch and slap at the metal wrist, he doesn’t even seem to notice, and when I strain against his grip, I only succeed in choking myself. Black spots dance across my vision, and I draw ragged wheezing breaths, clutching uselessly at the sleeve of his black leather jacket, still twitching and twisting feebly.
At least he can’t undress me with one hand, I think, for one absurd second.
Then his free hand twitches down to his side, and he’s raising a knife. Dark oxidized metal gleams in his fingers. I freeze, staring at the wickedly honed edge of it as he brings it closer, holding it up at eye level before lowering it slowly.
The tip hooks under the first button of my blouse, and when he flicks the blade upward, the fabric separates like it’s nothing. I barely dare to breathe as he cuts my shirt open, one button at a time, with surgical precision. The knife is so close to my skin that one wrong move could slice into me.
When the ruined remains of my blouse gape open, he lowers the blade, ready to cut through the waistband of my skirt, and my frayed nerves snap.
“Don’t,” I blurt out. “I’ll do it. I’ll cooperate.”
I unzip it, trying to step out of it without moving my head, still trapped by the constant silent threat of his fingers around my throat.
He sheathes the knife so that he can push my shirt roughly down my arms. My bra straps follow; he tugs them down my shoulders and reaches around to pop the clasp open, and when it falls, he pauses, licking his lips as he gazes up and down my body, taking in the revealed skin.
There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes when they meet mine for a long, frozen moment. He draws a breath like he’s about to say something, and his grip loosens a fraction.
I’m not done fighting.
I spit in his face, and when he flinches, I wrench myself away, twisting out of his grasp, bolting down the hall toward the bedroom door.
Just as I wonder whether he’s reconsidered, whether he’ll let me go, he snarls, “You’ll regret that.”
I go down hard and fast when he tackles me, barely getting my arms out in time to break my fall, and the impact sends a flash of pain through one elbow but there’s no time to think about that — no time to feel it — not when I’m thrashing and kicking and squirming — but he’s too strong, too heavy — I almost writhe away but then he rolls me onto my back — pins me, sitting on my thighs — and my fists are swinging, flailing uselessly against his face and shoulders, but he doesn’t even seem to notice — and I let out a desperate sob as I realize I’m helpless again.
I want to scream, but there isn’t enough breath in my lungs.
He shuffles up on his knees until he’s straddling my waist, looming over me, blocking out everything else, and he snatches my wrists as I beat my fists against his stomach and chest. His lip curls, baring his teeth in a feral approximation of a smile, and he gathers my wrists together so he can hold them in the bruising circle of his metal fingers.
Flesh fingertips dig cruelly into the hinge of my jaw, forcing it open, and he leans forward to spit into my open mouth — something twists and clenches deep in my gut as I sputter and choke, skin crawling with disgust.
“Not so nice, is it?” he sneers, sitting back on his heels.
Worn black denim stretches over muscular thighs as he shifts, drawing attention to the fact that he’s hard — the thick shape of his cock is obvious, straining against the fabric.
My eyes snap back to his face, but it’s too late. He chuckles, throaty and smug, and then he rubs himself through his jeans, squeezing roughly, making it impossible to ignore his arousal.
“Is that what you want?” he asks — taunts — and I shake my head frantically, throat too tight to speak. He smirks and drops his hand to my chest, tweaking one nipple hard enough to make me yelp. He shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall, and light catches the dark metal plates of his arm.
Hot stinging tears well up and roll down my temples, blurring my vision, but not before I see his fingers on the button of his jeans, popping it open.
“No,” I choke out. “No. Please, please, please —”
He has to move to shove his jeans down, has to let me go for a moment — a fresh wave of adrenaline surges up with sickening speed, and I scramble back, twist, flop onto my stomach — it’s graceless and uncoordinated but I’m not giving in, not yet. I’m army-crawling out from under the cage of his body and I’m almost free — almost — but before I can get up on my hands and knees he’s yanking my panties down.
Panic rises to a crescendo.
I shriek — thin and pathetic even to my own ears — too frantic to even see straight, and then my breath is punched from my lungs as his hand slams down between my shoulderblades and crushes me to the cold hard floor. I curl an arm around my head protectively, burying my face in the crook of my elbow, and I whimper into the dark space it makes, trying to hide from what’s about to happen.
My body is vibrating with tension like a rubber band about to snap, every muscle clenched so tight it hurts, and when I feel the blistering-hot pressure of his cock between my thighs I almost snap.
“Struggle all you want,” he growls. “Won’t make a difference.”
And it doesn’t make a difference. He shoves, and after a split-second of resistance he’s slamming into me with skull-rattling force. He grunts as he grinds in, working himself into me as deep as he can be.
The weight lifts from my upper back, and I suck in a desperate breath, only to sob it out again as he braces himself on his left hand and tangles the right in my hair. It stings, but somewhere along the line I’ve lost the ability to feel pain as pain; it’s only another sensation, and it’s eclipsed completely by the flint-to-tinder flare as he starts to move.
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, but I can’t hold back a moan.
It’s too much, too fucking much, he’s too big, wrenching me apart, taking up every bit of space inside me and forcing me to accept the intrusion. There’s no rational thought left beyond I can’t take this.
There’s nothing rational about it, though.
Something catches and sparks — ignites — and wildfire licks up my spine before bursting out through every inch of me. It’s going to burn me alive, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
There’s nothing wrong with it, I try to tell myself, but shame slithers through my belly anyway.
I’ve never been this wet in my entire fucking life.
I’m breathing fast and panicked, I’m naked and squirming on the gritty floor, and it’s humiliating, and it hurts… but friction is friction, and my traitor of a body is slick and eager even though my rational brain is screaming for it to stop.
“Stop,” I choke out. “Stop, don’t —”
“Don’t what? Don’t make you come? Don’t make you admit how much you like this? Not fightin’ back any more, are you?”
I sob and shudder, squeezing helplessly around him. “Please.”
“Shit, can feel you gettin’ close — gotta see this,” he says, panting harshly, and then he’s pulling out, grabbing at my shoulder to flip me onto my back.
He hooks an arm up under my knee to open me up and drives in deep again, and I spasm around him, spine arching so forcefully my head slams back against the floor. He’s wild-eyed and wrecked, but he stops for the space of a jagged-edged inhale, pausing, slack-jawed with shock when I look dazedly up at him.
“Green,” I breathe, and slap him across the jaw with a crack.
He moans and surges forward all at once, hips snapping down, and the pleasure-pain coils tighter inside me, ratcheting up to new impossible heights.
I’m not going to stop fighting — not now, not ever, no matter how good it feels. I hit and scratch and claw, and when my nails catch on his cheek he gasps, rhythm faltering for the first time.
He’s scorching-hot, steely-hard, every thrust a solid filthy smack against my skin, a vicious stretch pushing me to my limit — and it hurts, it hurts, but the adrenaline makes the pain feel faint and distant, and the pleasure is raw and immediate and building (faster by the second) into something inescapable.
I can feel it starting to overwhelm me. My muscles are seizing up, but I’m fighting back on pure animal instinct, still. I grab him by the throat with one hand, pull his hair with the other, and his face is the last thing I see before my world dissolves: cheek bleeding from a rough scratch, features contorted, mouth open in a wide red O that’s somehow, unmistakably, a smile.
Bucky is breathing just as hard as I am, when I swim to the surface again.
We’re both drawing deep wet gulps of air, gasping on each exhale. I twine my arms around his neck limply, resting one palm between his shoulders so I can measure the rise and fall of his lungs.
I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, but I feel everything: every little tremor and twitch that goes through him, the slick warm tickle of aftershocks as he starts to go soft inside me. His face is buried against the side of my neck, and his right hand cups my cheek, so very gentle, thumb stroking my temple and wiping away tears. He kisses me softly where my pulse hammers under the skin.
My heart is racing, beating against my ribs like a wild bird caught in a cage, but my head seems very far away from the mess of my body.
I whimper when he pulls back, but he doesn’t go far, not yet — I can hear the barely-there rasp of fabric as he shifts.
“Can’t believe you’re still wearing pants,” I mumble, slurring like I’m drunk.
“Wearing is a generous word,” he says flatly.
It’s a weak impersonation of his usual deadpan snark, but I let out a cracked giggle, and for a hysterical second I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop giggling.
Bucky whispers, “Gonna get you up now, okay?”
He slides his hand under my head, cradling the back of my skull, and kisses my sweaty forehead before gathering me in his arms. He sits up carefully, pulling me against his chest and letting me burrow into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.
Then there’s a disorienting swoop of motion that means he’s standing up. I feel fragile and strange as he walks, like something inside me will break if it’s jostled, but I trust him to keep me safe. He nudges the barely-open bedroom door with his hip, easing us through it, and behind my closed lids the quality of the darkness changes as he steps toward the soft golden glow of my bedside lamp.
“Not going anywhere, just going to put you down for one second,” he warns me.
The comforter is already pulled back when he settles me on the bed, and he pulls it up around me, wrapping me up.
“Water,” he says quietly, holding the glass to my lips, and I sip carefully. “Juice? Something sweet?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
He steps back. I hear the soft thump of his shirt and jeans dropping to the floor, the click of his dog tags as he puts them back on, and then he’s sliding into bed next to me. I shift closer and trace the chain around his neck, touching the familiar imprint of letters in the metal.
My swollen lids are heavy when I open my eyes, and they sting when I finally look up at him, taking in his puffy parted lips and the red line of dried blood on his cheek where I scratched him. It’s already healing, it’ll be gone within a couple hours, but I brush my finger over it anyway, making an apologetic face.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. He clears his throat and swallows hard. “I’m the one who — I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about. It was…”
I don’t know how to finish that sentence; I shrug, helpless, dizzy with the enormity of getting exactly what I wanted — of getting what I never thought I’d be able to ask for, let alone have.
His lashes are wet, his eyes shining in the low light, and that’s when it really starts to sink in. I shiver, and then I can’t stop shivering, and I curl forward, burying my face in his chest.
It’s hard to believe that the world is still turning and even harder to believe that he’s still here.
“God, sweetheart, you were incredible,” he whispers, voice breaking, wrapping me up in his arms and kissing the top of my head.
Shuddery, convulsive sobs wrack my body, one after another, and I don’t try to hold them back even though they’re so powerful I’m afraid they’ll crack my ribs on the way out. The tears are nothing to be ashamed of. It’s more like they’re physical evidence of shame leaving my body, purging it with each ugly sound wrenched from my throat.
I never would’ve said it out loud if we hadn’t stumbled into his violent fantasies. There’s nothing wrong with you, I told him, and I sounded so sure, but I still had a hard time believing it about myself. My rational mind knew that it was natural… but it was like knowing that the person who grabbed me tonight was the same man holding me now — it was like knowing he would never hurt me, but feeling my body panic anyway.
Bucky holds me, crooning nonsense fragments against my hair, until it subsides.
I sit up enough to look at him, and I’m conscious of how blotchy and swollen my face must be, but I let him brush away my tears. I feel soft and raw inside where I’d been holding all that guilt. Everything is starting to ache.
“God, we’re a mess,” I say thickly. He lets out a huff of laughter.
“I love you,” he blurts out. His eyes go a little wide, like that wasn’t what he intended to say.
“I love you too,” I say, wobbly but warm, and I duck my head again, resting with my ear over his chest to hear his heartbeat.
His sigh is long and shaky.
“Yeah, we’re a mess,” he whispers. “Feels good though. Feels human.”
fin.
N.B: If you’ve spent any amount of time around my masterlist, you probably will have noticed that one of my favorite subjects is the shame people (especially women) frequently feel about sex in general and their fantasies in particular. I also really love writing enthusiastic consent, and so in a way this is very different from anything I’ve written before.
I have trouble with the way a lot of fanfiction seems to glorify coercive or under-negotiated dom/sub scenes, and most so-called “dark” fic is triggery for me in its oversimplification of things like rape fantasies; they’re normal and common and natural, but frequently the way they’re written has the same flat, male-gaze approach as a lot of exploitative porn, which I hate. Rape has never been a fantasy for me personally (although it has been an actual life experience) but my #1 fantasy is finding the sort of trust and partnership and support that would make this sort of roleplay emotionally safe. I also just felt compelled to tackle the challenge of writing about something that is often considered so shameful, and writing about it in a way that neither romanticizes or demonizes it.
So. Yeah. In case you need a reminder: don’t punish your body for what it wants.
(If you liked this, please reblog or leave a message?)
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader smut#bucky barnes smut#mcu#mcu fic#tw rape#tw: rape#consensual non-consent
259 notes
·
View notes
Text
the crushing weight of certainty
Vaguely a part of my Snapshots duet.
cw for domestic violence, slapping, verbal abuse
[ao3]
“Schlatt!” calls Quackity, stumbling after him down the halls of the White House. His face is pale, hands shaking. There’s blood on his starched white shirt. His jacket smells of gunpowder. He keeps seeing Tubbo’s face behind his eyelids every time he blinks, shocked, scared, childish, from the moment right before the fireworks hit. “Schlatt, what the fuck was–”
Schlatt ignores him. Doesn’t even so much as slow down. He’s walking with a confidence and clarity of purpose Quackity’s never seen him move with before. It’s a little frightening. It’s a little unnerving.
It’s a little like discovering that the lazy old mutt you’ve had living out in your back garden for months is, in fact, a purebred wolf.
When he finally catches up, he grabs Schlatt’s elbow, shakes it. “No, Schlatt, look at me, seriously, what the– what the fuck was that, because you just– that was murder, Schlatt! That was an execution! You just, we just, that was a citizen we just killed! He’s a kid! What–”
Schlatt backhands him.
The blow knocks Quackity to the floor, leaves him sat on his ass and staring up at Schlatt in shocked bewilderment. His lip has split, badly, dribbling wet crimson down his chin. His cheek throbs in time to his heartbeat, turning pink to red to almost-purple with a rising bruise. His brain can’t quite work out what’s just happened. Schlatt’s hit him before, of course, but– not like this. Not properly, not with actual power behind it. Not like he means it.
Schlatt starts advancing. He still looks like he means it.
Quackity starts doing his best to crawl away, one-handed, still on his back, not daring to take his eyes off Schlatt. “Schlatt–” he gasps, a hand pressed to his cheek, his forearm held awkwardly over his face.
“You fucking pussying out on me now?” snarls Schlatt, still advancing with a predator’s prowl, matching Quackity’s desperate scrabbling inch for inch. “Are you? Are you?” He raises a fist and grins when Quackity flinches, all big teeth and whiskey-breath. “Fucking answer me when I'm speaking to you, you little shit!”
“I, I, Schlatt, I–” Quackity stammers out– something, terrified, eyes wide. When words fail, he whimpers, more of a sob. He starts trying to cover his head rather than just his face as he scrambles backwards.
His efforts at self-defence are for nothing. Schlatt catches him, as easy as a dog with a rat, hauls him up by his collar to backhand him again.
Quackity's nose starts bleeding, profusely.
“You wanted this, sweetheart!” snarls Schlatt, face inches from Quackity’s bloody, bruised one. The grin is more of a snarl, now, bared-teeth and nasty and mad. “You agreed to be my fuckin' vice, you agreed to run this goddamn shithole of a country, and now you want to fucking pussy out on what it takes to be a leader? You got cold fucking feet?”
Another backhand. Quackity's face is a mess of red, his pupils blown huge with fear, his mouth half-open and his swollen lower lip trembling.
“Oh no, pumpkin, oh no. You do not fucking get to do that. You hear me? You don't get to do that. We're in this together, to the end of the fucking line, sugar plum, and if you- if you start trying to do whatever the fuck this is, then I'm gonna get real fucking mad. Okay?"
He shakes Quackity, hard enough Quackity’s teeth clack together. Hard enough his brain feels like it bruises against the inside of his skull.
“Sch– Schlatt. Schlatt.” Quackity’s hyperventilating, voice quiet, blood dribbling down from his nostrils over his lips and staining his teeth pink. He can taste it on his tongue, hot salt and copper, feel it dribble thickly down the back of his throat. “Schlatt. Please. You're hurting me."
“Do I look like I give a shit?”
Another shake. Quackity makes a high, terrified, hitching noise. His bloodied head lolls on his shoulders.
“Do I?! Answer me, you stupid little bitch!”
“N– no, Schlatt– no–”
“Good. Because I fucking don't.”
Schlatt pauses, something odd passing over his face. He raises the hand not around Quackity’s collar to stroke from one corner of Quackity's lower lip to the other, smearing blood across it like lipstick, obscene, copper-salt bitter.
Quackity's chest is heaving like there's not enough air in the room.
“Listen real fucking close now, sweetheart,” says Schlatt, eventually, and sticks his thumb in his mouth. Quackity watches as sucks the blood off of it, absent, thoughtless. “Because I’m only gonna ask this once. Are you with me, or not?”
Not trusting his voice, Quackity nods, jerky, frantic. There is no other answer here. Even he, stupid little bitch that he is, knows that much.
“Good.” Schlatt sets him back on his feet. His knees nearly buckle, breath leaving him in a wheeze as he locks them in a desperate attempt to stay standing. Schlatt does not try to help steady him. “Good boy. That's what I like to fucking hear
Quackity’s nose drips blood onto the marble floor of the White House in hot, wet spatters. His head rings, his cheek aches. He can’t get breathe properly. He can’t breathe.
It’s only when Schlatt walks away, steps into his bedroom and slams the door behind him, that he manages to drag in an unsteady inhale. When he brings a hand up to cover his mouth and nose, gasping, and is surprised to find tears mixed in with the blood that puddles in his palm.
He thinks, for the first time, that he might be in over his head.
#schlackity#dsmp tag#dsmp fic#fic#little gift for a friend <3#to distract her from the fact the three other gifts i've promised her have yet to materialise#sdkfgjhsdkgjdf#snapshots verse
24 notes
·
View notes